I obey without hesitation. There’s no fight left in me. Only need. Raw and blistering.
He steps closer, eyes dropping to where I’ve opened for him, and he lets out a low, filthy groan. His tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip like he’s savoring the thought of me on his tongue.
Like he’s starving.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “Look at you.”
The heat in his gaze is unbearable. Adoration. Possession.Craving.
And when he sinks to his knees, hands gliding up my thighs with a reverence that feels like a warning, I know I’m about to be ruined, again.
Just like he did on our wedding night—when he made me forget my own name.
This time, though, it’s different. I’m sober, yes. Fully compliant. But there’s something heavier in the air. A finality. Like this isn’t just about lust anymore. It’s about claiming. About taking back what never should’ve been ripped from him.
He grips my hips, dragging me to the edge of the island, and hooks one of my thighs over his shoulder. His palms skim down the backs of my legs, squeezing, owning, before sliding them apart, baring me completely.
His mouth is so close I can feel his breath against me—warm, teasing, full of intent.
But he doesn’t dive in. Not yet.
Instead, he presses a kiss to the inside of my knee. Soft. Reverent.
Then another, a little higher. And another.
Each kiss is a torment. His stubble brushes the sensitive skin of my inner thigh as he makes his slow ascent, taking his sweet, merciless time. I squirm, my hands gripping the marble, my breath hitching with every inch he climbs.
He nuzzles into me, tongue flicking out to trace the crease where thigh meets core. My hips jerk, and he chuckles low, devilish.
“So impatient,” he murmurs, lips brushing my skin.
Thenfinallyhe presses a kiss directly to my center. And my body answers him like it never forgot who my husband was.
Even after only one time.
He starts slow, his tongue parting me gently, lazily licking through my folds. Exploring. Teasing. Drawing circles around my clit but never quite touching it, driving me mad. My hips roll involuntarily, chasing more contact, but he just pins me down harder, groaning into me.
“Fuck, you taste like heaven,” he growls. “Like mine.”
Then he goes deeper.
His mouth wraps around my clit, and he sucks—firm and slow—before flicking his tongue in quick, maddening strokes.
My back arches. I cry out. His grip tightens around my thighs, holding me steady as he eats me like he’s starving, like it’s the first time and maybe the last.
I’m nearly seeing into another dimension, body strung so tight I could snap, when it hits me—He’s not just trying to make me come. He’s trying to make mestay.
To anchor me with pleasure so deep, so consuming, that I forget how to walk away.Or walk,if memory serves me correctly.
He slides two fingers inside me, stretching me just right. His tongue keeps working above, relentless and precise—circling, flicking, sucking with devastating rhythm. Curling. Stroking.Filling.
My thighs tremble. My breath shatters. I clutch the edge of the island so strong I feel like I could break it.
And all the while, he devours me like he’s got something to prove.
Because maybe he does.
“Declan! God!” I gasp, already teetering on the edge, every nerve in my body stretched thin.