Page 27 of Declan's Hope

"Now," she said with more confidence than she felt as she reattached the shower head to the wall—turning the spray away from him—before reaching for his body wash. "Just relax."

"You don’t have to do this," he said low, his stare level with her belly. "I’m not so far gone I’ve forgotten how to wash myself."

"Let me do this for you," she murmured. "Please." His hands went from her waist to her ass. She couldn’t help her slight shimmy when his fingers dug into her flesh.

"Hope," he said on a groan, then let her go and dropped his head back against the tiled wall. His lids dropped again as she poured the pine-scented body wash into her palm and set the bottle aside. She smoothed the soap between her hands, then laid them on his shoulders.

His muscles bunched and tensed under her touch as she slowly stroked her soapy hands over his shoulders, then eased them over his arms, running them up and down before lingering at his thick wrists.

She needed more soap. So she grabbed it up again and poured a generous amount in her hand and put it back beside him. Declan’s chest heaved as his breathing grew more rapid. Could he be anticipating receiving her touch just as much as she anticipated giving it?

Hope didn’t look any further than where her hands worked over his body—how they trailed over his pecs, while marveling at the hard nipples under her palms and the slight smattering of hair. Without thought, she went to her knees as her hands coasted down over his clenching abs. He might have lost weight, but his body had stayed hard. She took a quick glance between his thighs.

And growing harder.

Holy crap. Focus, Hope, and not on that.

She distracted herself by grabbing the soap and squeezing a liberal amount into her palm, before setting it back down. The soap lathered between her rubbing hands before she placed them high on his muscled thighs.

His cock jerked.

Don’t look.

She had to get through this. And letting herself be mesmerized by that part of him didn’t help. So she let out a long breath and ran her hands over his hairy, tensing flesh, then over his knees to his calves, before going down to his big feet. She’d thoroughly soaped him.

All except for…

Hope finally let her gaze fully rest on that part of him she’d avoided dwelling on. Her breath caught.

Where should I start?

Tasting him sounded liked a good idea, although soap had begun to run over that part of him. But did she dare? The need to do it raked through her—a need that surprised her in its intensity. Above her, Declan's sawing breaths grew louder, and her gaze flicked up to his hard stare, then his parted mouth. She licked her lips remembering the taste of his kiss. She wanted that again.

His long, thick flesh curving up toward his belly jerked, pulling her focus. How would it feel having that part of him in her mouth? Having her tongue dance over it? But first she had to touch him. She lifted her hand and let her fingertips almost do just that, but then she hesitated and curled them into her palm.

"You’re going to be the death of me," he groaned. His stomach clenched with his next indrawn breath.

Heat flooded her—desire mixed with embarrassment at her lack of finesse. Could she make her lack of experience any more apparent? "I, uh, need more soap."

It appeared in front of her. So she held out her hand for him to pour a good amount into it. Then the bottled clattered to the floor.

"Please," he murmured while his hands went to her head.

She met his gaze again, her heart racing when his fingers tangled in her hair and urged her closer, while the blue held a different kind of desperation. She didn't let go of that all-consuming stare while her hand tentatively wrapped around him. Then she squeezed.

It wasn’t what she'd expected.

"God." A low, almost pained, moan left him on a whoosh of air, before his lids fluttered shut and his head knocked back against the wall again.

Hope’s hand stilled. She’d never touched a man this way before—not that she hadn't thought about it. But in all her imaginings, she hadn't realized what a heady experience it would be—knowing she held a man's pleasure in her hand. But she instinctively knew it wouldn’t be the same with any other man. He was the only man she ever wanted to touch or know in this intimate way.

Only Declan.

Long, slow strokes of her hand grew bolder as she learned the feel of him—soft skin with ridges and veins throbbing along the surface, covering a hardness that had her insides melting and her core growing wet. Her thumb brushed over the velvety head, the tip slick with something more than the soap that had long disappeared.

“Hope,“ he ground out. “You don’t know what you’re doing.“

Her hand stilled and she frowned at where she held him. “Am I doing it wrong?“ She raised her gaze to his face. From the flush of his cheeks and the way he heaved with each breath, she didn’t think so.

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