Hush (Black Lotus #3)(21)
He’s strident with his words. I know his desire for ultimate control; he’s been that way since the day I met him, and he’s explained why he is the way he is. Witnessing the murder of his mother has burdened him into adulthood and has shaped him into the man he is today. His demanding ways with me might be harsh for others, but they stem from a loving place.
“I’m sorry. Truth is, you’re the first person who’s ever gone to the lengths you do to make sure I’m taken care of. I know I give you a hard time, but the rule you have on me feels good.”
Before I know it, he has me in his arms, and I’m quick to wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me over to the couch. Tossing me onto my back, he orders me to take my top and bra off, and I do so in mere seconds at the same time he rips off his pants and shirt.
“Hands under your ass,” he commands, and when I have them securely beneath me, he straddles my body, pinning me under him. “Spit in my hand,” is his next directive, and again, I obey.
His cock is rock hard, and I watch as he beats himself off above me, using my saliva as lube. He’s mean and he knows it, teasing me like this. He gives into his desires while forcing me to withhold my own. He refuses to feed my hunger, leaving me without touch as he pumps the length of himself.
I want to touch him, but he’s testing my obedience, so I squeeze my thighs together in a lame attempt to create much needed friction for my throbbing clit. I can’t contain myself as I watch him stare down at me while he indulges his craving. His breaths begin to stagger unevenly as a sheen of sweat coats his hairline. Every groan that escapes his throat spurs me farther, and I press my thighs together even harder. The moment my body writhes in utter heat, he catches me.
“Open your legs,” he barks, and I do.
He then leans forward and locks his free hand around my neck to keep control of me. My * aches painfully for him to fill me up, but I know he has no intentions. When I see the muscles of his abs begin to contract, he’s getting close. He chokes on a breath of air, his grip around my neck tightening, and then explodes all over me, scenting me in his semen.
His hand leaves my neck, and he kisses me roughly before getting off the couch. I lie here and look up at him when he says, “Don’t clean that off, and don’t wear any perfume tonight.”
I sit up, and a few drops of his cum roll down between my breasts. “Lucky for me, my dress doesn’t have a plunging neckline,” I tease with a smile, knowing he gets off leaving his mark on me.
“I’m going to take a hot shower,” he says and then kisses my forehead.
I admire his firm ass as I watch him walk to the bedroom.
While he’s in the shower, I take my time doing my makeup and hair. The dress may not have a plunging front, but the back does, so I curl my hair and wear it in a ponytail at the base of my neck so that my scars will be covered. I keep my look simple and clean with no jewelry.
I smile when I look over to Declan who’s now fastening his kilt. The Caledonian Club is a private Scottish club here in London, which I was pleased to learn because Declan in a kilt is about the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
This is the first event we are attending as a couple, and it feels good to be getting ready and sharing this moment together—a moment we had to work so hard to get to—a moment so many probably take for granted. I slip on my gown and smooth down the fabric that contours closely to my body. It boasts a high round neck, concealing the dried cum that’s all over my chest, and flows to the floor in a sweeping, fluted hem. The deep green flatters my red hair, and also complements the green in Declan’s plaids.
I stand in front of the mirror and look myself over with restless hands.
“Why are you fidgeting?” Declan asks when he steps behind me. “You seem nervous.”
“I am,” I admit as he runs his hands up and down the length of my arms.
“Why? You must’ve gone to hundreds of events like this in Chicago. You’re an old pro.”
“Yeah, but I was always pretending. I’m a good actress, but this is the first time mingling among the upper crust as me. I’m not hiding behind a fa?ade anymore.”
He plants a kiss on my shoulder. “The real you is so much better than the lie.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“I do,” he says and then turns me around. He looks me over from head to toe. “You’re incredibly stunning.”
I take hold of Declan’s hand to quell my nerves when we arrive at the mansion that was built in the early 1900s. He smiles down at me as we walk to the entrance. When we step inside, my eyes take in the ornate ambiance. The walls are painted ivory with rich gold accents, and heavy ruby drapes fall from the ceiling to the floor. Oil paintings hang from the walls and glow beneath the opulent chandeliers.
The wood floors that lie beneath the carpet creak under my feet as Declan leads me through the club that has a wealth of history here in London. I take in the men dressed in their kilts and fly plaids and the women in their elegant gowns. And suddenly, without my mask, I feel like an imposter—garbage wrapped in silk—and my stomach turns. So, I quickly decide that even though I have no clue who I am, I’ll do my best to fake it. The last thing I want is to show Declan any more weakness.
As we walk into the party, I stiffen my spine and feign my place in society with my head held high like I’ve done for years.