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Continuing to fuck her with my fingers, each thrust pulling more slickness from her, each time stroking that sweet spot inside of her that makes her entire cunt clench around me. Until finally, her nails dig into my shoulders and a soft cry escapes. When her body relaxes and she’s finished her climax, she reaches into my shorts.
I shake my head. “After I shower. No condom out here.”
Sammy takes a nibble of my neck as she reaches into the pocket of her robe and pulls out that familiar foiled packet. “I was expecting you to come in and ravish me, Mr. Murphy. I’m prepared.”
I snatch it from her and tear open the packet. She watches as I push down my shorts, slide on the condom, and before I can adjust her, she’s sinking onto my cock. A silent scream tears from her. Her nails dig into my shoulders. Even without her own soap here, she still has that perfect scent that just settles the chaos inside of me.
“Damn, baby. You feel so good,” I tell her, wrapping my arms around her. I pull her close to me, so her chest is against mine, and softly stroke her hair.
Her hips move slowly, but each time she lifts and slides down again, she tightens around me, squeezing me with the velvety smoothness of her inner walls.
“You . . .” She pants. “Too.”
I run my hands along her back, soaking in how close we feel, how totally not like a onetime thing this seems to be. A single tear drops from her eye. It slides down her cheek and before I can catch it with my thumb, lands on my chest.
“Shh,” I whisper when another falls. “It’s okay.”
Her head shakes. “No,” she sighs. “It’s not.”
I swipe at the water leaking from her face, still buried inside her, and I know she’s thinking the same things. Her hands move to cup my face. “Nothing is okay. This feels too good, and I can’t. I can’t do it,” she says, her voice laced with a panicky edge to it.
“I know,” I say. She doesn’t have to tell me. I can feel the loss she bears on her soul. It’s deep like mine, and if I could take it from her, I would. There’s nothing I can do for her besides give her whatever she asks for. “But we can pretend it is. Even just for this weekend, okay?”
She sniffles, then nods. “Okay,” she whispers, falling into my chest.
I glide a hand between us again to massage her clit. “Come for me, doll. One more time.”
She sighs, but nods against my shoulder. I stroke her while she rides my cock until we both hit our release together. When we come down, she practically bolts from my lap and clutches the robe around her chest. “Damnit, Declan,” she growls.
I yank the condom off and use my boxers to clean up the mess still dripping down the head. I’m about to shower anyway. Standing, I slide them off with my shorts. “You practically jumped me,” I argue. “How is this my fault?”
I tie off the condom and pick up my clothes. When I stand upright again, I catch a glance of more tears threatening to spill.
“You held me,” she practically shouts at me. “You asshole! You were supposed to be rough like last night. Not hug me and wipe my tears away.”
I rear back, not prepared for this fight. I guess one could say the way I stroked her back and held her close to me as hugging her. “I held you while you rode me, Samira. That’s all.”
Her eyes snap shut, closing me off from the rest of her emotions. Where is all this coming from? She’s the one who took the lead. Her head shakes back and forth, and I step forward to grab her. When my grip lands on her elbow, they open. Then she lets out a slew of tears.
“Stop crying,” I sigh. “And tell me what’s wrong.”
“I don’t want to feel anything,” she shouts through the tears. “That’s why I agreed to this, Declan. Because I don’t want any emotions clouding my judgement. And you’re not even doing anything wrong. I just . . . ” She lets out another long exhale. “I can’t have anything more than sex with you, okay? No more sweet touches. It’s too much.”
“Fine,” I say. “Come on. Let’s go get showered. We have to be downstairs for massages in fifteen.”
She chews on her bottom lip, but finally nods. “Okay,” she says, swiping at her tears. Then she follows me into the other room.
Chapter Eighteen
Declanopensthedoorto the spa and guides me in with a hand on my back.
“Mr. Murphy, Ms. Cullen,” a blonde at the desk greets. I squint to catch her name tag. Enya.
I glance back at him, confused when we’re greeted by the receptionist by name. He shoots me a wink. “What did you do?” I mouth.
His hand guides me forward.
“I’ve got the mud facials all set up for you,” Enya says. “You’ll do that first, before the couples' massage.”
