Every muscle in my body tightens in spasms of euphoria, bucking my hips into Declan, greedy to keep the pleasure going. And then I feel his release. He soaks my finger that’s still inside of me, fucking myself while he fills me up. I don’t stop moving as his cum seeps out of me, running down my hand.
His teeth grit as he keeps his eyes on me the whole time, and I watch him grunt in pleasure through the shatters of light that fracture my vision into a thousand prismatic flakes of pure ecstasy.
When our bodies slow, he lets go of my neck, and my head falls to his shoulder as I allow my body to slack against his. He holds me for a moment while our hearts calm and we catch our breath.
I wish for frozen time, forgotten sins, and never-ending love.
But I know this isn’t love on his part. I’m not sure what it is, but I know it isn’t that. I want it to be though, so I keep my head tucked into the crook of his neck, scared to move, because I know the moment I do, reality will resume, and his loathing for me will continue.
I wrap my legs tighter around him, wanting to prolong having him nestled inside of me, but my attempt at pushing time away doesn’t last. When I feel Declan pulling out of me, I slip my finger out and wrap my hand around his still hardened cock. But he doesn’t allow the contact, taking my wrist and forcing me to let go.
With my feet steady on the ground, I watch as he shoves himself back into his pants. He doesn’t utter a word, and his eyes are no longer on me. And then he’s gone, turning his back and walking away from me, leaving me with my pants down, covered in his cum, in the bitter cold.
Maybe I should feel used and dirty. Maybe I should hate him. Maybe I should give up and be done. But my heart won’t let me. Because in the end, I know I’ll always want him any way I can get him.
I’m an epicurean for his pain.
He’s my sadist, and I’m his masochist.
We’re the reflection of each other’s monsters.
I HAVEN’T SEEN Declan since he walked away from me, leaving me alone in the cold earlier today. But I haven’t been looking for him either. I’ve spent most of the day roaming around the house, taking in the history, the artwork, and exploring the books in the library.
And now, as I lie on the chaise here in the atrium at the back of the house, I gaze up at the black velvet sky peppered with stars through the glass structure. With civilization sparse and the lack of clouds, you can see every star in the sky. Thousands of them, glittering in the obsidian of night, each holding wishes from foolish people and hopeful children. And I can’t help myself when I throw my own up to a few of them tonight.
The house is dark, the only noise coming from the wind as it whistles through the bare trees. And with Declan’s constant push and pull, he reminds me of the wind. It blows, wrapping itself around me, but as soon as I feel it, it’s gone. It’s uncatchable, unstoppable, uncontrollable, and as much as I want Declan, all I’m really doing is chasing the wind.
I turn my head to the shadow of Declan who stands in the open doorway. He wears only his long pajama bottoms that hang low on his hips. A warmth surges through me as I admire the deep cuts of his abs and the defined muscles that rope his broad shoulders and arms. He’s so beautiful that it pains me to look at him, but I can’t stop myself.
“Are you okay?” he says after a long span of silence.
I nod, but it’s a lie. I’m not okay. He fucked me like an animal and left me in the cold. One minute he’s caring and sweet, and the next, he’s transformed—angry and silent, completely shut down and wanting nothing to do with me. And now, here he is, and I wonder what version I’m going to get.
He walks into the room, and I keep my eyes on him as he moves with ease.
“What are you doing out here? Aren’t you freezing?”
“I like the cold,” I tell him.
“I know you do.”
His words make me want to smile, but I refrain. Moving closer, he then sits next to me on the chaise.
“Where’ve you been all day?” I ask.
“In my office. I came looking for you because I have to leave tomorrow for London.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll be gone for just a couple of days.”
“What’s in London?”
“Business,” he answers, offering no further insight, so I inquire, “Another hotel?”
“Yes. I recently closed on the land. I’m meeting a few different architects tomorrow that I could potentially hire.”
“That’s really exciting.” And when I sit up, I ask, “When will you be taking me back to Isla’s?”
“I won’t,” he says evenly. “I would prefer if you stayed here where I can keep an eye on you.”
“An eye on me?”
He then looks away and nods his head in the direction of a small camera that’s attached to one of the steel beams that connects the panes of glass.
“They’re in all the rooms,” he states, and it makes sense that he would have that level of security in a home this massive.
“Declan,” I hesitate, feeling awkward about staying here while he’s away.
“I don’t trust you at Isla’s. Twice I’ve walked in on you hurting yourself.”
“But it feels weird to be here if you’re not.”
“You don’t like it here?” he asks, and I instantly respond, “No, it isn’t that. I do like it here. It’s just . . . ”