Bang

  “You’re obscene,” I tease with a grin and then pull the sheet up to cover me, but he yanks it away.

  “Don’t cover yourself; you’re too beautiful.”

  “What about you? You expect me to be naked while you’re fully clothed?” I argue weakly with a smile.

  Dropping the ice pack onto the pillow, he stands beside the bed and looks down at me, saying, “You want me naked?” and when I nod, biting my lip, he tells me, “Then undress me.”

  “Now, not only are you obscene, but obnoxious.”

  “You love it,” he states with a devious smirk.

  “Mmm . . . maybe.”

  “Say it. Tell me you love it,” he urges.

  “No,” I squeak out in laughter, and with a stern tone, he retorts, “Don’t ever tell me no.”

  “No,” I repeat with a flirty wink.

  He crawls back into bed and over the top of me with a sexy growl. “Bad girl.”

  “I thought I was a good girl?”

  “Only when you listen well,” he responds as he lies next to me. “Come closer. Wrap yourself on me.”

  And I do, rolling over, draping my arm across his chest and wrapping my leg around him as he bands his arms around me.

  “You feel so good like this,” he releases on a heavy sigh.

  “Like what?”

  “Covering me like you want me.”

  “You think I want you?”

  “I can’t seem to figure out what you want,” he exhales. “I hate that you won’t let me inside your head.”

  I don’t respond to his statement as we continue to hold each other, and after a while, he breaks the silence, saying, “Why do you hide yourself from me?”

  “Does it look like I’m hiding from you?” I tease with a grin as I lie here naked.

  With a straight face, he lays his hand over my heart and says, “You’re hiding this from me.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I can see glimpses of it at times. Of whatever pain is inside. Do you ever let yourself feel that? The pain?”

  “Why would anyone want to feel pain?” I whisper. “Showing that exposes vulnerability, and vulnerability is your soul’s weakness.”

  “People are weak, Nina. It’s just fact.”

  “I don’t want to be weak.”

  “You’re only human,” he says. “You bleed like everyone else, but you hide it.”

  “And what about you? You like to control nearly every facet of your life. You wouldn’t do that if you weren’t attempting to bury something.”

  “You’re right,” he willingly admits. “I need control to deal with pain, but trust me when I tell you this, I feel that pain. I can temper it, but it’s always there.” And then he hits my one tender spot when he asks, “You miss your parents?” and everything inside of me runs towards my dad.

  “Yeah,” I whisper on a pained breath as I feel my father’s presence ache inside of my chest. And when the tears prick and my nose tingles, I close my eyes.

  Declan sees right through me though. “Open your eyes.”

  But I don’t.

  I keep them closed, saying with honesty, “You want me to show you my pain, but I don’t know how to do that,” and when I open my eyes, the tears spill out.

  “You’re doing it right now.”

  Pointing at my dampened cheeks, I state, “This is weakness.”

  With his hands cradling my head, he contradicts my words, saying, “This . . . this is strength,” before licking the salt of my pain.

  I hold on to his wrists as he rests his head against mine in this soft moment. I feel like I use Declan so much for this, for this comfort I’ve never really had before. He gives it in a way that’s different from Pike, and it feels good. Peaceful. I know my time is limited with Declan, so I might as well take what I can while I have him.

  And in an unusual reaction for me, I reach down to the hem of his shirt and lift it up, peeling it away and dropping it to the floor. He takes my face in his large hands again and holds me still as he looks down at me, and I swear he can see inside of me.

  I begin to unbutton his pants, and when he’s finally naked with me, he drops his head to my chest, grazing the stubble of his jaw lightly over my nipple. The friction is replaced with the smooth softness of his tongue. I feel it between my legs when he sucks the pert bud into his mouth as he continues to caress me with his tongue.

  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.

  Needing to end the call before Declan loses his shit on me, I say, “Honey, can we talk later?”

  “Yeah, no problem. I’m actually in the car with Baldwin. We are meeting the project manager and one of his architects for dinner.”

  “Okay, well, I hope you have a good evening. I’ll call you later tonight before I go to bed.”

  “I love you.”

  With my head still down, I return his words, “I love you too, Bennett.”

  When I hang up, I slowly raise my eyes to see Declan walking towards me. He stands in front of me as I look up at him, but he doesn’t sit, he just exudes his authority while staring down at me, jaw still locked.

  “Dec—”

  “Don’t talk,” he snaps, cutting me off, but I don’t take his order when I state softy, “He’s still my husband.”

