My Runaway Groom's Billionaire Cousin

He carried her to the bed.

He laid her down on the black sheets like she was something precious.

He stripped off his clothes with impatient, jerky movements. When he stood over her, naked and magnificent, Blaire felt a spike of fear.

He was big. Intimidating.

She pulled the sheet up to her chin.

Declan paused. He saw her fear.

He climbed onto the bed, crawling over her on his hands and knees. He didn't touch her yet. He just hovered, caging her in.

"Scared?" he whispered.

"A little," she admitted.

"I won't hurt you," he promised. "I'll never hurt you."

He kissed her again, slower this time. He teased her lips, his hands exploring her body, mapping every curve.

When his hand moved lower, she flinched.

He stopped. He pulled back, looking at her with furrowed brows.

"Blaire?"

"I... I haven't..." She looked away, ashamed. "Jeffery and I... I wanted to wait. For the wedding."

Declan went still.

"You're a virgin?" he asked. His voice sounded strangled.

She nodded.

A look of pure, unadulterated triumph washed over his face. It was primal.

"He never touched you?" Declan asked, sounding like he couldn't believe his luck.

"No."

"Good," Declan growled. "Good."

He kissed her fiercely. "You're mine. Only mine."

He was gentle. Surprisingly, heartbreakingly gentle.

He prepared her slowly, whispering praise against her skin, telling her how beautiful she was, how perfect.

When he finally entered her, it hurt. She dug her nails into his shoulders.

"I know, baby, I know," he soothed, kissing away the tears that leaked from her eyes. "Breathe."

He waited until she relaxed. Then he began to move.

The pain faded, replaced by a pressure, a heat, a friction that made her toes curl.

"Declan," she gasped.

"Look at me," he commanded. "Watch me take you."

She opened her eyes. She watched him. The intensity in his face was beautiful.

They moved together, finding a rhythm. It was clumsy at first, then perfect.

When the climax hit her, it was like a white light exploding behind her eyelids. She screamed his name.

He followed her seconds later, collapsing on top of her, burying his face in her neck.

They lay there in the tangled sheets, panting, covered in sweat.

He rolled off, pulling her into his side. He kissed the top of her head.

"Mine," he whispered into the dark.

And for the first time in twenty-four hours, she didn't feel like arguing.