Chasing Serenity (Seeking Serenity) (30 page)

“You’ll see.”

He growls low, rasping, and his arms circle my waist, hands reaching down to cup my ass. “Do…do that again,” he says, arching his neck back so I can focus on the deep cleft at the base of his throat. “God yes. Just there, love.”

My skin chills and the shivering sensation moves to my chest, hardening my nipples, peppering my body with warmth that collects right in my core, making me wet, needy. Declan’s eyes are wide, surprised when I pull his head back, but I don’t let him comment about my aggressive little maneuver. Now is not the time for sarcasm.

His mouth becomes mine as I claim it, push my tongue past his lips and he hesitates only for a moment before he returns my action. His tongue is slick against mine and I groan when he moves and pulls my bottom lip between his teeth. His hold on my ass tightens as he presses against me. We battle for control with our mouths and with one hand Declan squeezes my ass as the other slips up my robe.  The warmth of his breath on my cheek fuels me, has a whiny, frustrated plea leaving my mouth as his fingers dig into my bare skin, the curve of my ass, the swell of my hips.

The smirk I’ve always claimed to hate wavers, moves his lips as though he is equal parts impressed and unsurprised. “Enough of this,” he says before returning both of his hands from my body and pulling me up with him. A few seconds pass as he stares down at me and his gaze slips to the opening of my robe, to the bare skin of my cleavage, and he seems to make a decision. “I’m going to take you back there,” he says, throwing his head back toward the hallway. “Is that what you want?”

“Absolutely.”

Declan pulls on the ties of my robe and the fabric separates, falls to the floor, exposing my naked body to him completely. He sags, his body going weightless as he falls to his knees and immediately pulls my hips toward his face. His lips drape along my skin, over my abdomen, my navel, and he stops at my scar, a feather light touch of his fingers tracing the crooked line. When he looks up at me, my breath hitches at the dark haze obscuring the green of his eyes. He seeks permission, wagers the play of emotion on my features to ask if this is okay, if I mind him touching me here. In answer, I push my fingers through his hair, direct his mouth back onto my skin, his eyes still studying me.

When Declan’s tongue flicks against the scar, my head rolls back and my heart jackhammers in my chest. There is a hungry, rich growl from his throat and I feel it vibrate against my skin, then I am thrown over his shoulder, laughing as he powers down the hallway, bumping us into walls and doors.

I feel my mattress at my back as Declan lowers me onto the bed. My elbows dent the fabric as I rest back to watch him unbutton his shirt, but I stop him, come upright on my knees. “Let me,” I say and brush his hands away, taking my time with each button. His skin is soft, pale, and I love the unguarded expression on his face as I rake my nails up the muscled chest, to the small spattering of freckles over his collarbone, his shoulders, my mouth following my fingers, kissing each bare space.

On closer inspection, I take in the gorgeous artwork that covers his arms and chest. There are crosses and beautiful sugar skulls adorned with vivid red roses on his left shoulder. A large triquetra in the center of his arm, just above an image of Christ wearing His crown of thorns. A heavy tapestry of all things Irish is sleeved on his right arm with shamrocks, cartoonish old school leprechauns, a Claddagh heart, the Irish flag, a large family crest, saber and arrows in a bronze shield, covering his bicep and down his forearm. The sleeve is looped together with Celtic knots and, just above his heart, is a perfect depiction of a woman with haunting blue eyes and a sad, hesitant smile on her face. I run the tip of my fingers against her chin and stare up at Declan.

“My mum. Moira.”

“She’s beautiful,” I say, and Declan smiles, but it is brief and quickly replaced with a dark, focused stare across my features.

When I move my tongue over his nipple and nibble on it, take my time to lap the small bump on the surface, the tight point in the center, Declan grabs my hair at my nape, and shifts my head back so I can stare up at him, at the dark, anxious expression on his face.
  That look liquefies my organs, breathes fire on my skin and the sensation only strengthens when he licks his lips and pulls me up to capture my mouth.

