He pressed in the rest of the way, and the feeling of being filled by him was so much that my brain finally went silent.
No noise. No tabs. No guilt for one stolen breath.
Just Declan over me, inside me, holding still while my body learned him.
I exhaled shakily. “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Move.”
The first thrust was shallow. Careful. The second made pleasure spark under the ache. By the fourth, I was clawing at his back and trying to get more. He found a rhythm that kept me right on the edge of too much, deep and controlled, each push dragging sound out of me I couldn’t stop.
He kissed me through it. My mouth, my jaw, my throat. His hand wrapped around my cock, stroking in time with the slow drive of his hips, and I lost track of everything except the pressure building fast and bright.
“Dec.”
“I’ve got you.”
“Harder. Please.”
He gave me a little more. Not careless. Never careless. But enough that the headboard tapped the wall and pleasure punched through me every time he hit that place inside.
I came with his name in my mouth, body locking around him, orgasm tearing through me so hard I went soundless first, then broke on a hoarse cry. He kept moving, hand gentling on my cock as I spilled over his fingers and my stomach.
His rhythm faltered.
I wrapped my legs around him tighter. “Come.”
He buried his face against my neck and thrust deep, once, twice, then held there with a low, rough groan as he came inside the condom. His whole body shook over mine. I held him through it, stunned by the weight of him, by the trust of it, by the fact that I wanted the weight to stay.
For a while, neither of us moved.
Then Declan kissed my shoulder and eased out carefully. Even that made me hiss.
“I know,” he murmured. “Easy.”
He dealt with the condom, then came back with a warm cloth and cleaned me with such quiet attention that my chest got too tight for jokes. After, he climbed into bed and pulled me against him, my back to his chest, one arm heavy around my waist.
I was sore. Relaxed. Raw in ways that had nothing to do with my body.
Tiny whined outside the door.
I laughed into the pillow. “He knows.”
“He knows nothing.”
“He knows betrayal.”
Declan sighed, got up, and opened the door. Tiny lumbered in with the ruined duck, climbed onto the end of the bed, and collapsed across our legs like a sandbag made of judgment.
“Boundaries,” I muttered.
Declan got back in behind me. “You keep using that word in his house.”
His house.
For tonight, I let myself be in it without flinching.
