Page 38 of Worth the Risk
I melt into him, my hands finding purchase on his shoulders as he backs me against the door. The solid thud of my body against wood sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with impact and everything to do with the way his other hand slides to my waist, fingers splaying possessively across my hip.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he murmurs against my lips. “Since the moment I walked out of Highland.”
I can’t form coherent words, can only respond by pulling him closer, my fingers threading through his hair as our kiss deepens. He tastes like whiskey and desire, and the intensity of his mouth against mine makes me light-headed with wanting.
His hands slide along my waist, tangling in my hair, tracing the curve of my spine through my shirt. Each touch leaves a trail of heat in its wake, like he’s mapping my body with deliberate precision. When his fingers slip beneath the hem of my blouse to find bare skin, I gasp against his mouth.
“Is this okay?” he whispers, his thumb tracing slow circles just above my hip bone.
“Yes,” I breathe, arching into his touch. “More than okay.”
He smiles against my lips, a flash of satisfaction that I feel rather than see. Then his mouth is moving along my jaw, down the column of my throat, finding the sensitive spot where my pulse hammers beneath my skin. The gentle scrape of his teeth there makes me clutch at his shoulders, a soft moan escaping before I can swallow it back. I should push him away, should maintain those professional boundaries I’m so desperate to keep.
Instead, I fist my hands in his shirt and pull him closer.
He groans against my lips, pressing me harder against the door. His tongue slides against mine, and I forget everything—the community center, our arrangement, all the reasons this is a terrible idea. All I can focus on is the heat of his body, the taste of his mouth, the way his hands slide down to grip my hips.
“Tell me to stop,” he breathes between kisses, even as his fingers slip under my blouse to stroke bare skin. “Tell me you don’t want this as badly as I do.”
I answer by nipping his lower lip, drawing a growl from deep in his chest. His hands tighten on my waist, lifting me effortlessly. I wrap my legs around him, gasping as he grinds against me.
“God, the things you do to me,” he murmurs, trailing hot kisses down my neck. “I can’t think straight when you’re near me. Can’t focus on anything but how badly I want you.”
His words send liquid heat pooling between my thighs. I arch against him, seeking more friction, more contact, more everything.
“Then show me just how much you want me.”
By the time we stumble into my bedroom, we’re both half-mad with wanting. The door slams shut behind us, and Declan spins me around, pinning me against it. His lips trail down my neck, teeth grazing my skin in a way that makes me moan.
“I need you, Maya,” he growls against my collarbone. “Now.”
“Yes,” I gasp, my hands fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. I need to feel his skin against mine, need to erase any space between us. He helps me, shrugging out of his shirt, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. His torso is a masterpiece of sculpted muscle, the planes and ridges of his abs glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. I run my hands over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin, the rapid beat of his heart under my palm.
His hands are everywhere, deftly undoing my blouse, sliding it off my shoulders. He pauses to admire me, his eyes dark withdesire. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the lace of my bra. I arch into his touch, craving more.
“Declan, please,” I beg, my voice a desperate whisper. He responds by lifting me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the bed, leaving a trail of discarded clothes in our wake.
As we tumble onto the bed, he kisses me deeply, his hands roaming over my bare skin, exploring every curve, every dip. I arch against him, feeling the hard planes of his body against mine, the evidence of his desire pressing against me through his boxers. His arousal is unmistakable, a hard length that makes me ache with need.
“You drive me crazy,” he groans, his lips moving to my breasts, teasing and tasting. I tangle my fingers in his hair, urging him on, lost in the sensations he’s creating. His fingers slip beneath the waistband of my panties, and I gasp as he touches me, his touch sure and skilled.
“Declan!” I cry out, my body trembling with need. He responds by sliding my panties off, his mouth following the path his hands have taken. I’m lost in a haze of pleasure, every touch, every kiss pushing me closer to the edge.
But it’s not enough. I need more, need all of him.
“Maya,” he whispers as he positions himself above me, his eyes locked on mine and I can see the raw need in his gaze. “I want you so much.”
“I want you too,” I confess, my hands gripping his shoulders. “Now, Declan. Please.”
He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He slides off his boxers, revealing his full arousal, hard and ready.
“Do you have protection?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper between ragged breaths.
His eyes never leave mine as he reaches for his discarded pants, retrieving his wallet. The moonlight filtering through my curtains catches the flex of muscle across his back, casting shadows that accentuate every ridge and plane. I watch, mesmerized, as he extracts a condom and tears it open with his teeth.
The sight of him sliding it on makes my breath catch. He’s beautiful like this—completely exposed, vulnerable in his want, his eyes dark with desire as he returns to me. I can’t help but stare, my breath catching at the sight of him. He positions himself at my entrance, his tip teasing me, and I arch my hips, desperate for him.
“Look at me, Maya,” he commands, his voice husky. I meet his gaze as he slowly pushes inside me, inch by glorious inch. The sensation of him filling me, stretching me, is overwhelming. I moan, my nails digging into his shoulders as he seats himself fully inside me.
