Текст книги "Bang"

Автор книги: E. K. Blair

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

You sure about that?

There’s no doubt. What about you?

I take a moment and think about how I want to respond to his question. I don’t want to be too blunt and just say yes.

I’m afraid.

Of what?

Afraid that you’ll hurt me.

Never.

Don’t say never because you’re very capable.

If you’re afraid, I’ll hold you.

And what if I freak out?

I’ll hold you tighter.

It’s now that I realize I have a huge smile splayed across my face that has been there for most of this conversation. Regardless of the truth as to what is going on, Declan is fun to talk to. He always has been. Despite the evil I’m playing and the lies I’ve told him, I feel like I have a friend. I’m playing him just as I am with Bennett, but I despise Bennett whereas Declan was never a person I had any disparaging feelings towards. The only fault is that he’s the unlucky bastard that fell for me.

You better have a good grip.

No one will ever hold you tighter.

I could stay up all night talking to you, but I have a date tomorrow morning that I cannot be late for.

Why’s that?

This time, I opt for sweet words over the flirty, tart ones I typically use with him.

He tends to worry about me when I run late. He gets upset. But I really like this guy, so I want to be sure that I’m rested and on time so that he knows I care about him enough to not cause him worry.

I adore you.

I ____ you.

10am?

10am. Night.

Night, darling.

When I make my way back into the bedroom, Bennett is still in the same position, sound asleep. It only takes a second for my ill feelings to return, so when I slip into bed, I roll to the side so I don’t have to look at him. And with my thoughts returning to the conversation I just had with Declan, I quickly ease myself to sleep.

“DID YOU HAVE any trouble finding it?” Declan asks as I step aboard his luxury performance yacht.

“Dock K. Slip 47. Just where you said she’d be,” I say with a shiver as the biting wind gusts off the water.

“Let’s go inside.”

I follow Declan into the saloon that’s fitted with a white, linen sofa and chairs that surround a large, wooden table.

“Quick tour?” he suggests as he takes my hand, and I give him an agreeing smile as he leads me through the galley and down the stairs. After showing me the starboard cabin and en-suite, along with the guest cabin and bathroom, he leads me down to the owner’s stateroom and master en-suite. The room is sleek with rich, cherry wood, a small seating area to the side, and a large bed in the center.

Declan doesn’t waste a second when he turns me in his arms and kisses me. Relaxing into the kiss, I let him move me to his liking, and when he finally pulls his tongue out of my mouth, I grin.

“What’s so funny?”

With jest, I say, “No conversation?”

Running his hands possessively down my neck and over my tits, he squeezes them in his hands before responding, “We’ll talk after I’ve had my cock inside you.”

He then grabs my hips, lifts me up, and tosses me on the bed. He climbs on top of me and between my legs with a breathy groan as I grab his face and kiss him again. Our lips crash, and we’re a blur of quick moving hands, fumbling off each other’s clothes. When he slips my shift dress over my head, tossing it aside, I know my shopping trip was worth it when his eyes flare as he takes in my French knickers and matching bra.

With both of us up on our knees, he pauses as his eyes roam over me, taking me in. It’s awkward to have a man look at me the way Declan does, with intense want and desire.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” he says softly, taking his hands and slowly running them down my ribs and stopping on my hips where he gently tugs the silk of my panties.

“Stop,” I whisper, wanting to deny his words.

“Stop what?”

“When you say things like that . . .” I start, dropping my head to break the intense eye contact, “it makes me uncomfortable.” I look back up into his eyes, adding, “I don’t know how to respond.”

“I don’t need any response, darling. But you shouldn’t be uncomfortable, not with me. I love looking at you. I love the way you look naked, your flawless, milky skin,” he says as he starts to slowly move his hands over me. “Your perfect tits,” he continues, unclasping my bra and slipping it down my arms. “Your pink nipples. It fucking makes me so hard when I see them tighten up just for me.” And then he covers my one bud with his mouth, sucking it in and swirling his tongue around before moving over to my other breast to do the same.

I run my fingers through his silky hair, and he lays me back. He begins to lightly trail the tips of his fingers down, over the swell of my breasts, and along the very sensitive skin of my abdomen, sending a shiver up my body.

“And then there’s this,” he says smooth and low as he hooks his fingers under the waist of my panties and slips them off. “Open your legs for me.”

