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“Yes,” I whisper, swallowing hard.
Declan cups my face, kisses me, and then flips me onto my stomach.
“So fucking gorgeous,” he groans, his hands skating down my spine and over my hips. “I want to watch your ass shake as I fuck you. Want to listen to you scream into the pillow as you squeeze my cock.”
I’m on my hands and knees for a moment before he takes my wrists and pins them behind my back, leaving my face pressed against the mattress. My pulse quickens for a moment at the lewdness of the position—and the vulnerability, with my ass up in the air and my back arched—until he presses himself inside me and takes me apart all over again in a completely new way.
Sex with the same man three times in an afternoon shouldn’t feel completely different each time, should it? Because it does feel like that. Each position is something new and mind blowing, and I can feel my entire body rock with each thrust as he starts to move.
“Look at you taking me so perfectly.” Declan sounds almost awed. “That feel good, Spitfire?”
“Yes. So fucking good.”
I nod, the movement hampered by my position, but he gets the message. His hips speed up, driving his cock into me over and over.
Anyone looking in on us—god, can anyone see us through the window now?—might be stunned by the force Declan’s using. I’m pressed down into the mattress as he fucks me hard from behind, steady and powerful and controlled. I don’t know how he knows my body so well after just one night almost a year ago. But I’m glad he does.
“Declan! Oh fuck!”
I press my mouth against the comforter, trying and failing to muffle my screams, overwhelmed by the tide rising inside me yet again, just as real as the tide that’s pushed and pulled by the whims of the moon.
“Fuck, I’m close.” Declan sounds almost angry. “You’ve wrecked me. Goddammit, I can usually last longer than this.”
I don’t have time to be smug about that admission, because I’m working up toward a climax myself, and that’s stealing my focus. Then Declan leans down, his large body molding over mine as his hand slips between my legs.
“Come with me,” he growls. “I need to feel it. Please. Let go for me. Please.”
Usually he’s nothing but commanding, and the sound of him begging hits me like a ton of bricks. I make a plaintive, hungry sound—and then he pinches my clit.
And I shatter.
I absolutely shatter.
My muscles seize up as pleasure surges through me like an electric current, and I’m dimly aware that Declan is coming with a shout behind me. He pumps in and out a few more times, and I clench around him, my eyes closed as I mewl and whimper.
There’s the strangest feeling that I’m floating, and it takes me several long minutes before I settle back down to earth. My head lolls back against Declan’s chest, and I suddenly realize that he has me in his arms and is trying to talk to me.
“Spitfire?”
“Huh?” I feel like my brain is outside of my skull, like I’m not completely back in my body yet from that mind-blowing orgasm.
“Are you okay?” Declan is asking.
“Mm.”
“Talk to me.”
I blink my eyes open, and turn in his arms. Declan is watching me, his gray eyes alight with concern and… smugness?
“Hi,” I say, and he snorts.
“Hi, yourself. I’m trying to ask if you’re okay.”
“Mm-hm.”
“Use your words.”
“I’m okay,” I say, but I’m also on the edge of sleep, vaguely aware that I’m going to be sore tomorrow but very aware that I’d do everything again immediately, given the opportunity.