In an instant, everything escalates and he is tearing off his shirt, freeing himself of his jeans, throwing his clothes behind him on the floor before he pushes me against the mattress, exposed to his intense stare roving over my body, to my legs, my breasts.

He reaches down, tugs his wallet out of his discarded jeans and sets a condom on the bedside table, adjusts his weight on top of me in nothing but his red plaid boxers. I can feel his length throbbing against my stomach. I slip my fingers beneath his shorts, rub against his firm ass and he pushes down, moving against me so hard that were he naked, we’d be completely joined.

His breathing shallow. “You keep at that, McShane and I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you quick like.”

“You don’t want to stop, do you?”

“I couldn’t even if I tried.” He rests on one elbow and runs the tips of his fingers over my left nipple. “It would be easy for me to take you, quick and sudden. But I’ve wanted you for so long, love.” He inches up, hovering above me. “I don’t want it quick and sudden.” He kisses the top of my breast, then seals a peck on my lips. “I want you slow. I want to take my time.”

“Oh, do you?” I say, sounding much bolder than I actually am.

Declan accepts my small challenge and immediately settles his mouth over my nipple. As his tongue works over the left, his hand smoothes over the right and I start to shake, feeling the sweet sensation of need collecting into a tight knot in my stomach, a throb making my clit pulse.

He switches his mouth to my right breast while his hand slides along my stomach, down lower to thumb between my lower lips. When he cups my mound, Declan catches my eyes and stills me with his intense scrutiny. He parts my folds, the wetness there flowing under his thumb as he circles my clit, the friction building, bubbling with each swipe of his thumb until I am no longer able to focus on his face.

“I’ve been waiting to taste you, McShane. Too long,” he says before he lowers over me, his mouth hot, his tongue wet and eager. I forget to breathe, forget that air is supposed to be released, not withheld in the anticipation of the next sensation that he works over me. Somewhere in my mind, I remember to force air from my lungs and with it comes a low stutter, a hitch that shakes the bed when I move my hips. His attentions increase and the pressure builds, diminishing only slightly when Declan scoops his large hand under my hips to pull me closer to his mouth.

I lose all sense of composure.

The crest fires, shoots higher and higher, the edge teetering nearer and when his tongue delves in deeper, when he pulls me harder to his mouth, to that glorious tongue, I feel a great coil of aching need peak, explode so that it rises from my feet, up my legs to spill between my thighs, and then I am flying, liquid in his hands. The release hits me hard and I arch, my back bending so that my shoulders press against the mattress. His touch does not disappear, his attentions slow, but there are light flicks still working over my body, his nose edging against my hood, his satisfied hums against my folds, a calm rhythm, barely touching. I am jelly, a puddle mass of weak limbs and gratified, heavy breaths that slow with each second that passes. I smile, smug and content when Declan’s attentions continue. He sets me down, slithers over my body to place his mouth on my forehead, against my cheeks, then finally, on my lips and his kiss is tentative, almost awed. I open my eyes to find him smiling at me.

“Beautiful,” he whispers. He lowers over me and pushes my legs apart so that the only thing separating us is the thin fabric of his boxers.

Before my nerve leaves me, I push down his shorts and yank them free from his body. It takes me two quick breaths to take his dick in my hands and when I do, it throbs hot against my fingers. He is long and very thick, heavy in my hands and I love the silken feel of his skin, how he fits into my palm so perfectly. My breath collects into a tight ball in my chest as I touch him and his hips jerk, filling me with satisfaction at the brief rush of power I feel. My hands are doing this to him. I am making him hard, eager. I am making Declan moan and my body instantly warms at the thought.

Declan moves as if to lay on top of me again, but I push on his shoulder to make him fall back against the mattress. He is surprised by my aggression and wears a reverential expression of shock that pulls open his mouth. Those beautiful green eyes narrow, work to watch every move I make, the slow slide over his thighs, the tentative brush of my nails against the soft black hair on his legs, the subtle touch of my palms on his stomach.

