His touches are soft, not like his usual display of dominance over me, and in this moment, I need the softness. So as I nestle my fingers into his thick hair, I move his head to look up at me and breathe, “Don’t tie me up. Not this time.”
He’s never not restrained me or been forceful in his touch, so when he gives me a nod, I’m a bit surprised. This is the first time he’s allowed me to touch him during sex, and in this moment of uncharacteristic fragility, I let my hands wander along the deep cut lines of his muscular body as it hovers over mine. We move at a relaxed pace, his hand skimming over every curve of my body.
When he positions himself between my legs, he holds his cock in his hand and runs the head of it up through my folds to my clit and slowly back down, saying, “I’m gonna make your heart beat,” as he pushes himself inside of me, filling me entirely as my eyes fall shut.
He fucks me with slow, deepening strokes. There’s no friction, no tension. It’s just the two of us moving in this tender rhythm.
“Open your eyes. Connect with me.”
I do, and he never takes his focus away from me. He’s never felt so real as he does right now, in this very moment. The collusion on my part festers guilt inside of me, but it shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be this live wire that I am right now, gripping on to the broad knots of muscle that run along his arms. I shouldn’t be feeling the pleasure that he’s slowly building to fruition inside of me. I shouldn’t be allowing him to do this to me, allowing me to do this to myself. It’s too ripe, too much life.
I’m getting lost between reality and fantasy, and I need to pull pack. I didn’t think Declan would be able to drive me so high like he’s doing, moving as slowly as he is, so I close my eyes in a weak attempt to fight it away. To fight away the foreign emotions that are brewing inside.
You will not feel.
You will not feel.
You will not feel.
“Oh, God,” I moan without any filter of control.
“Let yourself go with me,” he urges when he takes my hand in his, lacing his fingers with mine as I begin to tremble into a shattering explosion of colorless light.
Clinging my free arm around him, he never lets go of my hand. Holding him tightly against me, my body writhes and bows up into his as I ride out the wave of ecstasy, coming hard around his cock. When I look up at him, I see the grimace in his face as he continues to move inside of me and then pulls out.
“What are you doing?” I ask, knowing he didn’t come.
He lies on top of me, bracing himself on his elbows with his face over mine.
“Why?” I breathe out on an uneven whisper.
“Because that was for you.”
Don’t let yourself feel.
Don’t let yourself feel.
My cycle of words slowly dies inside of my tightening chest. The thickness of my throat makes it hard and painful to breathe, and I know he sees it when he gently squeezes my hand that he’s still holding and says, “Don’t hide. If you need to cry, it’s okay.”
Immediately, with his words, the liquid heat fills my eyes, blurring my vision of his face into a prismatic swirling of watercolors before they finally spill out and run down the sides of my face. He rolls us to our sides, never letting go of my hand, as I quietly weep into the warmth of his skin.
We stay in bed for most of the morning. Declan cooks us a late breakfast while I take a shower and get ready. The smell of eggs is in the air when I walk into the living area and over to Declan who’s standing over the stove.
“Smells good,” I say as I slide up next to him and watch as he folds the egg of the omelet over a mixture of tomatoes and spinach.
“You hungry?”
“Starved,” I answer before he leans down to give me a kiss filled with eagerness as his tongue invades my mouth. He doesn’t stop fucking my mouth with his until the scent of burning egg wafts through the air.
“Fuck,” he says, pulling the pan off the stove and onto the unlit burner, making me laugh as I move over and start opening and closing cabinets. “What are you looking for?”
“A mug.”
He walks over, opening the door to one of the cabinets and pulls down a mug for me, saying, “There’s coffee in the French press,” as he nods to the glass carafe on the counter.
“Thanks, but I prefer tea in the mornings.”
He smiles, and then gets the kettle on for me. While I wait for it to boil, I spot my purse lying on the foyer table, and when I pull my cell out, I have two missed calls from Bennett. When I look at the time, I count the hours and realize that it’s a little after eight in the evening for him. It’s not like me to miss his calls, but with this new turn of events, my mind has been elsewhere.
Knowing I have to call him and check in, I walk back over to the kitchen with my cell in my hand.
“I need to make a call. Would you mind if I stepped out?” I ask gently, careful not to rock the boat too much.
But he doesn’t give it a second thought when he responds, “Of course. My office is down that hall across the room,” as he points in the opposite direction of where his bedroom is.
“Thanks. I won’t be too long.”
Walking into his office, it’s nearly as large as his massive bedroom, with rich, wooden bookshelves that line the back wall and up to the ceiling. His desk sits in the middle of the room. A dignified piece of mahogany accented by a large, leather chair with antique brass nailhead trim. I don’t sit at his desk, perching instead on the tufted black leather Chesterfield sofa that sits over by the bookshelves. I take in the musk of rich leather and look around. Everything in this room is covered in Declan’s masculinity.
I quickly swipe the screen of my phone and call Bennett. He picks up, immediately saying, “Honey, I’ve been worried.”
“I’m so sorry. My phone was on silent and in my purse.”
“What have you been doing all morning?”
“Writing. I’ve been working on that article,” I lie. “Seems I’m not a natural. I’ve been cooped up in the office and lost track of time. I’m sorry I missed your call and made you worry.”
“I don’t want you to apologize. It’s fine. I just miss you, that’s all,” he says sweetly, not even questioning my deceit. Knowing how fooled I have both of these men makes me smile, and I play into the good feelings, returning the sweetness, “I miss you too. Tell me about your day.”
“I had to fire a couple men on the project. It’s been stressful.”
“What happened?”
“Deadlines weren’t being met by the contractor, oversights to code specifications, and other issues I’d rather not discuss right now,” he explains, the note of frustration and exhaustion evident in his voice.
“I wish I was there. I’m sorry you had such a rough day. Is there anything I can do on my end to help you with anything?”
“Just tell me how much you love me.”
“Bennett . . .” I say, leaving his name lingering between us.
“What, honey?” he murmurs softly.
“I miss you, and I love you so much. I hate it when you’re not here, when I don’t have you next to me. It’s . . .” I trail off when I realize Declan is standing in the double door entry to the room. His scowl is murderous as he glares at me from across the room, causing my spine to straighten as I sit up. He’s irate, there’s no doubt, but I’m playing my ace at this point. To one man, I’m his loving and devoted wife. And to the other, I’m an abused woman who’s trapped in a marriage to a terribly violent and powerful man.
Bennett pulls me back to him when he picks up my lost words and questions, “It’s what, honey?”
With my eyes on Declan, I answer my husband, “It’s lonely,” and my words aren’t taken well by Declan as I watch his jaw grind and then set.
“I feel it too,” he responds as I drop my head to avoid Declan’s scowl.