Flamebound A Lone Star Witch No(55)

“What’s wrong?”

When his lids lift again, his eyes are midnight black, and I swear I can see small flames flickering in their depths.

“I need to hear you say it,” he tells me in a voice that is all smooth whiskey and starry nights. “I need to know I’m not influencing you, that all this heat isn’t just the soulbound thing at work.” He takes a deep breath. “Do you want me, Xandra?”

His restraint makes no sense, not when we’ve made love dozens of times in the last week and a half. And yet it makes perfect sense, because Declan will never take anything from me that he isn’t sure I want to give. Our fight obviously shook him up, too.

Wanting to erase the doubt I can see in his beautiful face, I reach for him and wrap my hand around his neck. I tug until his mouth is only inches from mine.

“I want this, want you, more than I want my next breath. More than I’ve ever wanted anyone or anything in my life.

“Kiss me.” I brush his lips with mine.

“Take me.” I stand, rub my body against his.

“Love m—”

His mouth crushes down on mine before I can say another word, and then he’s lifting me up, grinding himself against the very center of me. I moan, wrap my legs around his back for better access. Scratch my nails gently down his back.

He mutters a curse against my lips, something dark and dirty and oh so sexy. Then he’s turning, backing us up against my office wall. Thrusting against me until I feel like I’m going to lose my mind if I can’t feel him hot and hard and naked against me. Inside me.

I fumble with his shirt, desperate to pull it over his head. But his hands are in my hair, on my breasts, and he won’t let go long enough for me to get the damn thing off.

“Please,” I tell him, arching my back in a desperate need to get closer, to feel the heavy weight of his body against my own.

A flick of his hand and the shirt is gone. And so are the rest of our clothes.

“I’m beginning to really like that trick,” I murmur against his mouth.

He grins, though he doesn’t stop kissing me, even for a moment. “Me, too.” Then he’s reaching between us, his fingers stroking around and over my clit before dipping down to test my readiness.

“Fuck. You’re so tight. So hot.”

“So ready for you,” I tell him, hitching my legs a little tighter around his waist. “Please, Declan, don’t make me wait. I need you.”

“I thought you liked foreplay?” he whispers as he trails hot kisses over my cheek, down my jaw.

“Fuck foreplay!”

I feel his grin against my neck. “I’d rather fuck you.”

And then he does, slipping inside me so easily, so perfectly. This is what it means to be meant for someone, this glorious, wonderful, perfect fit. Not just in our bodies, but in our souls. I can feel his dark, wild spirit tangling with my own, the connection between us locking more tightly into place with each breath we take. With each slide of his body into mine.

I turn my face away, but his hand comes up, grasps my chin. “Look at me, Xandra. Please. Look at me.”

I do, because I can’t say no to him. Not when he uses that gravelly deep voice of his. And not when every moment, every movement, fuses our souls more deeply together. My eyes lock on his, and in their depths I see the same joy and terror that I know he can see in mine.

I’ve never felt more vulnerable in my life, and there’s a voice, deep inside me, that’s urging me to look away. To hold myself back. Not to give him everything when our future is still so uncertain.

I ignore it, shove it back down as pleasure races up my spine and nearly overwhelms me with its intensity. Because no matter what pain the future brings, no matter what danger or disaster is waiting for us, this connection between us is completely and utterly worth it.

I love you.

The words tremble in my soul, hover on my lips. But before I can say them, before I can give him the reassurance we both so desperately need, Declan slams his mouth down on mine. He strokes one thumb over my nipple, another over my clit. And with a final thrust of his hips, he sends me hurtling over the edge into a climax so electric it’s like magic itself.





Seventeen





Once we can both breathe again, I expect Declan to lower me to the ground. I’m not sure my legs will support me after that, but I’m willing to give it the old college try. Only Declan doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even pull out of me. Instead, he just leans against me, eyes closed, forehead pressed to mine, and just breathes.

“Am I too heavy?” he finally, reluctantly, asks.

I tighten my arms around his shoulders. “You’re perfect.”