“Ask.”
My throat was dry. “Can I touch you?”
“Yes.”
I shoved at his waistband with no grace whatsoever. He helped, pushing his sweatpants and briefs down enough to free himself, and then his cock was in my hand.
For a second I went completely still.
He was thick and heavy against my palm, hot skin, hard as I was, a bead of wetness at the tip. This should have been the moment my brain tripped over gender, over what I had always assumed about myself, over the fact that I was touching another man like this for the first time.
Instead, all I thought was him.
Declan’s breath left him when my fingers closed around him.
“Like that?” I asked, rough.
“Firmer.”
I tightened my grip.
His eyes closed briefly. The sight of it, his control bending because of my hand, sent a rush of power through me so sharp I almost couldn’t hold still. I stroked him clumsily at first, learning the weight and heat, the way his jaw flexed when my thumb dragged under the head, the way his hips wanted to follow but didn’t.
He kept stroking me through it.
Our rhythms found each other in pieces. His hand on me, mine on him, breath mixing, mouths catching between words. Then he shifted, pushed my pants and briefs lower, and guided us together.
Skin to skin.
I swore so loudly he covered my mouth with his.
Our cocks slid against each other in his hand and mine together, slick, hard, hot friction that made every nerve in my body narrow to that point of contact. He rocked into me, not fast, but deep enough that I felt the drag from base to tip. I clutched at his shoulder with my free hand, nails digging in.
“Too much?” he asked against my mouth.
“No. No, don’t stop.”
“Then breathe.”
I tried. It came out ragged.
He adjusted the angle, trapping both of us together between our fists, and the next stroke made my back bow. Pleasure built fast, too fast, overwhelming without being scary. My brain went quiet in a way it almost never did. Not empty. Focused. Declan’s weight. His hand. His breath. The rough hair of his thigh against mine. The smell of his skin. The pressure of being held inside a command I had chosen.
“Close,” I gasped.
“I know.”
“Can I?”
His hand tightened. His mouth brushed my jaw. “Yes.”
Permission hit harder than touch.
I came with a sound I couldn’t stop, spilling hot over our joined hands and stomachs, my body shaking under his. Declan keptmoving through it, slower, dragging it out until I was cursing and clutching at him, oversensitive and wrecked.
Then his control finally fractured.
His hips drove into our fists, once, twice, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. He came with a low, rough sound against my skin, his body heavy over mine, warmth spreading between us. I held him through it, dazed and useless, my hand still around him as his pulse kicked against my palm.
