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I resist every urge to come and ride through her orgasm, fucking her harder and deeper, taking her to the highest high imaginable.
I fuck her ruthlessly until she’s limp beneath me, barely cognizant with my name spilling from her lips as if I’m her fucking savior.
BRAELYNN
The first thing I note when I wake up is that Declan isn’t in bed. The second is that every inch of me is in agony.
My throat is on fire, my muscles are sore and tight, and my ass is in such pain that I wake from rolling over onto my side.
Fuuuuuuuck.Gritting my teeth, I absorb the shock of the sudden pain. With a deep breath it’s gone in an exhale. I slept like death itself. Pure exhaustion that still lays heavy under my eyes left me without a single dream or nightmare.
Yesterday comes back to me all at once. Shivers run down my spine and I cling to the blanket. Everything is okay, I remind myself even though it hurts to swallow, my throat is so hoarse. I remember screaming his name last night as he fucked me like I was his whore. I wish I hadn’t. It already hurt before and now simply swallowing brings about pain.
Add in a headache that’s more than likely from lack of caffeine and waking up is a new kind of hell.
Vaguely I remember the balm Declan rubbed on my backside last night. Retreating to my stomach, I lift myself up enough to check his nightside table. A white jar and a tube of Neosporin sit next to a large black glass clock. It looks just as heavy as it doesexpensive. Everything in his room does. That clock, though, is something else.
It could either kill you, or make you go broke to own it. The thought brings a touch of humor to a rather uncomfortable morning. I’m quiet for a moment, listening for Declan. I watch the bathroom door, but it’s shut and there’s not a sound in the room in the least. The bed groans as I make my way to the nightstand.
Every muscle in me aches, even muscles I didn’t know I had.
The memories of last night come back to me as I gently rub the cooling balm over my heated skin.
My heart flicks with a painful beat as I remember him whispering in the crook of my neck that he loved me.I swear it happened, didn’t it?
He carried me from the floor to the bed, although I don’t remember it. My gaze drops to my knees which bear evidence of carpet burn. He fucked me into a rag doll last night. The memory of how savagely he took me steals my breath and hardens my nipples. The ache between my thighs outweighs the soreness of any other part of me.
I don’t know if it’s the lack of sleep or the hell of what’s happened, but I don’t remember it all. It’s in pieces. All I know is that he said it was over, he said he wants me, he said I am his and no one will ever touch me again.
And I promised him obedience and submission. I promised to be his. Something tells me there is fine print to this unwritten contract that I’m not prepared for.
Heat consumes me and I do my best to ignore it as I take care of myself, every so often glancing up and expecting him to be standing in the doorway.
He never appears, though.
It takes me a good ten minutes before the balm goes into effect enough for me to scoot off the bed. The soreness is muchmore manageable on my feet although I’m freezing without the covers.
Still naked, I venture to the en suite bathroom. There, a toothbrush and hairbrush wait for me on the edge of the counter. They’re both pink and still in packaging.
After calling out his name and even peeking beyond his bedroom door to the vacant hall lined with a textured dark blue wallpaper, I determine he’s left me alone.
Every dark mahogany drawer begs me to open it, but I resist. I go about my business in the bathroom, carefully placing the items back where they were and the packaging into the trash.
It’s only when I come out of the bathroom, feeling somewhat better after drinking water from the tap that I see the shirt laid out on the bench at the foot of the bed with a note.
It’s written on a thick piece of parchment.
I won’t be gone long.If you wake up and need me, call me from the phone in the kitchen.
Feel free to make yourself more comfortable. Do not leave the wing unless it’s to go to the kitchen.
He’s left onlya simple Henley for me to wear. It’s his and quite large so the hem of it rests around my upper thigh. I can’t lie, a single sniff of the shirt reminds me of him and it soothes the pain of not knowing what’s going to happen for just a moment. It vanishes quickly as the headache reminds me of its presence.
I reread the wordkitchenand debate on waiting for Declan before leaving. The attempt to sit on the edge of the bed proves to be painful so I’m quick to get back to my feet. With the note in my hand, I take in my surroundings. It’s all heavy foreboding furniture, no pictures or knickknacks. Everythinglooks expensive and cold. There’s not an ounce of personality and nothing sitting out to occupy my curiosity.
There isn’t a television either. There’s nothing but quiet.
A chill runs over my shoulders and I debate on opening a drawer in search of pants or socks even, but I don’t.
