Years of Almost Touching Sloane
# The Electric Touch The sight of her sprawled across my bed stole the air from my lungs. Sloane, my Sloane, with her brown hair fanned out on my pillow, looked like a daydream I’d finally been allowed to touch. The single lamp cast soft g
Chapter 1
The sight of her sprawled across my bed stole the air from my lungs. Sloane, my Sloane, with her brown hair fanned out on my pillow, looked like a daydream I’d finally been allowed to touch. The single lamp cast soft gold over her skin, highlighting the delicate line of her collarbone and the playful glint of her piercing. Her tattoos seemed to shift in the low light, stories etched into her skin I’d spent years wanting to read with my fingertips.
For years, it had been almost a ritual—a movie night ending with us tangled on the couch, a laugh shared too closely, a moment where the air would grow thick and sweet… and then someone would get a text, or the dog would bark, or we’d just… chicken out. The interruptions were a running joke, a wall we’d built together, brick by nervous brick.
But tonight, the silence in my bedroom was complete and deliberate. No phones. No plans. Just the heavy, expectant quiet between us.
She watched me from the bed, her head tilted, that faint dimple appearing beside her smile. “You’re just gonna stand there all night, Declan?” Her voice was a low tease, but her eyes held a vulnerability that mirrored the frantic beat of my own heart.
“Memorizing the view,” I said, my own voice sounding rough. “Making sure I don’t wake up.”
A soft laugh escaped her. “You’re awake. I’m here. No interruptions.”
Those words were the permission I needed. I crossed the room, the space between us feeling both infinite and impossibly small. I knelt on the edge of the bed, my gaze tracing the slim curve of her waist, the shy line of her hip peeking from under her shirt.
“All these years,” I murmured, my hand hovering just above her ankle. “All those almost-moments.”
She shivered, her playful sarcasm melting into something tender and open. “I was starting to think you were all talk.”
My first touch was a whisper. I let my fingers brush up the line of her calf, feeling the fine goosebumps rise in their wake. “Never just talk with you, Sloane.”
I shifted, settling beside her on the bed, our faces inches apart. The world narrowed to the space between our lips, to the warm puff of her breath mixing with mine. Her eyes, dark and wide, searched mine. No more jokes. No more waiting.
“Tell me,” she breathed, a quiet command wrapped in submission. “Tell me what you’ve been thinking. All this time.”
I leaned in, my lips finally, finally finding hers. It wasn’t a collision, but a homecoming—soft, full of a recognition so deep it ached. When I pulled back just enough to speak, my words were a vow against her mouth.
“I’ve been thinking about how your skin tastes right here,” I whispered, my thumb stroking the hinge of her jaw. “About how your breath hitches when you’re trying not to moan.” My hand slid under the hem of her shirt, skimming over the smooth plane of her stomach. She arched into the touch, a silent, beautiful surrender. “I’ve been thinking about doing this so, so slowly… that by the time I’m done, you won’t remember your own name.”
Her answering whimper was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard. The last wall crumbled. There was no more past, no more almosts. There was only now, this room, this woman, and the long, slow, tender unraveling of a desire we’d spent a lifetime carefully, patiently building.
Chapter 2
My hands slid under her shirt, pushing the soft fabric up and over her head. She helped, her arms lifting, and then it was gone, tossed to the floor. I took a moment just to look, my breath catching. In the lamplight, her skin was like poured honey, the ink on her ribs and the silver of her piercing drawing my eye.
“God, you’re beautiful,” I whispered, the words feeling utterly inadequate.
She smiled, that dimple flashing. “You’re staring again.”
“Can’t help it.” I leaned down, my lips finding the delicate skin just below her collarbone. She arched, a soft sigh escaping her. “Tell me to stop,” I murmured against her, my hands roaming down her sides to the waistband of her shorts.
“Never,” she breathed, her own fingers fumbling with the button of my jeans. “Your turn.”
I helped her, shucking my jeans and shirt until we were both just in our underwear. The heat of her body against mine was a live wire. I rolled, pulling her on top of me so she was straddling my hips. She looked down at me, her brown hair a messy curtain around her face, her expression a mix of awe and desire.