I do, spreading them apart and exposing my bare pussy to him. As he watches me, he releases a guttural moan. He sits between my legs, and with his hands on my knees, taking in the sight of me, he says, “Touch yourself.”

Wetting my finger in my mouth, I keep my eyes on him as I reach down and slip it between my lips, dragging my slick arousal up to my clit and begin rubbing slow circles. I watch as Declan’s eyes dilate in molten, black lust. He shifts to remove his bottoms and then moves back between my bent knees before he takes himself in his hand and begins pumping his thick cock over me. The sight alone causes me to grow even wetter, which surprises me. I’ve always struggled in the past, but with Declan it’s different. My body always responds to him, even when I try to fight it.

“Dip your finger inside and give me a taste,” he demands, and I do, sinking my finger inside the heat of my pussy and then reaching up to offer it to him. He grabs ahold of my wrist and lowers his head, sucking my finger into his mouth. “Fuck, I need you.”

He leans over and grabs his discarded necktie.

“Do you trust me?” he asks as he looks down at me and I give him a nod.

I’m used to Declan’s need to restrain and control me. There’s only been that one time we had sex when I asked him not to that he didn’t, but that’s been the only time.

“Say it.”

“I trust you, Declan,” I tell him as he wraps the tie around my head, covering my eyes in a makeshift blindfold.

“Lift your head,” he whispers and then knots it in place, leaving me in darkness.

It’s now that I feel my heart begin to race. After spending most of my childhood locked in a darkened closet, I have been claustrophobic. I hear movement, and feel Declan getting off the bed, only to return a few seconds later.

“I’m going to tie you up, okay?” he says and I can feel the heat of his body above me as I lie here. He takes my hands and holds them together as I feel a prickly, coarse rope being looped around my wrists. As he continues to secure my wrists and tie me to the headboard, he tells me, “This is a natural fiber rope. It’s all I have, so if you fight the restraint you’ll hurt yourself. Understand?”

“Yes,” I respond and when he’s done I try adjusting my wrists, only to have the coarse fibers poke into my skin.

“I’ll be right back,” he says and then the bed shifts, followed by the click of the door closing.

He’s gone, and the darkness begins to consume me. The only noise I can hear is the lapping of the water against the boat. My wrists begin to rub against the brittle rope as I shift around. My breathing picks up, but soon becomes labored with my increasing heartbeat. Suddenly, I feel the room caving in on me, swallowing me up as the air grows thick. I plant my feet flat on the bed; I can’t seem to sit still anymore. And then I smell it. That familiar smell of Carl’s cigarettes.

“Declan?” I murmur, but all I hear now is the muffled TV on the other side of the closet door. Confusion begins to swarm, and my head grows unbearably turbulent with the increasing smell of cigarettes.

Fear and confusion take over when I realize I’m naked. Carl has never locked me up naked before, and I begin jerking my hands, trying to break free. My entire body goes numb and tingly as I start thrashing around, desperate to find light and escape. Nothing feels real as my head floats, and I hear the echoes of screaming. The pressure of the walls caving in on me is so heavy, collapsing on my chest. I struggle to breathe, yanking and jerking, doing everything I can in my sheer panic to get loose.

Someone grabs my hands, and light filters in. Opening my eyes, I realize the pressure on my chest is a man and the screams are coming from me. Tugging my arms violently to get away, I shriek, “Let me go!”

“Hold still, Nina. Calm down.”

Who the fuck is Nina and who is this guy? Where am I? Where’s Carl?

“Get off me!” I wail through my burning screams. As soon as my arms are free, I bolt, leaping quickly off the bed only to be tackled down.

“Nina, breathe!” the man shouts as he pins me in his grip. I struggle to fight my way off of his lap, but he keeps his firm hold on me from behind.

“Let go!”

“Breathe, baby. Please, just breathe.”

He holds me tight as he continues to talk, slowly bringing me back into my body. The fog in my head filters out, and I begin to remember where I am. Finding my way out of the tunnel I felt I was just in, reality appears, and I realize I must have been hallucinating. The pounding of my heart shakes me, and when I look down, I’m covered in blood, sparking another spike of panic.

“Oh my God.” My trembling voice is barely audible.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re okay,” Declan soothes.

“There’s blood.”

“Shhh, baby. It’s okay,” he whispers. “Just breathe with me.”

I slack into his arms, my back snug against his front, and focus on the rise and fall of his chest as I try to parallel my breathing with his. After a few moments, he lays me down as he sits over me.

