“Tell me, Claire,” he growls, his breathing becoming ragged as he increases the pressure of his thumb. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
“I want you to fuck me,” I respond without hesitation.
I can’t remember ever wanting something as badly as I want this.
Needingsomething as badly as I need this. As I need Declan.
“Good girl.”
Oh. My.God.
I didn’t realize anything in my life was missing.
Until I heard this sinfully sexy older man call me a good girl.
That’s it. My life is now complete.
I can die happy.
But not until I know what an orgasm from him feels like.
His lips crash into mine again, but this time the urgency is different, more possessive, more claiming. I barely notice when his hand leaves me. I’m too caught up in the heat of his mouth, the taste of him, the way he steers me toward the bed like a man on a mission.
I reach for his suit jacket and hastily push it off his shoulders, the sound of fabric hitting the floor like music to my goddamn ears. Then I fumble with the buttons of his shirt, my erratic motions making the task more difficult.
“Impatient?” he muses as he brings our kiss to an end, amusement dancing in his dark blue eyes.
“More like…horny.”
“Well, then…” His voice turns molten. “Let’s see what we can do about your little…situation.”
He steps back a fraction, his gaze locked on mine as he unfastens his shirt one button at a time. There’s something deliberate in the way he moves. Controlled, almost reverent.
And when he parts the fabric and shrugs the shirt from his shoulders, I forget how to breathe.
Holy hell.
His chest is broad and sculpted, his abs tight, every muscle defined beneath golden skin. A light dusting of hair trails down his stomach, and tattoos inked in bold lines stretch across his left shoulder and bicep. They appear military in nature. Navy, if I had to guess. There’s another marking along his ribs, partially obscured by shadow, but even without reading it, I can tell it means something. Something earned.
He’s not what I expected. Not soft. Not slightly out of shape like some older men.
No. Declan is lean, powerful, carved from experience and discipline.
And maybe sin.
“Like what you see?” he asks, that cocky glint flashing in his eyes as he catches me staring.
I lift a brow, pretending to play it cool. “Not bad for an old guy.”
He grins, slow and wolfish, then drags me hard against him. His hips roll against mine in a lazy grind that steals my breath.
“Careful, sweetheart. You keep calling me old, and I might have to show you just how young I feel.”
“I doubt you’ll get any complaints from me,” I exhale as heat floods my veins.
“Good.” He releases me, increasing the distance once more. “Your turn.”
“My turn?”