“Hi,” I said, grinning up at her.
She laughed, a breathy, happy sound. “Hi yourself.” She leaned down, kissing me slowly, deeply. When she pulled back, her eyes were dark. “So… all that talk. About doing things slowly.”
“Every word was a promise, Sloane.”
I shifted us again, guiding her onto her back. My mouth began a lazy trail down her body—the hollow of her throat, the swell of each breast, my tongue circling her piercing until she gasped. I kissed my way over the flat plane of her stomach, my fingers hooking into the lace of her panties.
“Lift for me,” I said, my voice rough.
She did, and I drew them down her legs, tossing them aside. Now she was completely bare to me, and the sight was almost overwhelming. I settled between her thighs, but didn’t touch her where she was most sensitive. Not yet. Instead, my hands began to knead the muscles of her inner thighs, feeling them tremble under my palms.
“Declan…” Her voice was a plea.
“I know,” I soothed, my thumbs stroking higher, ghosting along her damp folds but never giving her the pressure she craved. “I’ve got you. We have all night.”
I lowered my head, finally letting my tongue taste her. Her back bowed off the bed, a choked cry tearing from her throat. Her hands fisted in my hair, not pushing, just holding on.
“Is this what you thought about?” I asked, lifting my head just enough to speak, my breath hot against her.
“Yes,” she gasped. “God, yes. More.”
“Tell me,” I urged, my tongue circling her clit slowly, making her writhe. “Tell me what you pictured.”
“You,” she panted, her hips rolling helplessly. “Just like this. Taking your time… making me lose my mind.”
I gave her what she asked for, my mouth and hands working in a rhythm designed to unravel her completely. The room filled with the sound of her ragged breathing and soft, broken moans. I could feel her tension coiling tighter and tighter, a spring wound to its limit. Her thighs tightened around my head.
“I’m close,” she whimpered, her voice strained. “So close, Declan.”
I slowed, gentling my touch, letting the peak recede just enough to keep her hovering there, trembling on the edge. I kissed my way back up her body, settling beside her, pulling her tight against me. She was shaking, her skin slick with sweat.
“Not yet,” I murmured into her hair, holding her as the aftershocks of her near-release trembled through her. “We’re not done building this yet.”
Chapter 3
Her entire body went pliant in my arms, a shuddering sigh escaping her as the intense need receded just enough to leave her trembling. I held her there, skin to skin, our hearts hammering a frantic duet against each other’s ribs. The air was thick with the scent of her arousal and our shared heat, a heady perfume that made my own desire ache.
I didn’t speak. Words felt too small for the expanse of feeling between us. Instead, I let my hands continue their exploration, mapping the familiar yet newly sacred terrain of her body with a reverence that left her breathless. My palms smoothed over the curve of her shoulder, down the sensitive dip of her spine, memorizing the flutter of muscle under her skin. My lips followed, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses along her throat, her jaw, the shell of her ear.
Rolling her gently onto her stomach, I began a slow, deliberate massage of her back. My thumbs pressed into the tight cords of her shoulders, working out years of unspoken tension, of near-misses and guarded glances. She melted into the mattress with a low, grateful moan, her fingers clutching the sheets. I poured all the patience of our long friendship into my touch, kneading the firm swell of her ass, tracing the elegant line of her thighs until they fell open in silent invitation.
I kissed my way down her spine, my tongue tracing each vertebra, feeling her arch and press back against me. When I reached the small of her back, I hooked my fingers into the waistband of my own briefs and pushed them down, finally shedding the last barrier between us. The feel of my hard cock against her skin, hot and insistent, drew a sharp gasp from her.
Guiding her onto her side, I spooned her from behind, my body curling around hers. One arm wrapped securely under her breasts, holding her close, while my other hand slid down the plane of her stomach. My fingers found her wet and swollen, and I cupped her there, not moving, just letting her feel the solid heat of my palm against her most sensitive flesh. She ground back against me, a soft, broken sound tearing from her throat.
