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I throw her legs over my arms to grip her hips. It gets me deeper and makes her tighter, and I fucking lose it every time she squeezes around me. My balls tighten, the fullness becoming an urge I need to release. “So good.” Thrust. “So tight.” Thrust. “So wet.” Thrust, thrust, thrust. “Take me so well.” Thrust.
Her pussy contracts with each push inside of her until both of us are pushed over the edge. I shove inside one last time, my entire body stiffening as I cry out. “Samira.”
Her chest rises and falls with her heavy breaths, and then I topple over her. I rest my head against her chest, but leave my cock buried right where he is. A hand plays with the hair on the back of my head while I lie on top of her, my eyes closed. I wait until the adrenaline finishes coursing through my veins, until my dick softens inside of her, before I pull out.
When I do, she wraps her arms around my neck and holds me in place. “No. Not yet.” Her voice cracks.
So, I don’t move. I lie there, with my ear pressed to her breast, and the beat of her heart lulling me to sleep.
Chapter Sixteen
Iglancearoundthemassive penthouse. I hadn’t had the time yesterday to take in the entire space. After the couch incident, Declan had carried me to the bathroom where we continued our dirty activities. We didn’t go to bed until way too late. Now, I’m soreeverywhere.
The living room has a sitting area, wet bar, full kitchen. There are three bedrooms off to the left, and a master suite to the right. Saoirse essentially designed a 3,000 square foot apartment with floor to ceiling glass window panes overlooking the bay.
Room service brought up an array of breakfast options about twenty minutes ago, and I sip at my second cup of coffee for the morning while I work. Declan’s still asleep, but I need to work my magic and get this cake situation sorted out.
I scribble a list of vegan bakery shops on a notepad I found in the kitchen area, then mark down their phone numbers. Declan was still sleeping when I woke up and showered, and I wasn’t sure what exactly he expects from me today.
Do I stay until he’s awake? Do I leave and come back? I don’t know, but I do need to run home and get clothes. Right now, I’m in a hotel robe with wet hair. I didn’t want to put on the clothes from yesterday when they smelled horrible. It would have defeated the purpose of showering.
Once I have a list of six bakeries, I give Vee a call. She picks up before the first ring even finishes.
“Where the fuck are you?”
I wince from the loud volume, my head a little achy from the wine I had last night. I shot her a text last night, letting her know I wouldn’t be home and asking her to feed Bruce. She sent me a thousand texts of pictures with her snuggling the dog.
In one of them he wore her pink bathrobe, had on the watermelon hair towel wrapped around his head, and she was painting his nails. There’s never any doubt that she doesn’t take care of him well, but that picture solidified I didn’t need to worry about him being neglected.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I have a list of bakeries. I figured if we split the calls, we can knock this out.”
“Don’t worry about it? Sammy, in the three years I’ve lived with you, you’ve never not come home. Was it Toby? Did he dick you down? Man, I really thought his profile photo was a catfish. What man has hair like that in real life?” She stopped only to take a breath before continuing, “And bakeries for what?”
“Declan will be in New York tomorrow. I need you to help work some magic and get some samples sent to his hotel around 5:00 pm.”
I’m met with silence on the other line, and I know she’s trying to process what the hell this means. “You told me yesterday Saoirse delegated that task to him. But I didn’t realize we were doing a private tasting in New York in a freaking hotel room.”
“We’re on a tight deadline for this wedding.”
She huffs, knowing that I’m right. “When are you coming home?”
I clear my throat. “If you make a big deal out of this, I will kill you.”
“Lips are sealed.”
“Doubtful.” I roll my eyes.
“Just fucking tell me, already!”
I sigh. “I’ll be home Sunday evening.”
There’s a long beat of silence while she processes this information. “Oh. My. God. You’re with Declan Murphy.” She gasps. “Samira Cullen. You finally scratched the itch. I am so proud of you.”
Declan comes out of the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. My gaze instantly goes to him and his mouth-watering look. His hair is wet, too, droplets of water dripping onto his chest.
“When you finish the calls, can you swing by on the way to your appointment with some clothes?”
“Yeah, sure. What room number?”