I lie here, embarrassed about what just happened and the fact that Declan saw it. He reaches over to pull a blanket up, covering my exposed body. His eyes are heavy with worry as he looks over me. He takes my wrists in his hands, and that’s when I notice the source of all the blood.

“We should clean you up.” His words come out gentle. “There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom,” he tells me, and when I nod, he gets up to retrieve it.

I sit up, leaning my back against the headboard, wondering what the hell just happened. I used to have panic attacks like that back when I was a teenager, after I had run away. But that was so long ago. I feel numb, like I’m in a daze. Declan will surely question me about this, but I’m too disoriented to even stress about it.

He returns, sitting in front of me, and starts cleaning the blood from my hands and arms with a warm towel.

“Does it hurt?” he asks and I keep my focus on his hands as they tend to my abrasions.

I give a shake of my head, not wanting to speak right now, as he continues to clean and then bandage the cuts with a little gauze. Once he’s done, he sets everything aside and moves to sit next to me, cradling me against his chest.

He holds me for a few minutes before asking, “What happened?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Fuck, I’m the one who needs to be apologizing, not you. I should have never left you alone like that.”

“Where did you go?” I ask.

“To lock the door out to the cockpit,” he tells me, and then draws back to look down at me, running his hand through my hair, combing it back. “Tell me why you panicked.”

Taking a deep breath, I decide to just be honest with him aside from a few details. “I’m claustrophobic. I guess with the blindfold and not being able to move, I just . . . I felt like I was suffocating.”

“You looked at me as if you didn’t know who I was though.”

I close my eyes and sink back into his chest. “I don’t know. I felt like I was hallucinating.”

He kisses the top of my head, and when I look up at him, he plants another kiss on my forehead. The scruff on his face pricks my skin, and for a split second, it feels like my father. I close my eyes again, overwhelmed with the emotions that keep stacking up on me, and freely reveal, “Your stubble reminds me of my dad.”

He cuddles me up tighter as words start to fall from my lips without much thought as I tell him, “He used to always kiss my forehead the same way you do.” A few moments pass before I add, “I like that you do that.”

“Were the two of you close?”

The tightening of my throat makes it hurt to speak when I simply breathe out a trembling, “Yeah.”

I choke back the tears that threaten as he rests his cheek on the top of my head. Time is idle between us, and when I feel the wave of sadness creep away, I finally ask Declan, “Why do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Tie me up. Have you always done that to women?”

He moves his head from mine when I look up to see his face. He gives a nod and then turns his eyes to me.

“Why?”

“Control.”

“Will you talk to me about it?” I quietly ask, and his vulnerable words take me back when he admits, “I’ve never talked to anyone about it before.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s painful.” And I can see it written in the lines of his face.

I run my hand along his jaw, urging him to look at me when I ask, “Do you think you could tell me? Help me understand you better.”

The green in his eyes is bright, brighter than usual, a sign of the unshed tears that threaten him.

“Come closer to me,” he says and I do, nuzzling my head in the dip of the center of his chest. I listen to his heartbeat for a few seconds before he starts to speak. “My father used to travel a lot when I was younger. He always made sure I knew I was the man of the house and that it was my job as a man to take care of my mum. I always did. When I was fifteen, my dad had come here to the States on business. My mother was in the den, reading, while I was watching a movie in my parents’ room. The door was open, so I was able to see her curled up in my father’s old, leather chair he liked so much. She would always complain about how hideous it looked, but when he’d leave, it’s where she would always sit and read. She loved it but for some reason got a kick out of nagging my father about it.”

I laugh under my breath, and murmur, “Funny.”

“She was,” he responds. “She had so much life in her and never let the stresses get her down.” He takes a pause, and I can feel the muscles in his arms flex around me before he continues. “That night, I had fallen asleep on their bed when I heard a loud commotion that woke me up. My mother’s screams were terrifying, and when I lifted my head to look out into the den, I saw a man with a gun pointed to her head.”

That was the last thing I ever expected him to say, and when I look up, his jaw grinds down. Declan lowers his head to look at me, and I see the shame in his eyes as he says, “I was a coward.”

Shaking my head, I ask, “Why?”

“Because when I saw that gun, I crawled and hid under the bed.”

“Declan . . .”

“I could still see them though. My mum was crying and begging for her life while I did nothing to protect her. I didn’t even try to help her,” he reveals as tears rim his eyes. “I just laid there like a pussy, too scared to move, and watched as that man pulled the trigger and shot my mother in the head.”