I nudged her thighs wider with my own, the head of my cock resting in the slick heat between them. I didn’t push forward, not yet. I just rocked against her, a slow, maddening glide that coated my length in her wetness. The friction was exquisite torture for us both. Her head fell back against my shoulder, her eyes closed, her lips parted on ragged breaths. Every nerve in my body screamed to sheath myself inside her, to finally claim what we had danced around for so long. But the fantasy was the extended foreplay, the unbearable, beautiful delay.
My hand moved from her breast to her throat, tilting her head back further so I could claim her mouth in a deep, consuming kiss. My fingers continued their lazy circles over her clit, the pressure just enough to make her hips jerk, but never enough to tip her over. I was playing her body like my favorite instrument, learning every note, every hitch of breath, every silent plea. We were suspended in the agonizing, perfect space before the fall, the electric promise of what was to come humming in the charged air between our joined skin. The night was ours, and this building wave of sensation was a vow I intended to honor until dawn.
Chapter 4
Her ragged breaths were a song against my lips, a beautiful, broken rhythm. I lifted my head from the crook of her neck, meeting her hazy, desperate gaze. My voice was a low rasp, thick with promise.
“I’m not done,” I whispered, my hand stilling its maddening circles over her slick heat. “I want to explore every inch of you with my mouth first. Every curve, every line.” I let my thumb drag through her wetness, making her gasp. “I’m going to trace every one of your tattoos with my tongue, learn the map of you by heart… and only then will I let myself inside.”
Her eyes widened, a shiver of pure anticipation rolling through her. “Jesus, Declan…”
“Tell me you want that,” I urged, my lips brushing her earlobe. “Tell me you want me to take my time.”
“Yes,” she moaned, her head thrashing back against the pillow. “Please. God, please.”
I kissed my way down her body with a renewed, worshipful purpose. My tongue found the first tattoo, a delicate series of vines curling around her ribcage. I traced the black lines slowly, feeling her muscles flutter beneath my mouth. She tasted of salt and skin and desire.
“This one,” I murmured against her ribs. “Where’s it from?”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “Portland. That trip… the one you couldn’t make.”
“I’m making up for it now,” I said, my mouth moving lower. My tongue swirled around the silver barbell of her piercing before lavishing attention on the swell of her breast, then venturing to the small constellation inked on the soft plane of her stomach. Her hands tangled in my hair, not guiding, just holding on for dear life as I worshipped her.
I shifted, moving down the bed, my hands spreading her thighs wider. My mouth hovered just above her core, my breath hot on her soaked skin. She whimpered, her hips lifting in a silent plea.
“Not yet,” I chided gently, my voice dark with affection. I kissed the inside of her thigh instead, right beside a bold, flowering tattoo. “This one’s my favorite.”
“Why?” she panted, her voice trembling.
“Because it’s here,” I said, my tongue following the curve of a petal. “And right now, it’s all mine.” I continued my deliberate path, kissing and licking every bit of ink I could find—the script on her ankle, the geometric shapes on her hip—each touch a vow, each taste a memory forged in the present. I was claiming all of her, the history on her skin and the trembling need in her body, making them part of our story.
By the time I finally returned to the heart of her, she was shaking, whispering my name like a prayer. I looked up the length of her body, meeting her glazed eyes. The tension between us was a live wire, humming and ready to spark.
“Now,” she begged, her back arching. “Please, now.”
I gave her one long, slow lick, drinking her in, before moving up her body. I settled between her thighs, the head of my cock nudging against her entrance. The feeling was almost unbearable—hot, silken pressure promising a home I’d dreamed of for years.
I caught her mouth in a deep kiss, sharing her own taste. “Ready?” I breathed against her lips.
Her answer was to wrap her legs around my waist and pull me closer, her eyes holding mine with a trust that stole my breath. “I’ve been ready for years.”
Chapter 5
Her gasp was a perfect, sharp sound of relief and surrender as I filled her. The heat and tightness of her body accepting mine was an electric shock of pure connection, a puzzle piece clicking home after years held separate. I pinned her wrists gently against the pillow above her head, threading my fingers through hers, anchoring us together. Her back arched, pressing her chest into mine, and I lowered my mouth to the silver barbell, circling it with my tongue before drawing the peak of her breast between my lips.