  “And those words you said to him?”

  “They’re just words,” I whisper in a mock cowardly tone.

  “You miss him?” he asks, keeping his words clipped and tight.

  “No.”

  “You love him?”

  “No.”

  “Are you lonely?”

  “No,” I tell him firmly.

  His tension looms as he stands here, unmoving as time passes in silence. He eventually breaks it when his rough voice admits, “I want to punish you for calling that dickfuck in my home, but . . .”

  His voice trails as he closes his eyes and puffs out a hard breath through his nose, his lips pressed firmly together. I give him a moment and then he slowly shakes his head as he drops down to his knees in front of me. His hands grip my hips and his head falls to my knees before he looks up, but he isn’t looking into my eyes; he’s looking at my bruises.

  I open my mouth to speak at the same time he does, but I let him go first.

  “You have no idea how hard it is for me to keep my shit under control, knowing what’s going on. And then finding you in here, talking to him . . . I wanna throw my fist into the fucking wall.” He takes his hand and cups the side of my tender face. “But then I look at this,” he says, referring to the bruises, “and I’m afraid I’ll scare you.”

  “I don’t scare that easily,” I breathe.

  “I think you lie about that. I think you want me to believe that. Maybe even you want to believe that, but it’s all a lie. It’s you . . . trying to convince yourself.”

  I take a hard swallow, nervous, that even through all my shit, he seems to read me pretty damn well. As much as I want to deny what he’s saying, if you cut me deep enough, I believe there’s truth to how he sees me. I hate that about him.

  “I want you,” he states matter-of-factly, and I nod. “I can’t refute my feelings, even though a part of me wants to because I know I can’t have you, but I want you. I want to have you, I want you mine, I want to own you.”

  Closing my eyes, I rest my forehead against his as my body slacks forward. Declan holds me, adding, “I want all of you, and it fucking hurts to know I can’t have that. But I don’t want to stay away from you either.”

  “I don’t know what to do because . . .”

  “What, baby?”

  I draw my head back slightly to look at him when I explain, “There’s a reason we got married so quickly. I didn’t see it at the time, but . . . shortly after we were married I saw his obsession with me.” I urge on the emotion when I feel the constricting of my throat. My words strain as I say, “He’ll never let me go. And if he knew about you, he’d ruin you. He’s powerful enough to do that.”

  “Let him ruin me.”

  “But it’s me,” I tell him on shaky words.

  He peers his worried eyes into me, and I choke back a faint whimper, when he asks, “W
hat are you afraid of?”

  I take a pause before finally speaking the words that bring a flare of protectiveness to his eyes.

  “He’ll kill me.”

  DECLAN WAS BEYOND furious about me coming back home yesterday. I’ve spent the better part of the last two weeks staying at his place, only coming home a couple of times when I knew Clara would be here. I made my case to him though, making it clear that it has to be this way and that Bennett could never know about us. Spending as much time together as we have been, I see Declan falling hard for me. He’s honest about how he feels about me and us and makes no apologies about it. For a man who exercises his power and authority, not only with me but with nearly everyone I see him come in contact with, he masks a vulnerability that I can see him trying to hide.

  The bruises on my face were pretty much nonexistent when Bennett arrived home this morning. We spent hours in bed together, making up for the two weeks he was away. He wasn’t happy when I had to leave to drop off my article that I was able to finish on the days Declan went to work, leaving me with nothing but time while I hid out at his place. It’s not like I could really go out with my face looking as bad as it did. But Bennett understood, and even suggested that I take a little time for myself since he was starting to feel the jet lag of the nine-hour time difference from Dubai.

  While Bennett’s at home, Baldwin takes me over to North Michigan Avenue where I spend most of the day strolling in and out of the various stores, doing some much-needed shopping. I stop by Neiman’s to pick out a few dress shirts for Bennett and a couple of ties. Before calling Baldwin to return with the car, I decide to make one last stop. Bearing the single digit temperatures outside, I loop my scarf a couple of times around my neck and head down to La Perla.

  I learned while staying with Declan that he has an affinity for lingerie. Since I need to continue to draw him in deeper, I’ll do whatever I can. When I walk in, my stomach instantly rumbles. Being in stores like this makes me feel dirty and gross. Always has. I know I have a fucked up sense of sexuality; I’m not blind to the effects my childhood has on me. Just thinking about adorning a body that I find repulsive—a body that has no value to me—disgusts me. But this isn’t for me or my liking, it’s for Declan’s.