5. Chapter 5 #2
I don't move fast enough, because he lifts me—picks me up like I weigh nothing—and carries me the rest of the way to the mattress.
My legs wrap around his waist automatically, and I can feel how hard he is through his pants, the thick shaft under his slacks pressing against me in a way that makes me squirm.
"So eager," he observes, laying me down.
"Shut up."
"There she is." He looks down at me. "I was wondering when my mouthy girl would come back."
"I'm not—"
He kisses me hard enough to cut off the protest, and when he pulls back, I'm breathless again.
"Stay mouthy," he says, reaching behind me to unhook my bra with one hand—one hand—and pulling it off. "I like it when you argue with me."
The bra hits the floor and his gaze drops to my breasts. I have never felt more exposed.
I move to cover myself, and he catches my wrists.
"Don't."
"Declan—"
"Let me look at you." He pins my wrists above my head with one hand, and the casual display of strength makes my clit throb. “Perfect. You're fucking perfect."
Then his mouth is on my nipple, and I arch off the bed with a gasp that's too loud, too desperate. His free hand is on my other breast, thumb circling my nipple while his tongue traces the other with hot, heavy figure-eights.
"Declan—" I pull against his grip on my wrists. "Let me—"
"No."
"I want to touch you—"
"Soon." He switches to the other taut nipple, teeth grazing sensitive skin, and I actually cry out. "Right now I want you exactly like this. Pinned down. Making those sounds."
I should protest.
But the truth is, I don't want him to let me go. I like that he's in control and I don't have to make decisions.
I can just feel.
His mouth moves lower, kissing down my stomach, and when he reaches the waistband of my underwear, he finally releases my wrists.
"These," he says, hooking his fingers in the lace, "need to go."
He pulls them off slowly, and I'm completely naked now, spread out on his bed while he's still almost fully dressed, and the imbalance makes me feel completely at his mercy.
His handsome face settles between my thighs, and I tense.
"Relax," he says, hands on my hips, thumbs massaging into my skin. "Have you done this before?"
"I—" I swallow. "Not really."
"Not really?"
"Someone tried once. It was... awkward. We didn't finish."
His expression darkens. "He sounds like an idiot." He presses a kiss to my inner thigh, and I shiver. "I'm going to need you to tell me if you want me to stop. Can you do that?"
I nod.
"Good girl."
There it is again. Those two words that make me feel like I'm melting.
Then his mouth is on me and I forget everything.
Parker tried this once and gave up after maybe thirty seconds because he wasn't sure what he was doing and I told him it was fine because I didn't know what he was supposed to be doing either.
This is not that.
This is Declan Shaw using his tongue and his fingers with the same relentless steadiness he brings to everything else, and I'm making sounds I didn't know I could make, my hands fisting in his hair hard enough to hurt while he presses his thick tongue against my folds, making my thighs shake.
"Oh god—" I gasp. "Declan—"
He hums against me, the vibration making my hips buck involuntarily.
"So sweet," he murmurs, one hand pressing down on my stomach to hold me in place. "Let me hear you, Darcy. Let me hear you when I’m tasting this pussy."
I'm not quiet.
I can't be quiet.
Declan is pulling sounds out of me I didn't know existed, and when he slides two fingers in while his tongue works my clit, I actually scream.
"Declan, I’m going to—"
"Good," he says against me. "Come for me."
I do.
So hard my vision whites out and I forget where I am, what my name is, and everything except the feeling of his mouth sucking my clit and his fingers pumping a steady rhythm inside me.
I've never felt anything like this in my entire life.
When I finally come back to myself, I’m shaking and breathless, staring at the ceiling, struggling to form a coherent thought.
He moves back up my body, and when I look at him, his mouth is wet and his eyes are dark. He looks extremely pleased with himself.
He should.
"You good?" he asks.
"I—" I swallow. "—that was—"
"That was the warm-up."
"The warm-up?"
"Darcy." He kisses me, and I can taste myself on his mouth. "We're just getting started."
I watch, dazed, as he finally starts undressing. The shirt is gone. The belt hits the floor. The pants follow, and then he's in just his boxer briefs, and I can see exactly how powerful he is; my brain does a hard reset.
He's big. Bigger than Parker.
Significantly bigger.
"You're staring," he remarks.
"You're—" I gesture vaguely at his crotch. "—that's—"
"Concerned?"
"To put it mildly."
He laughs. "You want to stop?"
"No. Just—" I swallow. "—go slow?"
"I can do slow." He hooks his thumbs in his boxer briefs.
Then he's naked, and oh my god.
