Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
He smiles against my skin and reaches for the zipper on my jeans. I climb off his lap and stand in front of him.
I’ve spent a long time making peace with this body—the one that felt like it betrayed me, that wasn't supposed to survive but did anyway. And I won't flinch from it now. But there's one small moment, under his gaze, when I feel the old instinct to hide, to cross my arms over my elbows, to angle away, to make myself smaller, because years of hospital rooms and unknowns leave an invisible scar.
“Push them down,” he says softly. The only reason I push past my fears and obey is that I am craving his approval. I live for his praise.
And when I obey, he makes a sound of approval. “Good girl. Just like that. Lovely.”
I step out of my jeans, and they pool around my feet.
Standing here, still and nearly bare in front of Declan McCarthy, I feel a hundred different kinds of exposed.
“You're beautiful,” he says. His voice has gone rough. “Stunning. Christ, woman, if I had any self-control before, I definitely don't now.” He swallows, then licks his lips. He doesn't rush but gazes, slow and intent, like I'm something worth his time.
Whatever I was braced for, it wasn't this particular expression on this particular face. “You don't have to say that just to make me feel better.”
“I'm saying it because it's true.” His voice drops, steady and certain. “And if I hear something like that come out of your mouth again, you'll find yourself back over my knee before you've finished saying it. Now come here.”
My arousal pulses between us like a second heartbeat.
“Trust me,” he whispers.
I nod.
“Help me get these off.”
I start with the buttons on his shirt, his skin warm beneath my fingers, his scent making me dizzy. Then his hands find mine, and we make quick work of it together, the shirt sliding free. He’s in front of me—hard, powerful muscle, the flat planes of his stomach disappearing into the waistband of his trousers.
I reach down, my eyes anchored on his, and unfasten them. I stifle a whimper as he takes my hands and guides them into his trousers. The warm, thick weight of him against my palms shows me exactly how far gone he already is. Then he's stepping free of them.
“I want to memorize you,” I say against his ear, because he smells like everything I've ever wanted and feels like something I was never meant to have. “Did you check in at home?” he asks against my neck.
“It's not my home for much longer,” I whisper. “I’m moving into my own place. But I did—Erin said good night.”
“Perfect. Once I start, I don’t want to stop.”
Then he's laying me down slowly, following me onto the bed, one arm braced above me. He kisses my lips, down the column of my throat, along my collarbone. His tongue drags across the hollow of my neck, and my head falls back, my chin tipping up instinctively.
“That feels so good,” I say, strangled.
“It's because you're such a good girl,” he whispers. “That's it, love. Just like that. Let me take care of you.”
What wrecks me the most is how he pays attention. He notices when my tongue meets his and my breath changes. He watches as he trails his mouth lower, and my back arches. He's learning me, cataloging every pathway to my pleasure, like it matters, like I matter, and doing it all with purpose.
“Don't ever hide from me,” he says softly, his mouth near my navel, his breath warm on my skin. “You're beautiful, and I love what I see.”
Then he's pressing his lips to me through the thin fabric of my knickers, and my hips lift toward him before I can think to stop them.
“That's my girl,” he says. “Open up for me. Take my mouth. Take my fingers.” He hooks his fingers at the waistband. “Slide these off for me, love.”
I do. I lift my hips and slide them down, half shaky, half desperate, because I know what he’s going to do, and there’s nowhere to hide, but I want him. He makes a low sound of approval before he bends his head and spreads me open. The first drag of his tongue pulls a cry out of me I couldn't have swallowed if I'd tried. My fingers find his hair and anchor there, holding on, and he groans against me like I'm the one doing something to him.
He doesn't stop. He licks me again and again, circling, sucking gently, pressing his tongue flat and slick and deliberate, exactly where I need it.
“You taste so good,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against my thighs. “My beautiful girl.”
“I'm not going to last,” I whisper. “I'm already—”
“That's my girl. Come on. Give it to me. We're only getting started.” Again, unhurried, like he has all night and intends to use it. “Just like that, love.”