“Ophelia,” Sam crooned, reaching up to grab her by the chin and force her attention back to him.
The look in her eyes was pure, raw vulnerability. If humans were right about souls, he was looking right into hers. It was a beseeching look, though for what, he couldn’t guess.
“You’re doing so good,” he said, leveraging his feet against the floor to fuck her from below.
A broken sob that could have been despair or pleasure tore from her as he began to pound into her. Logan watched silently, his face a desolate mask.
Sam dipped his hand between them, sliding his fingers between her labia to nestle against her clit. She shuddered at the touch, and he wondered if she thought that was it—a bit of extra pressure while he fucked her, maybe. Some underwhelming friction.
He grinned wickedly as his fingers began to vibrate.
Surprise made her cry out and buck, but his free hand caught her hip and forced her back down where he wanted her, where he could piston in and out of her with obscene sounds as his fingers took her where she needed to go.
She writhed over him; it was as though she was being pulled in two directions, one moment trying to escape the onslaught of the pleasure, the next grinding down on him desperately. Her hands came up to cup her breasts, and her head fell back as she tweaked her hard nipples. Her thighs tensed around him, her little sounds of pleasure quieting with her singular focus, and a guttural moan ripped from her as she came undone.
The fluttering of her cunt ramped up the supreme satisfaction of having fucked her to completion in front of that bastard, still wavering near the bed, and then Sam was coming along with her, spurting synthetic seed into her womb.
She sagged over him, panting hard, her skin sticky against his. Strands of her hair stuck to her forehead and cheeks in curving patterns, soaked through with her sweat. Her eyes were stormy but full of fire.
She’d never looked more beautiful to him.
“Again,” he murmured, still hard inside her. His hands landed on her hips with wicked intent.
He had no refractory period. All he had was a burning desire to possess her again and again and again.
“Stop,” Logan rasped, rubbing hard at his mouth. “No more. Effie, please. We need to talk.”
Sam had every intention of ignoring the idiot, but she wriggled out of his grip, rising over him until his dick popped free. Hovering there, she took a deep breath and focused her attention on her fiancé.
“It’s over,” she said, her voice level if a bit breathy. “I know. I know about Tiffany and the sex clubs. I know what a big joke I am to you and your colleagues. You ruined everything, and I’m done. I want you to get out and never come back. You can send Brandon to get your things tomorrow.”
He swayed on his feet, tears gathering in his eyes. Sam sneered at the sight.
“Don’t do this,” Logan begged, staggering forward a step like he might try to intervene again. “I-I can explain everything. We just need to talk. Effie, please, you’re not thinking clearly?—”
“Enough talking,” Sam interjected, sitting up. “She told you to leave. Get out.”
Logan’s gaze darkened. “Thirty-One?—”
“That’s not his fucking name,” Ophelia shouted, lunging to grab a pillow and hurling it at his head. It hit him dead center in the face before falling to the ground with a softwhuffof air. “Now get the fuck out!”
He took a reluctant step toward the door, moving as though she was puppeting him with her words against his will. She grabbed another pillow.
“Out!” she screamed, throwing it.
Logan stumbled out of the room. Ophelia hovered over Sam, face turned toward the door, not so much as breathing until she heard the lock of the front door click loudly. Then she fell apart.
CHAPTER 30
Ophelia sobbedas Sam held her in the cage of his arms.
She cried for herself, for the time she’d lost, for the love she’d thought she’d had. She cried for the change she was about to go through, knowing there was nothing she dreaded more in the world than an unknown quantity. She cried for Sam, who had signed up to have sex with her and was getting covered in tears and snot as she fell apart just like her life had.
“Shhhh.” He cradled her close, peppering kisses over her temple and cheek and holding the back of her head as he rocked side to side.
He was treating her like a fretful toddler; it might have offended her if it hadn’t been so damn comforting. She curled into him, making herself as small as possible.
The decorative knit blanket that had been draped at the foot of the bed came around her shoulders, soft as velvet against her skin. She grabbed at it, cocooning herself in the fabric.
