“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.
This is Declan’s arcane display of his primal need to mark me before sending me back to my husband. He’s possessive and makes no apologies about it.
“Put your fingers in my mouth and then touch yourself,” he instructs and I do, pushing two of my fingers past his lips so he can wet them for me before I slip my hand between us and start rubbing my already slick bundle of nerves.
“Ohh, God,” I exhale.
“That’s it. Make yourself cream all over my cock.”
“Declan . . .”