“Jesus.”

Declan’s face is tight as he tries to keep his pain under control, but the glimmer of a tear finds its way down his face. I reach up and run my thumb along the wet trail as he watches me, and then out of nowhere, I feel the heat of my own tear as it falls. I realize in that moment that we share a similar pain. Both of our parents were murdered, taken away from us, and we never had a choice in the matter.

“I’m so sorry,” my heart whispers, because I genuinely feel his ache.

“That was my mum,” his voice cracks, “and I did nothing.”

“You were just a kid.”

He shakes his head, unwilling to accept that as an excuse, and I know enough to realize that no one would be able to convince him otherwise, so I don’t try.

“My father blames me for her death. He always has.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” I state firmly. “What if you had run to protect her and you were the one who got shot? Your mother would have suffered, mourning the loss of her only child. It’s a morbid thought, I know, but which would you prefer? A life of mourning or a quick death?”

He cradles my face in his hands, and I see his throat flex as he takes a hard swallow before he finally speaks, his voice holding only notes of seriousness, “I need control. I need to know that I hold the power so that nothing happens without my say. And with you, I’ve never felt like I needed that control more.”

I slip my hands over his as they remain on my face. “Things are going to happen, Declan. That’s the shit part of life, that we don’t get a say in anything.” The reality of these words prick at my heart, knowing the ugly truth all too well. “The world will never ask us what we want. It doesn’t care what we want. Bad things are going to happen, but it’ll never stop this world from spinning. And what happened to your mother . . . that had nothing to do with you.”

“I can rationalize that, but it feels like a lie,” he tells me.

“And what about your dad?”

“He reminds me every chance he gets that I’ll never be enough. That I failed as a man. So I’ve spent my whole life busting my ass to prove him wrong. But you were right.”

“About what?”

“What you said at the hotel that night. That I hate the name that owns me. You’re right. The fact that I fell right into my father’s business and didn’t create my own success, it’s just another piece of arson for him to use on me.”

“But Lotus is all yours. Your father doesn’t have a hand in it,” I remind him.

“He doesn’t need his hand in it to own entitlement. It shares the McKinnon name.”

“I need to tell you something,” I say, wanting him to be privy to the information I just found out about his dad. “Your father is looking to possibly invest with my husband’s company. Bennett is going to New York to meet with him and I’m going too.”

“When?”

“Later next week.”

I can tell that he’s pissed with the idea of mixing business with Bennett, and understandably so. He pulls me into his arms, tucking my head under his chin as he sits back, and lets go of a heavy sigh. “I want you far away from that man,” he grits.

“I know, but I also know him and what he’s capable of.”

His arms are tense around me as I nestle my head against his hard chest. “It fucking kills me to sit at home and wonder if he’s laying a hand on you. Do you have any idea what that does to me? I feel like a worthless bastard for sending you back to him.”

“Don’t. You’re not.”

He takes my hand and pulls it up to his lips and kisses the bandage around my wrist, before looking at me, saying, “I’m a bastard for this.”

“I should have told you when you blindfolded me that I was feeling panicky.”

“I need you to always be honest with me, especially during sex. It worries me that I could be hurting you.”

When I nod my head, he leans down and gives me a tender kiss, sucking gently on my bottom lip before pulling away. He keeps his head close, nose against mine, and with my eyes still closed, he breathes in a low rasp, “I love you.”

The tremolo of my heart excites me, to know that he’s feeling this way, but it also hurts, because he’s become someone I like. I hate that I’m about to destroy this person for my own benefit, but it needs to be done. I almost feel guilty knowing that he’s having these feelings for me that I don’t share, but that’s part of the game. That’s part of revenge. I’ve never felt bad for Bennett, but Declan is a good guy. It’s a shame that I have to do this to him, but I do.

I open my eyes and look into his, running my fingers behind his neck and up into his hair, giving the sentiment in return, only mine is laced in candied poison when I say, “I love you too.”

THE ABRASIONS ON my wrists healed quickly. Luckily Bennett had left for Miami the morning after my freak out, so I was able to hide my wrists from him for that one night by simply wearing one of his long-sleeved t-shirts and telling him that I was feeling sick. We always have sex before he goes out of town, but because he thought I wasn’t feeling well, I was able to keep the scabs hidden from him as we just cuddled together in bed.