A ragged moan vibrated through her as I began to move, a slow, deep withdrawal followed by an even slower, fuller push. The rhythm was a languid claiming, each stroke a deliberate answer to every silent look and almost-touch we’d ever shared. I released her breast to murmur against the damp skin of her chest, my lips brushing her pounding heartbeat. “You’ve been waiting for this for years, haven’t you?”
Her answer was a wordless cry, her hips rising to meet my next thrust, her legs tightening around my waist. She turned her face into the crook of my arm, her breath hot and frantic against my skin. The playful sarcasm was utterly gone, burned away by a raw, submissive need that made my own control tremble.
I kept the pace agonizingly deliberate, changing the angle just enough to make her gasp each time I sank back in. My hands released her wrists to roam down her sides, gripping her hips to guide our rhythm, feeling the flex of her muscles as she moved with me. The room was filled with the sounds of our union—the soft, wet friction, the creak of the bed, our mingled, heavy breaths.
I kissed her again, deep and consuming, swallowing her whimpers. My hand slid between our joined bodies, my thumb finding her swollen clit. The touch made her whole body seize, a choked sob breaking from her throat as the sensations multiplied. I could feel the tension coiling impossibly tight within her, her inner muscles fluttering around my cock. I slowed my thrusts, gentling the pressure of my thumb, easing her back from the edge with a shuddering sigh. The peak was there, shimmering and close, but the night, and this long-awaited joining, was not yet done. I held us there, suspended in the exquisite, trembling ache of almost.
Chapter 6
My mouth left a searing trail up her spine, the taste of her salt and my own control slipping. I shifted, my hands leaving damp prints on her skin as I gently coaxed her. “Turn over for me, love.”
With a soft, breathless sigh of understanding, she rolled onto her stomach. The sight of her like that, my pillow beneath her cheek, her back a beautiful canvas of ink and tension, sent a primal current straight through me. I settled behind her, my hands finding the sweet, sharp curves of her hips, my grip possessive and sure. I leaned over her, my chest brushing her back, my lips against her ear.
“I have imagined this,” I whispered, the words a low, rough truth in the quiet room. “For years. Seeing you just like this. Knowing I could have you.”
She shuddered beneath me, a low whimper escaping into the pillow. “Show me,” she pleaded, her voice muffled but clear. “Please, Declan. Show me what you imagined.”
I positioned myself, the head of my cock nudging against her slick heat from this new, vulnerable angle. “I imagined you begging for it,” I murmured, applying the slightest pressure. “I imagined the sounds you’d make.” With one slow, inexorable motion, I pushed deep inside.
Her gasp was sharp, fractured, her back bowing as she took all of me. The angle was profound, raw, and she cried out, her fingers twisting violently in the sheets. “Oh, god… *yes*.”
“Tell me,” I demanded, beginning a slow, punishing rhythm, each deep stroke wringing a gasp from her lungs. My hands anchored her hips, keeping her right where I needed her. “Tell me what it feels like.”
“So… deep,” she panted, her face turned to the side, eyes squeezed shut. “I can feel you… everywhere.”
I drove into her again, losing a little more of my carefully held pace. “That’s the point, Sloane. I want to be everywhere. I want to be the only thing you *can* feel.” I leaned down, kissing the tattoo between her shoulder blades. “You’re mine. Finally. All mine.”
Her answer was a sobbing moan of agreement. The bed rocked with our building rhythm, a sacred, savage cadence. I felt the coil of her climax drawing tight again, her inner muscles fluttering desperately around me. I slowed, not stopping, but grinding deep, letting her feel the full, stretching fullness without the frantic peak.
“Not yet,” I breathed into her sweat-damp skin, my own body screaming in protest. “We’re not done building this yet.” I pulled her hips back harder against mine, a promise and a threat, holding us both in that exquisite, trembling space where every nerve was alive and begging for the fall.
