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Chapter 29
Theadora
High-pressurejetsmassagedevery inch of my body. A euphoric sigh issued from my lips as the cascade of water heated my skin and relaxed muscles. Talk about pampering of the royal kind.
Declan stepped in, offering to wash my hair.
Muscle on muscle. A strong, powerful body. Long, muscular legs. I wondered if he still worked out. I’d seen gym equipment tucked away at the back. One didn’t get that kind of body sitting around.
I’d gotten into the habit of googling him, given that every time we met there was little talking going on, other than him asking me to take my clothes off, or telling me how beautiful and sexy I looked.
There was the odd article relating to his bravery as a soldier. Mostly magazine articles reminding the world of wannabe Cinderellas that he was a hot, eligible billionaire. Images of him looking annoyingly photogenic. He never looked ugly. Even in the mornings with that thick, messy wave of hair, and aquamarine eyes all sleepy and sexy.
Most of the articles were general fluff about women throwing themselves at him, and him talking of an ambition to help troubled youth. No mention of marriage or the desire for a family one day.
They painted him as a playboy, which made me lose sleep.
I had to keep reminding myself this was just hot sex with my boss. Former boss, now that I’d agreed to stop cleaning for him.
He even admitted that he only employed me because he wanted to fuck me. I could have gotten shitty over that, but instead I fell under his spell and drowned in those soft turquoise eyes.
At least he was honest.
The water jets sprayed us from all angles. As I closed my eyes, his arms embraced me from behind. He kissed my neck and ran his tongue along the ridge of my shoulder.
I leant back against him, letting him support me as he washed my hair. His firm fingers massaging my scalp, sending ripples of pleasure through me.
Even my mother didn’t wash my hair. I had a nanny to do that.
Tears burned at the back of my eyes. I was getting too attached. Fear gatecrashing my state of bliss.
“You’re spoiling me,” I said, turning around.
He smiled sweetly and then kissed me tenderly. And there was the contradiction or reassurance. Or both.
Declan was always sweet. We shared simple experiences, like playing chess or watching television. We’d have long conversations about everything: countries we’d like to visit, movies and books we loved. He was keenly interested in my ambition to become a teacher.
He always held my hand or draped his arm over me.
It wasn’t just hot sex.
The glow of warmth between us made my heart burst from my chest. A kind of euphoric orgasm. But then fear and insecurity would sneak in and spoil the party.
It was like a battle between my head and my heart. My body however seemed to dictate. Just a whiff of him, or seeing him shirtless, or that insistent bulge tenting his briefs, and I was a goner. My heart and head standing by, helpless to meddle, waving their finger, yelling, “Beware.”
I washed him with a sponge and a squirt of divine-smelling bodywash.
Instead of sponging his dick, I played with it in my hand. My mouth watering at how thick it grew in my clutch.
While the thought of sucking a man’s dick would have once made my stomach turn, sucking Declan’s dick had become a steamy obsession.
I got down on my knees.
With the warm water cascading over me, I looked up at him and put his dick in my mouth.
“Angel, you don’t have to do this.”
I melted.
