Page 32 of Declan's Hope

The nub under his tongue swelled and throbbed, while Hope’s movements had gone from sensual to frantic—the hands in his hair pulling so tightly he was fairly certain he’d lost some strands.

"I… I… Oh, god, I…" Her thighs clamped around his head as her lower body bowed up. "I’m so close," she panted out on a slight whimper. He sent his gaze up when her hands left his hair to find her palming her breasts and twisting her nipples. His cock pulsed at the sight.

She needed more. So he doubled his efforts at her clit while easing one finger inside her wet, clenching channel—then two.

"Shit," she cried out, a word he doubted fell from her lips often. Then he fucked her with them, twisting them around, then added the brush and slight press of his thumb against her puckered flesh below.

That was all it took.

"Declan," she screamed, bucking against him, her hands once more in his hair and hanging on tight. "Oh, my god!"

He loved how she fell apart for him.

He loved the taste of her passion on his lips.

He loved her.

* * *

Declan came awake to Hope wrapped around him. It was the best waking up moment of his life. He pressed his face into her tangled hair and smiled. This wasn’t something he’d ever thought would happen. He’d figured he’d never be lucky enough.

He laid back on his pillow and scrubbed his hand down his face, then grimaced when his fingers brushed over the scars surrounding his left eye. Or what used to be his left eye. He’d forgotten all about wearing the damned eyepatch.

He contemplated the woman sleeping so soundly beside him. Hope hadn’t seemed to care—or really even notice—at least not so far as he could tell. He grinned. She’d been otherwise involved.

A glint of light caught his attention and he focused on the corner of his bedroom where a steady, red flashing had set up.

"Gotta be Garrett this time," he mumbled. He didn’t want to leave his bed, but he’d also didn’t want Garrett wandering through the house and walking in on a naked Hope. Not that he would see anything, but it might embarrass her and he couldn’t have that happening.

"Son of a bitch." He carefully disentangled himself from Hope’s hold, then left the bed and padded across the room. He threw a glance behind him to make sure Hope continued to sleep while he cautiously opened one of his dresser drawers and pulled out a t-shirt and a pair of boxer briefs. He pulled them on before slipping from his bedroom and prowling down the hall to his kitchen. Garrett had better have a good explanation for being here.

A shadow moved in front of the window by his kitchen table before he flipped on the overhead light. He stepped into the kitchen and met the scowling gaze of one of his best friends. "What are you doing here?"

"Where’s Hope?" Garrett stalked toward him until he was in Declan’s face. "What did you do to her?"

Declan frowned and gave Garrett a once over—from his hard stare, to his tense shoulders, to the bunched muscles of his arms, then finally down to his fists clenching at his side. His friend’s body reminded him of a coiled snake ready to pounce. And he was pissed.

"Why should you care? You sent her to me." Then he goaded the bear. "What did you expect me to do with her?"

He should have anticipated the sock to the jaw that sent him staggering back into the trashcan. A week’s worth of garbage scattered across the floor as he grabbed the edge of the counter to keep from slipping on the remnants of mai fun noodles he’d had for lunch. He rubbed over his jaw with his free hand. It had honestly surprised him Garrett would hit him with that much force—on the injured side of his face, no less.

Garrett hadn’t pulled any punches—so to speak. And no way would he let the punch go unanswered. So he charged the man currently staring wide-eyed at his own fist, lowering his head just as he hit Garrett full-force with his shoulder and upper chest. Garrett let out a loud, "Mmmph," as Declan drove him back. Chairs clattered across the floor and the kitchen table upended when Declan slammed Garrett onto it. He hadn’t been his college’s star defensive back for nothing.

Then the table legs banged back against the tile as their momentum sent them rolling across the wooden surface before they fell over the other side and into chair.

"Shit," Garrett yelled as the chair flipped on top of them as they went to the floor, before his friend managed another punch to his mouth.

A free-for-all followed as they each grappled for the upper hand—both landing punches to faces, torsos, and backs as they rolled across the floor. Declan wrapped his arms tight around Garrett’s waist and managed to maneuver him underneath him.

"Let go." Garrett took in a gasping breath. "And get off me, you giant-ass fucker," he choked out. "I can’t breathe."

Declan held in a laugh and squeezed harder. Besides his time spent with Hope, this was the most normal—most alive—he’d felt in months. This was what he’d been—

"Have you two lost your ever-loving minds?"

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