After all, Parker told me to go flirt with a stranger. I’m just following my boss’ orders.
Declan’s hand slides up the curve of my body, his touch leaving a scorched trail in its wake, erasing every thought from my mind. Except for him. When his fingers brush the line of my jaw, I can feel his restraint. Like he’s holding himself back, albeit barely. But I don’t want him to hold back.
If we only have one night together, I want him to let go. Give me everything he’s willing to give.
I want him to completely wreck me.
I break the kiss first, but I don’t move far. My mouth hovers over his, hungry for more.
“What the hell was that?” he rasps, almost in awe.
I lift my eyes toward his, my lips still tingling, heart pounding far too loud in my chest.
God.
No one has ever looked at me like this. Like they feel me in their bones. Like I just shook something loose they didn’t know existed.
“Well,” I murmur, brushing my lips against his stubbled jaw, “when a boy really likes a girl, they kiss.”
He laughs, and the sound does something to me. It’s low and rough and full of life.
I didn’t think he could get any sexier, but that delicious rumble does it. I want to hear it more. Want to be the reason he laughs.
But then something shifts.
His smile fades, and his expression darkens. Not cold. Not cruel.
Intense.
Hungry.
Predatory.
It strips me bare in the best way possible.
“Do you know what else a boy and girl do when they really like each other?” he asks in a gruff voice that sets my insides on fire.
“What’s that?”
His hips press into mine, slow and deliberate. I feel it. I feelhim.
Hard. Thick. Unapologetic.
A shock of heat bolts through me, and I gasp, my body arching instinctively.
“They fuck, Claire.”
His mouth finds the crook of my neck, lips brushing my sensitive skin, and I nearly come undone.
Desperation pulses inside me, heavy and wanton, my legs turning into jelly. The only reason I don’t fall into a puddle at his feet is because of the strong arm wrapped around my waist.
“And I really want to fuck you.”
His hand slides beneath my skirt, slow and sure, fingertips brushing my inner thigh, dragging goosebumps in their wake. When his thumb grazes the soaked fabric of my panties, my hips jerk involuntarily, a moan slipping free.
“I could be wrong,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement, “but I think you really want me to fuck you, too.”
He draws lazy, torturous circles against the wet cotton. It’s too much and not nearly enough at the same time. I can’t think. Can’t speak. All I can do is feel.
