Declan's Demand

“Spank me, Declan.” My hands hold onto his biceps, thick, tanned muscles that come from more than working out in a gym.

“As much as I like a good challenge, I think this evening will be enough.” He pulls his belt from the loops in his pants, tossing it to the floor in a loud clank of metal and leather on wood.

My mouth dries and my nails flex over his arms. “What should I do?”

“Don’t claw me to death for one, and secondly, try to relax. I’m not going to kill you.” Declan’s voice lowers and the serious tone is gone.

“The necklace?” I glance between us at the ruby between my breasts.

“It suits you, Sydney. Keep it on.”

I don’t move a muscle when Declan backtracks to the end of the bed, standing up. The vest comes off, landing on a chair. He untucks his shirt and slowly unbuttons it, popping the black discs through the sewn holes one by one. The shirt joins the vest and I swallow my breath. His chest is a perfect mosaic of muscle mixed with superficial scars, and a tattoo that covers his chest looking like a knight’s armor. He turns for a moment, reaching for his pants, and I glimpse another tattoo covering his shoulders: broken wings and feathers in black ink, marking him a fallen angel.

“Declan, your back…It’s incredible.” I lean up on my elbows as his pants drop, desperate to get a better view.

Declan has the grace to smirk. “It’s not my back that should impress you right now.”

He’s right—it isn’t the only impressive thing. His cock isn’t fully erect, but it stands heavy, bobbing against his stomach, rigid and thick. It’s thicker than three of his fingers, and heat suffuses through my body. I’m not only impressed but a little terrified, honestly, as he knees up on the bed and crawls over me, caging me in and spreading my legs out.

“So this is it?” I ask.

Declan leans his head down, sighing, and a grin spreads his face from ear to ear.

“No. Not at all.” He lowers his hips against me, fitting his cock at the juncture of my thighs. He pumps his dick a few times, rubbing fluid over his member.

I watch him move as he grinds against my folds until they spread from the friction, exposing my clit. The pressure makes my hips buck. I whine with want, feeling my skin go dewy with sweat.

“I’m taking you, Sydney, but I want you with me.” He’s on his forearms now, big hands playing with my breasts, pinching and rolling my nipples into sharp points.

I’m panting. My hips shift, unable to get closer, weighted down into the bedding. Declan’s hips match mine thrust for thrust, and each movement makes the bed squeak and jump as he gets closer to pushing through.

“Oh, Declan.” I know what I’m asking for and it isn’t gentle. I want the promise of a rough fucking by this man who swears he’ll forget me, because I know I won’t forget him as long as I live. I’ll take whatever he has to offer.

“Sydney,” he releases a breath.

His hands leave my breasts and move to my face, holding me still, tangling in my hair, anchoring me. My legs part as wide as possible, making room for him to fill me. I smell the sharp tang of our arousal and it drugs me. My hands snake around his shoulders and back, nails raking against ink and history I desperately want to be a part of.

Breathlessly I whisper into his open mouth, his thrusting hips bruising my own. “I want this. I want you, Declan.”

His cock punches through, impaling deep inside me. There’s pain, vague memories of remorse that dissolve into my all-consuming need to let Declan have this part of me with my permission as he kisses the tears away.

Warmth suffuses my skin but does little to take away the chill. Declan is awake and grumbling under the canopy of our bed. Even saying “our” bed is a shock to me; the man who swore he wouldn’t make love to me or cuddle afterward hasn’t let go of me in the week I’ve been in his bed. His chest presses against my back in a solid heavy way, comforting me. His hand snakes around my middle, pulling me flush against him. My hand covers his and I feel the delicate lines of scars slashed into his hand from a knife fight a decade ago. He feels too good to be true, with his strength and his need for me, protecting me. Morning sex is how he starts our day, and today is no different with his hot breath coating my neck and ear, cranking up the temperature of the room to an impossible degree.

“Open your legs, Sydn

ey.”

A shiver runs over my body and I squeeze my eyes shut, flattening my body to the bed, doing as Declan demands. His leg, rough with hair, rubs my inner thigh as he pushes me wide from behind. A hand lays flat against my belly, pressing up and pushing my ass back against his ramrod steel cock. He fits himself between my globes, pressing deep. Moisture dots the back of my spine with his pre-cum and I claw the sheets, giving him unfettered access to my body. I’ve submitted everything to this man, except my honesty, and the guilt burns me from within.

My nerves are shot, because today is the last day I have to follow through on delivering the property deed to LeHavre. Without the deed, my father will be shot and left on the steps of his precinct for everyone to see his shame. I’ll be orphaned; the daughter of a dirty cop. But perhaps the biggest loss will be Declan. He’ll know it was me who betrayed him either way, and I won’t be exempt from his punishment.

Me.

The good girl gone to hell.

I’ve stolen this time with him as my own because god only knows what comes next for either of us. Declan’s large hand cups my hip, thumb rubbing the ridge of bone under my skin. He slides me up and down against his thick cock. His rod is hot like a bolt of lightning zinging me. He doesn’t wear a condom—he won’t with me—and I secretly dream of having his babies, even though I have the birth control implant. A little boy dark like his daddy, and maybe a little girl with his soulful eyes to wrap him around her little baby fingers. The thought makes me smile into the silky bedding, shuddering with need.

“Relax, pretty girl.” His gravelly morning voice makes my insides clench tighter. It always pinches the first thrust, and I wonder if that’s something that will change in time. Right now I revel in the feeling, hearing him strain to fill me. Maybe I’m as sick as he is, but knowing I have his undivided attention for the next hour is a secret thrill. No club bunny or second in command will take him away from me. Sadly, by this afternoon, I will have done that all by myself. The playful spankings will turn into something violent, and my stomach cramps. What does he do to women who not only break the rules but betray his trust? I know what he does to men, even if I’ve never seen it.