I spent the few days he was gone with Declan. He continues to grow closer to me, opening up more and telling me about what it was like for him to grow up after his mother had died. His father treated him like a piece of shit, always belittling him, giving him a sense of worthlessness that he now overcompensates for in his aggressions.

I’ve met Cal on several occasions and have always thought him bastardly. But with everything Declan has told me, it makes my stomach turn knowing that I have to put on my good graces while in his company tonight. We arrived in New York two days ago, and even though Bennett has had a couple meetings with him, I haven’t been present.

Tonight, Cal has invited us to his home for dinner. So while Bennett was in meetings today, I spent my time shopping for a new dress to wear this evening. Nothing fancy, just a feminine, navy shift dress with a lace overlay that I have paired with nude pumps. Bennett looks his usual, wearing a tailored suit and tie, and when the door opens, a woman who can’t be much older than me greets us.

“Welcome,” she says warmly, looking polished in her ivory slacks and purple, silk top, the color making me cringe. Her raven hair is pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. “You must be Bennett and Nina. Thank you for joining us for dinner. Cal speaks highly of the both of you. I’m Camilla, by the way.”

Bennett shakes her hand and greets her with a kiss on the cheek before she extends her hand to me, which I take in a polite shake as we exchange pleasantries.

“This is a lovely home, Camilla,” I remark as we step into the foyer.

“Thank you. We just finished a remodel. For the past few months we’ve been living in a construction site,” she says in playful displeasure.

I snicker at her mock exasperation, and she turns to me with a smile and adds, “You have no idea how many filthy ass cracks I had to look at during the process.”

We both laugh at her crass words as she leads us through the impressive house.

“Cal, the Vanderwals are here,” she announces as we walk into a large home office which looks to double as a library as well, but I immediately stumble when I see Declan standing next to his father in front of the large, wood-burning fireplace.

“Bennett,” Cal calls out as he walks over to us, but my eyes remain locked on Declan.

What the fuck is he doing here?

My neck heats in anxiety, almost instantly, as I stand arm in arm with my husband. Declan’s eyes are dark as he looks at me with Bennett, and I give him the best “What the hell are you doing here?” look I can muster without drawing attention to myself.

“Nina,” Cal greets, snapping me out of my nonverbal exchange with his son, and when I turn my attention to the silver-haired man, I smile.

“Mr. McKinnon, it’s so good to see you again. It’s been far too long.”

“Enough formalities. Call me Cal and do an old man a favor,” he says, opening his arms to me for an embrace. As I give him a hug, I look over his shoulder to Declan who is taking a long sip out of his brandy glass. When Cal draws back with a pleased grin, he looks to Bennett, saying, “You’re one lucky man.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Bennett remarks. “She’s stunning.”

My eyes turn to Declan as my husband speaks his doting words. His face has a hard set to it as he begins to walk over, and in a powerful tone, he speaks to Bennett with his eyes remaining on me, “Entirely stunning. Yet somehow she married you.”

I narrow my eyes at him before he looks to Bennett. His jealousy, if he doesn’t get it under wraps, could ignite danger in this delicate situation, but Bennett takes it as manly banter and responds, “Indeed. Maybe it was a moment of weakness when she said yes to my proposal, which is why we married within months. I couldn’t risk losing her when she finally came to her senses.”

As awkward as it is, I have to keep the jig up as his wife, so I turn to him, laughing in false amusement, giving him a taste of the sass he enjoys so much. “Please, I had already figured you for another helpless man in need of a woman’s influence before we ever said our ‘I do’s.’”

“And yet you still married me,” he laughs.

“Smart woman,” Cal boasts.

“And why’s that?” I ask slyly.

“Well,” he starts as he steps towards Bennett, clapping his hand on to my husband’s shoulder, “most men only strive to be half of what he has become, and they still fail. I can only admire a man who works hard for everything he has. No handouts taken.”

I note the underlying passive aggressive statement. That he’s implying Declan is of the latter. His remark irritates me, and the need to speak up and defend the guy I feel is becoming a friend of mine pangs at me, so I snap in haste, “If nobody took those handouts, Cal, then everything would simply be left to die. Is that what you want to see? The death of everything you’ve worked so hard for? Or rather, you could take pride in the person who gives a shit enough to step in to ensure your dream continues to thrive. Seems you’ve got priorities a tad misappropriated and you should start respecting those that don’t follow in your macho do-for-yourself attitude.”

