Page 55 of Declan

I laugh, pressing my head back against the wall as I pant for breath. “I’m too heavy. It’ll be faster if I walk.”

He growls in response, his teeth nipping at my pulse point, and I squeak in surprise as he reprimands me, “None of that talk, doll face. I’ll carry you anywhere I want.”

I don’t bother arguing with him. I just tighten my arms and hoist myself higher as I hook my ankles at the base of his spine, rubbing myself against him some more as I whimper, “Please. Oh, God, please.”

“What do you want, darling?” he whispers gruffly. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me,” I respond, my hands moving to his hair so I can turn his head toward my seeking lips. He kisses me slowly and deeply, using his lips, teeth, and his tongue to drive me completely mad with want.

After a few minutes, he pulls back and presses his forehead against mine as he says, “As much as it pains me to say this, darlin’. I can’t fuck you here.”

“Why the fuck not?”

He laughs and shakes his head as he pushes away from the wall, taking me with him. I clutch at him, and he walks down the hallway as he replies, “Other than the fact there are tons of people nearby? Or the cameras? How about I don’t believe for one minute you dreamed about losing your virginity backstage at a rock concert.”

“Maybe not,” I say happily. “But sometimes, plans change.”

He grunts and shakes his head as he keeps walking, eventually pushing through a doorway and slamming it shut behind us. Then, I’m pressed back against it, and I lean my head back, focusing on his face, now only inches from mine. I lose my breath at the abject desire on his features. I didn’t think Declan could get any more attractive, but apparently, I was fucking wrong.

His gaze shifts to my mouth and then back up to my eyes, and he smiles softly at me and says, “You know I’ll give you anything you want, doll face. But that doesn’t change the fact I think you deserve more than a quick tussle in a dressing room.”

“You can give me that romantic-missionary lovemaking any ole time,” I reply with a gasp. “Right now, I want you to fuck me.”

He leans in and brushes the tip of his nose against mine and then says against my lips, “Make no mistake, darlin’. It doesn’t matter where or how; every time I touch you, I’m making love to you.”

My eyes are burning suspiciously, but the telling emotion behind his words has done nothing to dampen my burgeoning desire; instead, it fuels it into a full-on inferno. I want to say something, but the giant lump in my throat prevents it, so I press my lips against his and kiss him with every bit of emotion inside me.

He kisses me back with the same fervor, once again moving us away from the door to the far side of the room, where he deposits me on the sofa as he says, “Don’t move.”

He spins around and walks back to the door, locking it and throwing the deadbolt before turning back to me. He’s soaking wet, and so am I, and I laugh at the ridiculousness of the two of us looking like drowned rats. He stops when he’s about halfway to me and cocks his head. “What’s so funny?”

I start to answer him and then find myself shrugging, and he smiles as he strips his jacket off, tossing it to the side. He yanks his shirt over his head in one smooth motion, and my laughter quickly dies, a sound of pleasure falling from my lips that has me rising from where I’m seated. He continues toward me, and I meet him halfway, my hands stroking over his bare chest and along his sides, earning me a shiver.

A bandage on his shoulder draws my attention, and I frown. “What’s this? Did you hurt yourself?”

He glances at his shoulder, and his smile broadens, obviously incredibly pleased with himself as he replies, “No, that’s my newest tattoo.”

I raise my brows in surprise, then frown again because that implies that while I was locked in a cage, he was out getting a fucking tattoo. So I ask, “And you did this this afternoon?”

He gives me an amused look. “The guy came here and did it before the show.”

Not quite as asshole-ish, so I’m less annoyed as I say, “What is it?”

“More of you.”

I touch the edge of the bandage, tracing a path around the perimeter until he adds, “You can peek if you want.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I delicately peel the corner of the bandage back until it’s open enough for me to see what it’s hiding. I frown again, fully expecting to see my face, but that is quite obviously not my face. I turn my eyes back to his questioningly, and, for a moment, he looks rather sheepish, but then he smiles again and says quite smugly, “Your bite mark.”

“My bite mark?” I exclaim. “How the hell did you get my bite mark?”

He brushes my hands away, puts the bandage back in place, and then works on unbuttoning my shirt. “On the plane when we were headed for our honeymoon. You lashed out viciously, and I took photographic evidence as proof. He used those images.”

“My mark,” I murmur, raising my arms over my head as he finally gives up on the buttons and pulls my shirt off.

I stand there in my bra, and he stares down at my lace-covered breasts with a strange expression on his face, and I immediately attempt to cover myself. I may be considered a plus-size woman, but I’m no hourglass figure with large breasts to go with a big ass. Most of the time, I’m fine with my pear shape, but occasionally, I find myself self-conscious about it.

Like right now, with Declan Hughes ogling me.

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