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Without taking his gaze from mine, he pulls me up to my tiptoes. The blue in his eyes deepens to indigo. The pulse at his temple beats faster. The thought of kissing me is as much of a turn on for him as it is for me.
He dips his chin, and without closing his eyes, brushes his lips over mine. Soft. Almost adoring. And so romantic. Not words I ever thought I’d associate with this man. His eyelashes entwine with mine; his breath interlaces with mine. His hold around my waist is a heavy weight that seems to brand me. My thighs seem to melt, and my core heats up. I push into that thick column between his legs, and something flashes in his eyes. He deepens the kiss. I open my mouth.
We’re being watched by the media. Everyone is going to see just how much I am into him, but I can’t stop myself. He asks and I give. That’s the way it is. I can protest. I can put up a fight. He wants me to put up a fight. But we both know it’s only because it makes my final surrender so much sweeter. So much more arousing. So much more satisfying for both of us.
He sweeps his tongue over mine, kissing me with the kind of passion I've only dreamed about. The kind of desperation I sensed when he fucked me earlier. When he made me come so hard, I saw stars. And oh, god, I can’t wait to feel his hands on my body, his cock nestled inside me as he takes me again. My heart begins to race, and a thousand little fires seem to light up under my skin. His kiss deepens further until it feels like he’s consuming me. Branding his taste into my heart. Marking me with his scent, ensuring I’ll never feel the same again. Then, he tears his mouth from mine, his chest heaving, the pulse at his neck mirroring the agitation I feel inside me.
"How much do you love her, Declan?"
I blink, becoming aware of the flashlights still going off around us, lighting up his face until it feels like we’re in the path of a storm.
"Do you love her, Declan?"
"Yes," he says without taking his gaze of mine. "Yes, I do love her."
Wha—? Before I can formulate my question, he turns and nods his chin at the assembled group. "That’s all folks."
Instantly, the speed with which the flashbulbs go off intensifies.
"Look here, Declan."
"Here, Solene."
"One more picture, guys."
He threads his fingers through mine, turns and stalks into the boutique with me in tow. The door shuts behind us. I turn to find Rick taking a stance in front of it. Another of his security detail draws the blinds, shutting off the sights and sounds.
In the sudden silence, I sag against him. "Whoa, is it always that bad?"
"I’ve had worse, but I admit, the persistence of the reporters took me by surprise."
"They like the two of you together." Giorgina flounces in from wherever she’s been lying in wait. Harry puffs as he tries to catch up with her.
"It’s mayhem. They’re already uploading to social media sites—" He waves a phone at us.
"Later," Declan growls at the two of them.
"That was a success, and that kiss!" Giorgina fans herself. "You guys are going to be on the front page, dominating the headlines of all celebrity news blogs and tabloids. Of course, you know what you need to do, is shoot a follow up to your now ten million viewed post and, with him and—"
"Giorgina. I said. Later." Declan’s voice booms around the empty boutique.
She blinks, seems to shake herself from whatever PR fevered vision she was having and nods. "Of course. You two did a great job. Now go enjoy your reprieve." She blows us a kiss and walks off.
"Yes, you two were marvelous, you—"
Declan makes a growling sound deep in his throat. Harry pales—"I’ll uh, I’ll take myself out of here." He turns to leave, then glances at me. "I need you at the studio, recording the rest of the songs."
"Rest of the songs?" I blink.
"You had a taste of one going viral. The record labels are tripping over themselves to sign you up, and—"
"Harry—" Declan takes one step forward. "Leave."
Harry yelps, then turns and breaks into a jog. His body fat jiggles under his too tight jacket as he disappears around the corner that leads to the back exit.
"Finally, fuck." Declan releases my hand, then cracks his neck. He stalks over to the side and through a doorway. I follow him and find myself in a spacious room. There’s a floor-to-ceiling mirror in one corner. Next to it is a curtained entrance which must lead to a dressing room. On the other side is a row of dresses on a movable rail. He stalks over to a wet bar at the back of the room and pours a glass of whiskey for himself. He grabs a bottle of water and walks over to the couch facing the mirror.
"Did you mean that?" I burst out.