The look on Cal’s face is of priceless shock that I would speak so bluntly to him. The two of us just look at each other when Bennett finally speaks. “Honey—”

“Don’t,” I snap, interrupting him. “Don’t defend his way of thinking. It’s sophomoric.”

“You’ll have to excuse her. She’s a feisty one,” he remarks, trying to lighten the tension I just created.

When I look over to Declan, the air suddenly feels a little too thick to breathe.

“I can appreciate fire,” Cal responds, giving me a wink, which irks me.

“Camilla,” I say, turning my attention to her while she stands stoically at Cal’s side, keeping a tight lip this whole time. “Could you show me to the powder room?”

After she gives me directions to the restroom, I excuse myself from the group for a much needed breather. Closing the door behind me, I lean against it and drop my head. I’m not sure what I was thinking, making a fool out of myself back there for a guy that’s nothing more than a con to me.

“He’s more than a con,” the voice inside my head tells me. But the fact is, no matter how I identify with Declan, he is, at the end of the day, a con that I’m working. The fact that I can relate to him on certain levels isn’t ideal, but it doesn’t change the bottom line either. I need to pull my shit together, be the loving wife right now, and deal with Declan later. Preferably back in Chicago.

The turning of the door handle against my back causes me to startle and jump away.

“What the hell are you doing?” I seethe under my breath when Declan steps in, closing and locking the door behind him. “Why are you even here?”

He completely ignores my questioning and starts on his own, asking, “Why do you look at him like you do?”

“What?”

We keep our voices to a minimal whisper even though we are both hostile with inflection.

“The way you look at him, Nina. Don’t fucking pretend with me.”

“Declan, let me make this clear. He’s. My. Husband.”

He steps forward, caging me against the wall with his hands, eyes menacing, as he hisses through his Scottish brogue that’s growing heavier the more irate he becomes, “Don’t feed me shit right now. Tell me, how can you look at him like you do? That cocksucker fucking hits you.”

“Because if I treat him like shit, what the hell do you think is going to be my punishment?” And in my moment of rage, I spit out my next words, “I’ll give you a hint, the same thing you do when you punish me.”

And the dreadful look of remorse that takes over his face makes me instantly regret saying that. For implying that Declan would be a man of such a vile nature.

“I’m sorry,” I quickly recant, softening my tone. “I didn’t mean th—”

He covers my mouth with his hand, stopping my words, and I feel like shit for what I just inferred. He’s never touched me out of hate. I know Declan honestly cares about me, and I care about him. So when guilt fills his eyes, I grab his wrist and pull his hand away, whispering, “That was unjust. You’re nothing like him. I know that. I was just caught up and angry.”

“You’re right.”

“No, Declan. I’m wrong. You punish me out of love. It’s not the same. I’m sorry I implied it was,” I tell him. “You don’t hurt me like he does. With him, it’s nothing but fear, but with you . . . when I’m with you, it’s the only time I ever truly feel safe.”

“My mind is fucking with me here. Especially when I see the way you look at him. When I see the way he touches you. Do you have any idea what that shit does to me when all I want is you?”

Taking his face in my hands, I affirm with fervor, “I love you, Declan. You. Not him. He’s not a choice for me, you are.”

“Say it again.”

“I love you,” I lie. “Only you.”

“This can’t last forever, you know? Me on the side while I sit at home knowing you’re fucking that piece of shit.”

“I know. But right now . . . Declan, he’s in the other room. We have to go back. We can talk about this back in Chicago. He leaves for Dubai in a couple days.”

His lips collide with mine, taking me in an instant, filling my mouth with his tongue. He’s urgent and needy, hands on my tits, groping them firmly. I grip his shoulders when he presses his hips into me.

“You feel that? What you do to me?”

“Yes,” I breathe as he grinds his erection against me.

“Hike it up,” he demands, and I quickly grab the hem of my dress, pulling it up as he swiftly undoes his pants. With his hands firmly on my ass, he hoists me up against the wall, reaches between us, and yanks my panties to the side before thrusting his cock urgently inside of me. “So wet, baby. Always ready for me,” he grunts, and the truth of his words hurts as I wonder why my body betrays me like it does for him.

His overwhelming aura has my mind losing focus as he pounds into me, a beautifully brutal display of his love. With my arms tightly wrapped around his shoulders, I hang on, burying my head in the crook of his neck while he fucks me mercilessly against the wall. The small room is filled with our labored breaths and the familiar smell of our sex.