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Declan shifts his lower body so he’s lying directly beneath me. Then he unfastens his pants and lowers me atop him, rubbing his sex against mine through my panties till he’s groaning and I’m clawing at him.
I feel him palm his sex. “Ah, hell. I need a condom.”
I reach down and smile to find his steel-hard sex is weeping. “I adore this.” I paint the illicit slickness down his vein-striped shaft, making him rumble low in his throat. Then I drag a fingertip over his taut balls.
“Ohh, fuck…”
I smirk as I reach atop the coffee table, where I stashed a condom in a bowl. Declan’s jaw is taut, his eyes aglow with desire as I roll it over him.
“Someone’s randy when he drinks.”
I squeeze his thick tip, and he groans as if my touch is torture. I do it again. This time, he whimpers.
“Sit on my dick.” His eyelids slit open as I cup his balls. “Please…ride me.”
He’s so stiff, his condom-covered sex is lying near-flat on his chiseled belly. I pull it away, wrapping a hand partway around the base, and he groans loudly.
“Oh fuck. Finley, please. I wanna be inside you.”
I climb over him, my own sex piqued and dripping. I take just his tip inside. My legs tremble with need to stuff myself until I’m stretching.
“Oh God. Fucking hell, Finny.”
I sink slowly down atop him till I’m so full, for a moment I can’t get my legs to hold me.
He thrusts. “Oh fuck. I love you.”
Then he flips me over, thrusting with such force, he has to hold onto my arms to keep me locked in place beneath him.
Ten
Finley
For the first time in a week or two, we climb into the tub together after. I rub his feet, marveling at his flawless arches as he reclines with bubbles kissing his pecs and his head against the tub’s rim.
/> “This is how I found you—loafing, you’ll recall.”
I see a flash of dimples before he’s panting as I tour the pressure points on his foot.
Afterward, he gives me back as good as he got, rubbing my feet as I perch on the bed’s edge, wrapped in a towel and a blanket. He’s kneeling on the rug, and Baby’s looking at us both. I can’t help laughing.
“Do you want to throw something? Er, pottery…” I laugh.
He stands, looking tired. “How about I watch you?”
“Of course. If you’d like to.”
A while later, I cast a glance from my hands to his face and find he’s nodded off, standing with his broad back against the home’s external wall. His cheek is on his shoulder.
“Declan,” I whisper. His eyes peel open.
“Dearest. Go inside and rest.”
When I finish, though, I find him knitting on the couch.
“Who is it for?” I inquire coyly.
“Who do you think?” I can’t see his eyes. They’re focused on his hands and my bamboo needles.
