Covet (Sinful Secrets 3)

Declan.

Behind me, he’s big and thick and sturdy. With each of his breaths, I feel his long erection nudged against the curve of my buttocks. He lifts the hair off my neck and begins to kiss me there.

His mouth is soft and hot, his fingers gentle as they stroke above the button of my pants. He sucks at my neck. I’m not sure I like it. Then I’m moaning. Saints be praised! It feels like he’s…biting me.

His fingers delve into my pants. They’re stroking lightly as his lips brush my ear. I’m aware I’m panting, but I can’t stop. His big hand strokes lower, low enough that he’s there at the top of my underpants.

“I’ve been wanting this.” His low words vibrate by my ear. He nips gently at the lobe, and his deft fingers pet me. His breaths come heavy as he strokes my soft curls. His large body quakes behind mine. He trails one finger lower, pressing his thickness against my backside as he very, very gently strokes my most forbidden place.

“Siren…” He sounds desperate as he rocks against me.

I push my rear against him. He groans roughly, and his fingers part me. His mouth stills on my throat, and with his gusted breaths there near my ear, he dips a fingertip into my crevice and paints gently up and down.

Exquisite pleasure rolls through my legs. They give way. His arm is tight about my waist, holding me against him as his lips drift over my shoulder. His hand makes me quiver and gasp. He r

olls his finger around something that lights up the world, causing me to lose myself for an electric moment. Then he drags his finger gently downward, resting right there, where I—

“Fuck, Siren.”

He prods right where I’m slick and needy. The sounds coming from my throat are foreign to me. Wanton. When he pushes his sex against my backside, I rock against him, eager for unnamed relief. And then his finger curls, pushing inside me.

He hugs me against him as bliss unfurls within me. I feel so full and…good. I hear a ragged gasp—my own—as his thick finger pushes deeper. He’s doing something…else. Up at the other place—my clitoris. It makes me cry out.

“Quiet.” His breath shakes. “Gotta…stay quiet, okay?”

I whimper, feeling almost fearful at the pressure building beneath his hand. He does something to my clit that makes me rock against him. As I do, his finger in me strokes, and I can’t help a ragged groan.

“Someone’s going to hear,” I whimper.

“Nah. Just stay quiet.”

I bite my cheek as his thumb grazes my clit, and his finger delves still deeper. My legs quake. My body sweats and tenses.

“Ohh!”

“You’re okay, Siren. I’ve got you.” I feel his arm secure around me, his thickness behind me. And then his thumb performs some witchery. He drags his finger partway out and pushes in again, and at the same time, his thumb circles me. Pure, ecstatic bliss streaks through me as my hot flesh pulses, followed by a wave of throbbing pleasure so intense I lose track of my mind and body.

When I come into myself again, I’m trembling and breathless, feeling like I might weep. He’s easing his hand out of my panties, still hugging me against him.

I whimper his name. He kisses my hair, and then my shoulder. One hand cups my hip. His lips are pressed against the top of my head. I can feel his breath there.

“Jesus, Siren…”

I turn around—too bashful to look at his face—and then I do, and he gives me a small, heartrending smile. He folds me against his chest, and there I feel the rhythm of his breaths: a bit unsteady. I can hear the thunder of his heart. His chin is tucked atop my head. His shirt is warm and damp under my cheek.

I laugh—a small, soft sound—and hug him.

That was…bliss. It was the greatest thing I’ve ever felt.

His arms around me tighten. As he strokes his hands down my back, I can feel the shaking in his fingers.

“How’re you feeling?” It’s a whisper.

He runs a hand over my hair, smoothing the tresses down against my nape the way he often does. I can sense the answer in the way his fingers hesitate before he says, “I’m okay.”

I want to tell him I can’t get the medicine he needs. That I tried and failed. But I decide against the mention of it. I’ve only ever craved sweets…and Mum, but when I’m wanting something badly, mention of it hurts.

I stroke a hand down his back. I’ve closed my eyes, and I’m working on discerning whether I can feel his thickness pressed against my hip when he murmurs, “You should go first.”