I've seen a man before. Parker was fine.
This is much more than fine.
My first thought is that he’s thick.
And long. The good kind of long.
The perfect kind.
His cock is hard, flushed dark at the tip, and there's already a bead of precum at the slit that makes my mouth water and panic in equal amounts.
And that's not even accounting for the rest of him.
Broad shoulders that taper to a trim waist. A defined chest with a light trail of hair disappearing down his abs—actual abs that tell me he does more than just sit at a desk all day.
His thighs are muscled and powerful, built for stamina. Scars are scattered across his body—a thin white line across his ribs, another on his left shoulder—marks that tell stories I suddenly desperately want to know.
The man is nearly twice my age. And still…
He looks like he was carved from marble.
"Darcy." His voice cuts through my spiral. "Eyes up here."
I drag my gaze back to his face.
Big mistake.
He's looking at me with hungry eyes, a slight smile playing at his lips like he knows exactly what I'm thinking.
"You look terrified."
"I'm not terrified. I'm just—" I swallow, eyes flicking back down. "—recalibrating expectations."
His smile widens. "You're staring at my cock."
"I'm— I'm assessing—"
"You're wondering if it's going to fit."
My face flushes hot. "I wasn't—"
"Liar." He moves closer, one knee on the bed. "It's going to fit. But I'm going to be careful about it," he rumbles, crawling over me with the grace of a lion.
"I'll go slow. I'll let you adjust. I'll make sure you're ready." His hand closes softly around my throat. "And then, when you're begging me to fuck you harder, I'll give you exactly what you asked for."
Holy Mother Mary and the manger.
He reaches for his wallet on the nightstand, pulls out a condom, and I watch—mesmerized—as he tears it open with his teeth and rolls it down the hard length of him.
Even covered in latex, he's intimidating.
Then he's back over me, settling between my thighs, and I can feel the head of his cock pressing against my entrance, hot and hard and thick enough that I tense involuntarily.
"Relax," he murmurs, one hand sliding up my thigh, the other braced beside my head. "I've got you. Just breathe."
I breathe. Or I try to.
The stretch of him makes me gasp and grab his shoulders.
He pushes in another inch, slow and controlled, watching my face the entire time. "You’re taking me so well."
He's barely a third of the way in and I already feel impossibly full, stretched in a way I've never experienced before.
He pulls back slightly, then pushes forward again, gaining another inch. "You drive me fucking crazy, sweetheart. Let me have this little pussy."
The dirty talk shouldn't work.
Not from the man who’s been irritating me since I stepped on Tulum soil.
But it does.
His voice is low and gritty and absolutely certain. My body responds, relaxing fractionally, letting him sink deeper.
"That's it," he murmurs, hips rocking in shallow thrusts that work him deeper. "Let me in. Let me feel you, sweetheart."
I whimper, nails digging into his shoulders.
"Look at me," he says.
I open my eyes.
"I'm going to give you the rest. Slow. Careful. And then I'm going to fuck you until you can’t think of anything but my dick and who this pussy belongs to."
I nod, unable to form words.
He shifts the angle slightly, until he's fully inside me, his hips flush against mine, and I'm so full I can barely breathe.
"Fuck," he groans, forehead dropping to mine. "Christ, Darcy. You feel incredible. Taking me so deep. Being so perfect for me."
I can't speak.
I can barely think.
All I can process is the feeling of him inside me—filling me so completely I can feel him everywhere.
"Talk to me," Declan says, voice strained. “Tell me what you want.”
I pull him closer, wrapping my legs around his waist. "More. Please."
He pulls out slowly until just the tip is inside, then thrusts back in with one smooth, deep stroke that makes me cry out.
He starts to move, deep and devastating, and begins to fuck me slowly.
"You have no idea," he says against my neck, "how much I've been thinking about this. Three fucking days of wanting to get you exactly like this."
"Declan—yes."
"Under me." Another deep thrust. "Taking my cock." Another. "Making those sounds."
I'm whimpering beneath him, the sensations turning me into a quivering mess.
My hands are everywhere—his hair, his shoulders, his back—trying to pull him closer.
His rhythm changes—faster now, harder—each thrust driving me up the mattress, the headboard thumping against the wall in a pace that will definitely wake the neighbors.
But I don’t care.
Declan’s hand slides between us, his fingers finding my clit, and the dual sensation of him inside me, thick and hard, makes my thoughts scatter.
"Declan, I’m going to—"
"Not yet." His voice is commanding now. "You don't come until I tell you to."
"I can't— I'm too close—"