Page 229 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

Islide my hand around her waist, the other at her neck, guiding her down onto the couch like she’s something precious and mine.

Her legs wrap around me, pulling me into the heat of her body.

I kiss her like I need her to fucking breathe.

My hips grind down, the hard ridge of my cock sliding over the soaked heat of her pussy, our clothes doing jack shit to stop it.

This sweet, broken little sound escapes her and arches into me.

That fucking arch.

It guts me.

I’m so gone for her it’s not even funny.

I cup her ass, squeeze hard, drag her closer, grind where she needs it.

The way she moans—breathless, needy—makes my cock throb.

I could stay here all night, devouring her mouth, teasing her clit, but I want all of her.

I tear my mouth from hers, kiss down her neck, her collarbone.

Her fingers tangle in my hair, her legs tightening like she’s scared I’ll stop.

Not a fucking chance.

I kiss down her stomach, heat rolling off her skin.

I need to taste her. Not as a masked stranger. As me.

I hook my fingers in her leggings and panties and yank them down, freeing one trembling leg.

Her thighs fall open. No hesitation. No shame.

And the look on her face—Jesus.

Cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes heavy with lust.

It wrecks me.

Makes me feral.

I drop to my knees and spread her open, staring at the glistening pink of her like it’s the Holy fucking Grail.

Breathing deep, I lean in and lick her.

One slow stroke from her dripping entrance to her clit.

‘Declan.” Her back arches, and I clamp her thighs to keep her still.

I groan into her, nuzzling deeper, devouring her like it’s the first real meal I’ve ever had.

"You have to be quiet," I murmur, voice rough and full of wicked promises. "Can’t have anyone hearing how sweet you sound when you come."

She fists the cushion, covering her mouth to smother the sounds.

I lick her again—slow and teasing, flattening my tongue over her clit.

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