Page 40 of Donovan
CHAPTER TEN
DONOVAN/ DECLAN
DONOVAN
Declan kissed me like he was trying to devour me, like if he let go, I would disappear.
But I wasn’t going anywhere. Not when he was finally touching me the way I had always envisioned.
His hands were rough, desperate, but there was something else in his touch. Something new, something more. Possession.
He wasn’t just reaching for me in the heat of the moment, wasn’t just indulging in something reckless and fleeting.
Declan was claiming me. Finally, he had stopped fighting this. Stopped pretending that we were just a mistake waiting to happen.
This wasn’t a quick, stolen moment in the dark. This wasn’t an attempt to scratch an itch and move on like nothing happened.
The way his fingers dug into my skin, the way his lips moved against mine, the way he pressed his body flush against mine like he was terrified of letting go.
It all sent heat curling deep in my stomach, made my breath hitch, made me ache in ways I wasn’t sure I’d recover from.
I gasped when he nipped at my jaw, his mouth trailing down my throat, his breath cool against my flushed skin.
"Declan," I whispered, my voice shaking.
He groaned, the sound low and ragged, his grip tightening. We dispensed with the rest of our clothes and once that was finally out of the way, I started kissing him again.
I gasped when he bit my bottom lip, his fangs just barely scraping against the skin.
A shiver ran through me, my fingers digging into his back, holding onto him as he kissed down my jaw, my throat, teeth grazing over my pulse.
He let out a low, rough sound, one that made heat curl in my stomach, made me ache. I had wanted this for so long. For years, we had danced around this.
We pretended the occasional stolen moments, the desperate kisses, the hookups in the dark meant nothing but to me, they meant everything.
"Donovan," he rasped, his forehead resting against mine, his fingers gripping my waist like he was trying to ground himself.
"Don’t stop," I whispered. "I want this. I want you."
He paused and I could feel the war inside him. The hesitation, the guilt, the part of him that still thought he should pull away.
But then I ran my uninjured hand down his chest, over the defined lines of his stomach, tracing the muscles there, and something in him snapped.
In the next breath, he pinned me to the bed, his mouth on mine, hot and desperate, his hands everywhere at once. Touching, gripping, claiming.
Even in the heat of passion, he was careful with me, mindful of my still-healing arm, his touch gentle even as his desire burned hot.
I arched into him, needing more, needing everything. His skin was cool against mine, his body pressing me into the mattress, his weight grounding me, making my head spin.
I ran my fingers through his hair, tugging slightly, and he groaned, his lips trailing down my throat, my chest, my stomach.
“My pants. Lube and condom,” was all I managed to say.
Declan got off me for a hot second and retrieved the condom and lube. He tore the packaging, slipped the condom on and straddled me again.
He lubed me up, sliding one, then two fingers inside my entrance. I panted as he stretched and readied me for his access. Deeming me ready, he pulled his fingers out.
His mouth found mine again as he slid his prick inside me, slow and careful, like he was memorizing every second of this.
