by Christa Wick
Declan smacked her a second, sharper, time, his thrusting cock hitting harder and deeper inside her pussy. Neck arching in pleasure, she brought one hand up to her mouth, her fingers filling the wet cavern to keep from screaming out her pleasure.
Spreading her juices with his thumb, Declan returned to caressing her clit with soft strokes as her pussy choked and strangled on his cock.
"Again," she moaned around her fingers.
"You're not ready," he taunted, his touch against the swollen spine so light it almost seemed imagined.
The stroke of his cock inside her slowed, turned shallow, just the head that was threatening to tug its way out. Melanie started to squirm along the mattress, her hips showing her desperation for more of him.
SMACK
She jerked, cried out, her throat twisting around the memory of being filled by him.
Hard and swift, his cock slammed into her again, grinding, grinding, grinding.
Her mouth and throat stayed open, convulsing with the same squeezing contractions of her pussy.
SMACK
With a fast backstroke, Declan popped free then he slammed back in, filled her until he was hitting against the opening to her cervix, where he began to grind again. Round and round, breaking her down, fingers pinching her clit to the point she could no longer breathe.
She strained around him, against him, her body yearning for its own destruction and then it was upon her. She froze, only her feet moving, jerking left and right from the ankles down like those of a condemned woman at the end of a hangman's rope.
Declan splintered with her, his body seizing as his cock jerked inside her, spilling all of him into her before he collapsed on the bed.
Curling next to Melanie, he tugged the covers over them and draped his arm across her shoulder.
He caressed his nose against hers then pressed a short, soft kiss to her lips.
"Wow," she marveled, too much of her mind lost from the experience to put it into better words.
A sheepish smile shaped Declan's face, making him look boyish. "I guess I was still holding back a little before."
"Me, too," she confessed. Her head angled for another kiss. Her lips ghosted against his. "But now I'm ready for us to go wild together."
"Together," Declan agreed, pulling Melanie to him for another round of bliss that would stretch through until morning.
Epilogue
A gurgle of delight echoed off ancient stone walls in the English countryside.
"Shhh," a masculine voice cautioned. "You'll give us away."
From where she sat on the far side of Melanie's workbench, Camryn Goddard leaned back and glanced down the long hall.
"We can hear you," she laughed. "And now I can see you, too."
She stretched her arms out and made an excited "gimme" motion as Declan entered the room holding an infant swaddled in soft black linen threaded through with fine filaments of silver.
"Sorry," he said, sidestepping Cammie and zeroing in on where Melanie fussed with a vest draped over a male dress form. "The only reason she's not red faced and squalling is because I promised her a fresh nipple."
Melanie's cheeks flushed a dark crimson as Cammie descended into laughter.
"Give me a minute," she said, ignoring her husband's extended arms while she removed the pincushion strapped to her wrist and patted at her clothes to make sure she hadn't picked up any stray pins or needles while working.
"I wish I could watch Iola filming," Cammie said, her lips pushing out in a bright pink pout as she leaned over the worktable and caressed the top of the baby's head.
"I wish I could watch her filming," Melanie repeated. "But she's temperamental unless there's a closed set. She expects everyone to take their turn holding her. It's worse if my mom and Roger are on set. We can forget filming until she's had all the cuddles and a long nap."
Grabbing a shawl from the valet stand, Melanie flung half of the material over her shoulders and down her back then took her daughter in her arms. She headed toward a wide chaise lounge, Declan beating her to the spot and draping his long frame over the tufted velvet. He spread his legs, opening a pocket for her to sit in.
She clicked her tongue at him, her brain still in wardrobe mode. "You'll pick up lint."
He winked and pursed his lips in a kiss. "You can roll me later, beautiful."
Her cheeks flushed again. Almost two years married and he could still make her blush with the slightest suggestive twinkle in his eye.
Letting go of the argument with a happy sigh, she eased onto the chaise then into Declan's arms. Adjusting Iola and then her blouse, she offered the baby a nipple. As Iola latched on, Melanie brought the scarf's lightweight fabric to lay gently over the baby's head.
Cammie got up, her back to the scene for a few minutes as she looked at the elaborate headdress Declan would wear in the next scene. It was exactly as Melanie had sketched it almost three years ago in the screening room at the house in Los Angeles. Silver beads framed silver gossamer wings, partnered with real bird feathers of peacock and raven with tightly budded, blood black roses that had never bloomed.
Eyes misting, Melanie twisted her neck until she could look at Declan.
I love you, she mouthed.
He pressed his lips to her temple, his fingers stroking at her neck to relax away the threat of happy tears.
"Oh!" Cammie said, her body jerking once in an excited bounce. "I finally remembered to get it out of storage!"
Melanie's expression wrinkled as Cammie disappeared down the hallway.
"Did that make sense to you?" Declan asked, his lips against Melanie's ear.
"Not in the least," she answered.
The warm breath against her skin and Declan's gentle tone made her want to drift off to sleep. She'd been up before sunrise, Declan, too. She had the whole of wardrobe to run and Iola to get ready. He had his added role of director, which put him on the set at the same time the cameras and prop were getting set up, which was always too damn early.
It was the last week of filming and, physically, they were both hanging on by a thread at the end of each day.
"Is mommy getting sleepy?" he cooed as he left off toying with a thick strand of Melanie's hair to slide his hand beneath the scarf and stroke the back of his finger against Iola's cheek.
"I'm not the only one," Melanie said as the baby sleepily sucked at her lunch.
Cammie returned, trying and failing to tiptoe on the castle's stone flooring in her high heels.
"Is she awake?" she whispered, drawing near with her hand behind her back.
"Yes, but barely," Melanie confirmed. She angled her head, trying to see what Cammie was hiding. "That's not another gift, I hope. You can't have had any room in your suitcase for clothes as it is."
"Nope, just something I was supposed to return almost three years ago."
Bringing her hand forward, she held out a black baseball cap with a stylized red B at its front.
"Sorry," she blushed. "Things have a tendency to get misplaced when you move twice in two years. I could have sworn I'd gone through every box and bin in storage."
"No worries," Declan said, taking the cap. "There should be a black Sharpie in that vase on the worktable. Can you get it for me?"
Mouth puckering in confusion, Cammie complied with his request. Taking the pen, Declan wiggled behind Melanie and then she felt the brim of the cap against her back, his wrist moving against her shoulder blade.
Capping the pen, he handed it and the baseball hat to Cammie.
The blonde read what Declan had written, her mouth stretching in a broad smile as her eyes misted. Shoving the hat in Melanie's direction, she wiped a careful line beneath each eye to stop her mascara from smudging.
"Here, love," Declan said, taking the hat and holding it so that Melanie could see what he had just written.
Keep the cap,
I got the girl.
Declan Bain
##########THE END##########
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Pesky Legal Junk
Copyright © 2016 by Christa Wick
All persons and entities are fictional or fictitiously used. Not for sale to libraries. No lending outside distributor (e.g. Kindle/Nook) terms of service. Otherwise, re-distributing, lending, or reading this e-book without first purchasing a license to do so is illegal and subject to heavy fines.