Chapter 7
My hands, slick with sweat and urgency, slid from her hips. A low growl rumbled in my chest as I pulled out just enough to guide her onto her back. Her eyes flew open, wide and pleading, a silent question in the dark pools. I answered by capturing her wrists, my fingers wrapping firmly around the delicate bones, and pinning them into the pillow above her head.
My body covered hers, a full, crushing weight that made her gasp. “Look at me,” I commanded, my voice gravel.
Her gaze locked onto mine, all sarcasm incinerated, leaving only raw need. I claimed her mouth in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, a raw, possessive branding. She arched beneath me, a soft cry swallowed by my lips.
“Now,” I breathed against her mouth, aligning myself. “Now you get all of me.”
I pushed
Chapter 8
Her breath was a hot, ragged thing against my neck, her entire body arching as I held her pinned. My hand ached from the force of gripping her hip, my fingers surely leaving marks on that perfect, slim canvas. Each deep, claiming drive of my hips was met with a soft, punched-out sound from her lips.
“Tell me,” I growled again, my voice thick with a need that felt older than both of us.
Her eyes, wide and dark, never left mine. “You,” she gasped, the word breaking on a moan as I thrust harder. “Declan… I belong to you.”
“Say it again.” My demand was a rough whisper against her ear as I increased the pace, the slick, heated friction building to a fever pitch. The bedframe groaned in quiet protest.
“You,” she cried out, her head thrashing against the pillow, her wrists straining in my grip. “Only you. Always you.”
The raw submission in her voice, the complete absence of any guard, shattered my last shred of control. I released her wrists, my hand sliding down to cup her jaw, forcing her to look at me. “Look at me when you come,” I commanded, my rhythm becoming relentless, a driving force meant to carry us both over.
Her nails dug into my shoulders, her legs wrapping tighter around my waist, pulling me deeper. “Declan, I’m… please…”
“I’ve got you,” I promised, the words a vow. My own climax coiled tight at the base of my spine, a burning promise. “Let go. Come for me.”
A broken sob escaped her as she obeyed, her body seizing beneath mine in a wave of pure, shuddering release. The tight, rhythmic clenching of her around me was the final, exquisite trigger. With a final, deep thrust, I followed her, my own release tearing through me with a force that left my vision hazy.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of our shared, labored breathing and the frantic hammering of our hearts. I collapsed beside her, gently gathering her shaking form against my chest. I pressed a kiss to her damp temple, my lips lingering in the silence.
Her voice, when it came, was soft and utterly spent. “All those interruptions… they were so stupid.”
A breath of laughter shook my chest. “The stupidest.” I traced the line of her spine, feeling the quiet tremors still coursing through her. “No more almosts.”
She turned her face into my neck, her lips brushing my skin. “No more almosts,” she whispered, the words a tender seal on the promise.
Chapter 9
Her breathing had barely steadied when I felt my own need stir again—ferocious, insistent. I rolled us gently until Sloane was pressed beneath me once more, then slid my hands under her hips and flipped her onto her stomach. She gasped into the pillow, that sound soft and eager. I spread her thighs wider with my knees, settling between them as I kissed the tattooed curve of her shoulder blade.
"You're finally mine completely," I whispered against her skin, my voice raw with possession. My hands found her hips and gripped hard enough to anchor myself—and her. "Every interruption is gone. Nothing can stop this now."
She turned her head just enough to catch my gaze from the corner of her eye. "Declan…" It was half plea, half surrender.
I positioned myself at her entrance, slick and ready for me after our first claiming. With one slow thrust, I buried myself deep inside her pussy. She cried out into the mattress—a sound of pure relief and surrender—and I held there a moment, fully seated.
"You need this as much as I do," I growled against the nape of her neck. "Tell me."
Her reply came broken between heavy breaths. "Yes… I need it—need you—more than anything."
I began to move inside her in long deliberate strokes that made us both shake. My fingers left marks on the slim jut of her hips as I pulled her meeting every roll of my pelvis. I bent low over her spine to murmur further filthy honesty into the shell of her ear.
"Mine," was all I said then, letting the word sink into the sweat-damp space between us while our rhythm climbed toward another brink neither of us was ready to reach just yet.