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That look did more to me than anything he had touched yet.

He looked hungry. For me.

Not Megan. Not some nameless girl I had spent two years imagining in his bed.

Me.

I pushed up until I was propped up on my elbows. “Underwear too. Off.”

He obeyed instantly and I smiled.

“Do you just do what I say now? Am I the chief today?”

He didn’t answer, and my smile died as he straightened and I got a good look at him.

I had seen naked men before. On screens.

In pictures.

None of that had remotely prepared me for Declan standing naked beside my bed, huge everywhere and looking like the situation hurt him almost as much as he wanted it.

I shifted restlessly, sat up. That wasn’t enough. I scooted to the edge of the bed, saying, “Come closer.”

“Hazel,” he warned. “This will get out of hand if we keep going.”

I let his warm, low drawl wash over me, loved it.

“Closer,” I told him softly.

He moved closer, his hand going to cover his erection, enough to keep it from touching me directly.

I was sitting, he was standing, and his huge, hard dick was level with my collarbone.

We weren’t touching, but if he moved his hand we would be.

My eyes went to that hand and what it was trying and failing to contain. The sight of him touching himself did something to me.

I licked my lips. “Show it to me.”

His eyes closed briefly.

When they opened again, whatever restraint had survived this far was hanging by a thread.

With a ragged breath, he moved his hand. Not covering, but holding it slightly to the side so it wasn’t poking me.

“Grip it,” I told him.

His eyebrows lifted.

I lifted mine back.

He shifted back a bit and his big hand fisted around the thick base of his cock.

“Stroke it,” I told him.

He made a noise, a jumbled little groan of need as he obeyed.

“Keep going.”