Page 41 of Craving the Edge

I didn’t answer. Words were useless. I captured his mouth again, harder this time, sinking my fingers into the soft fabric of his shirt. My other hand slid from his chest, down the hard ridges of his stomach, until my palm pressed flat against the solid length of him through his track pants.

A low groan rumbled from his chest, swallowed by my mouth.

“Char.” He pushed into my hand, a desperate, answering pressure.

His hands left my face and settled on my hips, walking me backward, away from the kitchen. One step. Two. My back hit the archway that led down a dark hallway.

He hooked his fingers into the hem of my hoodie, bunching the fabric in his fists. He pulled it up, over my head, taking my tangled hair with it. The black hoodie disappeared, discarded somewhere on the floor behind us.

“I’ve wanted this,” he rasped against my ear. “To have you in my bed. To touch you, to taste you…for so fucking long.”

A shudder worked its way through me, a violent tremor that began in my gut and tightened my entire core into an aching knot.

“I’m done fighting,” I whispered. “Done trying to be sensible.” I moaned as he ground into me, his mouth blazing a trail down my neck. “I want you.”

We were pressed against the doorframe now, his body a solid wall of heat. His mouth moved from my ear to my jaw while his fingers fumbled with the button of my jeans until it popped free. The zip came down with a low hiss. He worked the denim down over my hips, his knuckles grazing my skin.

My hands shoved at the waistband of his track pants. I was finally allowed to touch the body I’d spent countless hours pretending not to notice and it was better than I’d imagined. I was alight.

He stepped out of his pants without breaking contact, pulling his t-shirt over his head and throwing it on the floor. He rid me of mine too, and then I was in nothing but my underwear, and him, in a scrap that covered the last bit of his magnificent body.

He backed me the final few steps until the backs of my knees met the edge of a low bed frame.

“Wait,” I whispered, reaching behind me.

I unhooked my bra, letting the fabric fall away from my breasts, the cool air brushing my hardened nipples. Declan’s eyes widened as he took me in, his chest heaving as he shoved down his boxers.

With a gentle pressure on my shoulders, he laid me down on a dark quilt and I finally saw all of him as he stood over me. This was the man I’d imagined far more times than I’d ever admit. Not the celebrity. The fighter. The tightly packed muscle in his chest and arms, the raw power held in his body, the clean lines of his stomach muscles leading down to his hard cock.

“Like what you see?” he growled.

I licked my lips. My gaze travelled up from his body to his as I moved my hands over my stomach to the hem of my underwear and pushed them down. “Stop talking.”

He leaned over me, sucking one nipple into his mouth. I hissed, arching into him, thrusting my hands into his hair, but he didn’t climb over me.

He teased, kissing a slow line from my breasts down to my stomach. He knelt on the floor and spread my legs. His gaze met mine for a second before he leaned forward…

The first slow drag of his tongue across my clit pulled a sharp gasp from my throat. My thighs tightened, trapping him. His hands slid under my legs, pulling me right to the edge of the mattress, holding me open for him. His fingers joined his mouth a moment later, sliding slick and easy into me.

“Declan…” I cried out as he filled me, the ache rising as his tongue rasped over my sensitive clit.

He found a steady rhythm, pressure building with every thrust. My orgasm built fast under his mouth, a hot, climbing wave.

My hands found his hair. I gripped the short, thick strands, anchoring myself as my hips lifted off the bed. I rolled against his mouth every time he eased back, chasing my own release, refusing to let him slow down.

A low groan vibrated from his chest, the sound travelling straight through me, and my core clenched in response. I was done waiting. Done thinking. I reached down, my hands finding his hard shoulders, and pulled him up.

“Fuck me,” I panted. “Declan… I need you in me.”

He pulled his head back, his gaze dark.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he murmured. “So responsive. So fucking wet for me.”

He climbed over me then, the weight of him pressing me into the soft quilt. His knees settled between my thighs, nudging them apart. He braced his hands on the bed beside my head, caging me in. I watched him line himself up, the blunt tip of his cock pressing against my entrance. He pushed forward, just the head of him, and paused.

My breath caught at the sheer stretch of him. My fingers tightened on his arms as everything else fell away. All that mattered was the sensation of him.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful right now,” he growled.