“What’s that you’re doing, McShane?” he asks, voice deep, heavy with whatever heady emotion he tries to dismiss. His voice grows deeper still when I take him in my hands again, when my thumb flicks across the head of his dick. My eyes jump between his body and his face, then to the condom on the table. The smirk again and Declan reaches back, grabs the foil package and presents it to me and I like the silent demand, the way our eyes speak when our voices are silenced by the bated breath of what is about to happen.

My gaze doesn’t leave his face as I rip open the foil. There is a twist, a tear and my fingers smooth the rubber down over him, quick, easy, just like the comfort and warmth that rises between our bodies.

Declan sits up, reaches for my hips and slides me forward, over his lap, and our stares meet, connect as I lower onto him. There has never been a crackle in the air like this one. All around us, the abundant feel of our bodies meeting pools into each pocket of energy that warms the room, that sizzles between our chests. Heartbeat drumming hard, I take him, inch by inch, watching the way his eyes grow wider and wider with each downward push. He fills me, stretches me and on each exhalation, our breaths mix, until we are finally connected and I watch the slow break of his features, the surprise, the elation, the sharp bite of his teeth digging into his bottom lip.

“Oh, Jaysus,” he says, his arms shaking as he curls them around my waist. 

We don’t move. I manage to keep my eyes open for three full seconds, until the sensation of his wide length pulsing in me wrenches my lids closed. Declan kisses my chest and I love the intense collection of sensations our joining creates—his stubble reddening my skin, his large hands cupping my back possessively, his tongue licking the sweat from my neck. He releases a quiet moan and his fingers dig into my skin. I start to move on him, and with each descent of my hips, I open to fit him.

“Autumn,” he whispers, like a prayer, his hold on my hips tighten, clamp deeper into my flesh; the veins in his forearms, in his hands, protrude. My body rocks, a slow movement of long glides and tightened holds. He watches each lunge and thrust of our bodies coming together and I don’t feel uncomfortable at the raw expression in his eyes, at how his eyebrows knit together.

“Shite, are you gorgeous,” he says, his fingers coming back to circle my clit until my rocking increases, until I am compelled to move faster.

“Don’t stop that, Declan. Please.”

 
“Never, McShane.”  My head falls back as I am caught up in the intense sensation of him inside, of his fingers working over me. “Look at me, love. I want to see you fall apart.”

I watch him, moving fast, matching the speed of his thumb and the sweet burn in my core amplifies. Instinctively, I cup my breast, rub my nipple between my fingers.

With each thrust of our bodies, Declan’s arms shake, his fingers are unsteady, unyielding as his thumb works quicker, propelling me toward climax. The sensation heightens and the bubble of energy coils, crests, shoots forward so that when I come, my walls clamp around Declan, squeezing him until I hear his loud curses groan in satisfaction.

Before I have completely come down, we move together, turning over, still connected, and Declan’s hands are everywhere, caressing my face, my neck. He kisses my skin, the hollow of my neck, my lips, his eagerness to touch me intensifying second by second. His breath rushes over my face and I smell the sweet scent of musk, the airy breath against my lips, on my tongue when he kisses me.
  

“Autumn…” my name comes out in a murmur and his movements are rough, touching deep inside me and my body convulses to grip him. “Oh God. Just like that, love.”

I do it again and he smiles. We watch each other as he continues and I reach up to touch his face, letting my fingers brush against his cheek and the prickling stubble on his jaw before I pull him down and capture his lips.

The room fills with the music our bodies make, a staccato of rhythms, sounds that amplify against my walls, heavy with our labored breaths and moans. Declan moves down, takes my lips, welcomes my tongue and I pull him closer, cupping his ass so that there isn’t any room between us, no space that will separate us in the slightest.

“Jaysus,” he says, overcome, resting his forehead against my chest. His movements become sloppy, jarring, but each one touches deep and I am again overwhelmed by a quick coil of fire, the electric hum of our bodies melding together, sending me over the edge, matching the curve of his spine, the shatter of his features as he explodes.

He lays on top of me and I can hear the quick race of his heart against my ear. “Beautiful,” I whisper.