Inside his cabin, I headed straight for the bathroom. He sat outside of it on his bed and stripped off his bloody t-shirt. He groaned as he did it, probably pushing that thorn deeper inside of him as he twisted to get it off.
“I could have helped you with that,” I chided. Men. Sometimes they behaved like big, overgrown bears. I half expected him to take a swipe at me with his paw.
Now that I got a closer look at his back, I could tell it wasn’t a serious injury. He just needed someone to get the thorn out.
“Here goes.” I held my breath. The thorn was so big I didn’t need tweezers. I grasped it between my thumb and index finger, getting a good grip. He sat still as I gave it a fast pull. It came right out, clean and neat.
I exhaled. “You’ll be fine.”
“I knew that,” he replied like a petulant child.
I brought an alcohol-soaked gauze pad to the wound at the center of his back. He hissed and I knew it stung. “I suppose you could have taken care of all this yourself?”
He exhaled, relaxing under my ministrations. “Thank you,” he finally managed.
“There, was that so hard?” I asked.
“Yes.”
I took my time now, using a fresh gauze pad to make sure the whole area looked good. And so I could spend another few minutes touching him. His back looked so strong and broad, rippling with muscles. In the afternoon light I noted a few scars I hadn’t seen before. I traced them lightly with my fingers and asked, “How did you get these?”
Declan stiffened and stood up. “Get a Band-Aid. I need to get back to work.”
Hurt, I took my hands off of him and rifled through the First Aid kit. When I brought my hands back up to put on the bandage, my fingers were shaking. I got it on OK. Then Declan turned to me.
“Kara,” he murmured, bending down to bring his lips to mine. Searing heat shot through me and I kissed him back, so thrilled to now be in his arms. He stood up, kissing me as he carried me over to the couch. I protested, I wanted to stay on the bed with him.
“It’s safer,” he insisted. He sat down on the couch and brought me with him onto his lap. His chest bare, I ran my hands over his warm skin, up along his powerful shoulders, down on his ridged abdomen.
He groaned, “Kara.” His breath came harsh now, his body tense. “You should go.” His words told me to leave but he kept his hands on me, running along my waist, up my back, in my hair. He brought his lips to my throat, my chest. I twined my hands up into his hair, coaxing him on, wanting more.
“You shouldn’t be here with me,” he tried again, sounding frustrated. I didn’t care. I didn’t want to listen to any more of his reasons why we shouldn’t. I knew we should.
“Declan,” I murmured, urgent. Breathless, clinging, I straddled him.
His hands stroked me, my waist, my hips, my parted thighs. I moaned in response, leaning into his touch. He worshipped me, taking all of me in. “You’re so beautiful.” He stroked my skin as if mesmerizing me. He kissed me again, reassuring me with his touch as he caressed my inner thighs. “You’re perfect.” His tongue worked its wicked way down my throat.
I kissed him and brought my hands down his chest to slide along his lower abs, right to the edge of his waistband. I reached my hand down to the steel length against his soft jeans. His breath came out in a hiss. But then his hand grasped mine, circling my wrist, pulling it back behind me. Torturing me, he didn’t let me get to what I wanted.
Needy, I wrapped my thighs around his leg and hip, my legs bare, my short skirt riding up. I began to move against him in a slow, pulsing rhythm as we kissed. I brought my sex against him, writhing against his hardness, building my arousal.
Something inside of him snapped. He’d been touching and kissing me before, but he’d been holding back. Now, he kissed me so hard he stole my breath, crushing me to his bare chest with a growl.
Instead of pushing me away as he had been, he brought his hand down to my ass. I hissed in pleasure as he sank his fingers into my flesh, molding me against him, pressing me right where I needed it.
“Please,” I gasped, grinding onto his thigh. Reckless, I grabbed his hand. I brought it down right between my legs. “Declan.” Eyes closed, I panted. Thrusting against his hand, so needy, I lost all restraint, all pride. “Please touch me. I can’t take it anymore.”
With a deep groan, in a low, intimate voice, he repeated, “You want me to touch you, Kara?
“Yes!” I writhed against him, pushing my clit against his fingers. Uninhibited, my need overcame all shyness.
“Has anyone ever done that to you before, Kara?”
“No.” I twisted against him. “Please, Declan.”
Finally, he brought his thick finger to my panties. Slowly, gently, he stroked lightly against the fabric. Sopping wet, the cloth clung to my folds.
“My God,” he breathed, his voice sounding choked. “You’re so wet.”
“Yes,” I panted, pressing against his fingers. He kept them on the outside, out over my panties, but I started riding him, pushing against his fingers, hungry fo
r friction. “Please,” I begged. “Declan.”
He began to stroke me, still over the fabric, but the cloth molded to me, soaked in my own juices. He ran his finger up and down the outline of my sex, stopping at my swollen clit, then back down again.
I groaned, hands up on his shoulders, head thrown back, eyes half closed, mouth open with fast, needy breaths. He hadn’t even put his fingers against my skin yet.
Continuing, he asked, “Do you want my fingers in your pussy?”
“Yes,” I groaned.
Nothing ever felt as good as his finger sliding along my soaking panties, his knuckles, his fingers. Until he pushed the fabric to the side and touched me flesh to flesh.
“Kara,” he said, his voice hoarse and strained. He brought a finger to my slick, throbbing entrance. I panted, desperately wanting his touch. He slipped it in, gentle, slow. His moan almost undid me, the sound of a man finding paradise.
He began to stroke my slippery folds. “So wet for me,” he groaned. I pushed into him, wanting more. I tossed my head to the side, fisting my hand in the couch cushions, the other one clawing his back.
Worshiping me, he brought his fingers to my dripping petals. I groaned and melted into him. He worked me, sliding along my wet slit, back and forth. His long, strong fingers played me like music, building my arousal, my desire. I grabbed hold of his shoulders, my breathing coming in pants.
“I love watching you when I do this,” he whispered to me, his fingers deep in my sex. “And I loved watching you do this to yourself. Were you thinking about me, Kara, when you touched yourself on my bed?”
“Oh, yes, Declan,” I sighed, enjoying being caught, enjoying him making me admit it. Satisfaction laced through his voice, thick with pride. “I’m the one who makes you feel this way, aren’t I, Kara?” I was mewling now, little cries of need escaping my lips as I moved against him in rhythm. “No one else,” he continued as he rubbed my clit.
“No one else!” I cried out in agreement.
“Do you touch yourself at night, Kara?”