Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
CLAIRE
There’s nothing gentle about the way Declan kisses. It’s hungry. Commanding. Like a man starved who’s finally taking what he’s been denying himself for far too long. And God, I feel it.
Every inch of me sparks to life under his touch. I don’t even care about the needy whimpers that fall from my throat or the fact that my breath might taste like the lobster roll I had for dinner.
All I care about is this.
Him.
The way his mouth moves over mine. Like he’s lost all control and doesn’t care if he takes me down with him.
My fingers tangle in the fabric of his shirt, clutching it like I need something to anchor me to this world. To him. My skin buzzes where his body brushes mine, all hard lines and heat, his hand gripping my hip as if he doesn’t want to let go.
And I don’t want him to.
He tastes like whiskey and lust and something darker. Something that coils low in my belly and makes my thighs clench.
This isn’t me.
I don’t do this.
I don’t invite strangers into my room. Don’t flirt with men at hotel bars. Don’t kiss men I barely know, especially ones I’ll never see again.
But there’s something about Declan that’s been undoing me from the moment I laid eyes on him. As if some part of me recognizes something in him. Something bruised and jagged and aching.
Like me.
And if this kiss is any indication, surrendering to him might be the best bad decision I’ve ever made.
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 feel him.
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.
“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.
Needing something 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?”
“I stripped for you. Time for you to return the favor.”
My stomach flips. The room suddenly feels too warm. Too bright. The golden lamplight spills across the space, casting no shadows, no places to hide.
Just him. Watching. Waiting.
I can’t help but feel self-conscious about everything. This man is definitely much more experienced than I am. I’ve had sex before, but have never been too adventurous. What if I’m not what he wants? What if I take off my dress and the fantasy fizzles out? What if I disappoint him?
As if able to read my thoughts, Declan’s features soften and he steps forward again, cupping my cheek in his large hand. The gesture is tender, at complete odds with the man who was devouring me with his eyes seconds ago.
“If you’ve changed your mind,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along my cheekbone, “that’s okay. I don’t want you to feel pressured or forced. I just…” His jaw flexes. “I haven’t felt this sort of connection to someone in a long time. I may have gotten a little carried away.”
I meet his gaze, the sincerity within almost too much. He’s not just saying it to make me feel better. He’s saying it because he means it.
It only makes me want him more.
“I haven’t changed my mind,” I whisper.
Relief flickers behind his eyes, but I press on before doubt can creep back in.
“I just…might need you to take charge. Tell me what to do. That way I don’t have to think too much.”
He arches a single brow. “Is that what you want? To not have to think?”
I nod. “I can be an overthinker. So right now… Yes. That’s what I want. What I need.”
He studies me, his gaze unreadable as he steps back and sits on the edge of the bed. My pulse skitters, nerves tangling in my stomach. For a moment, I worry he’s about to change his mind.
Then his expression shifts, no longer soft or teasing.
It hardens.
Darkens.
Demands.
“Strip,” he orders, his voice thundering through the stillness in the room. “Now.”