The second orgasm builds faster, harder. His thumb circles my clit while his fingers work inside me. The combination is devastating. When I come this time, I actually scream his name.
He works me through it, gentle now, careful. When the trembling finally subsides, he withdraws his hand and brings his finger to his mouth, maintaining eye contact as he tastes me.
The sight should embarrass me. Instead, it sends fresh heat pooling low in my belly.
"My turn," I manage breathlessly, lifting my hands to touch him. "Let me..."
"No." He captures my hands, pressing them back against the bed. "Not tonight."
"But..."
"Tonight is about you. There will be time for the rest later."
He kisses me deeply. I can taste myself on his tongue.
"Right now, I just want to hold you," he says, removing his jeans and shirt then pulling me against his chest.
I can feel the hard length of him pressing against my hip, but he makes no move to do anything about it.
"Declan..."
"Sleep, Ivy." His hand strokes through my hair. "Just let me hold you."
I feel safe with Declan. Protected. And slowly, I let myself drift off.
The next thing I know, I wake to darkness—and crushing guilt.
Declan's breathing is deep and even beside me. His arm is slung across my waist, possessive even in sleep. The sheets smell like us: his woodsy cologne, sweat, and all the cum that ran down my thighs.
My body still hums with the aftershocks of what we did. What he did to me. The way he handled me like I was important and worth taking time with.
Yet all I can think about is King.
The texts I haven't answered because I was too busy falling into bed with Declan. The plans I'm supposed to be making to finally meet him. The connection that feels just as real, although we've never touched.
I'm falling for two men at once.
And I don't know how to be the kind of person who does that.
Moving carefully, I extract myself from Declan's embrace. He murmurs an unintelligible sentence but doesn't wake. I gather my scattered clothes, dressing in the dark.
On his nightstand, I find a notepad and a pen. I write quickly before I can change my mind.
Thank you for tonight - Ivy.
It's woefully inadequate. It doesn't capture the magnitude of what happened, what shifted between us, but I can't find better words when my head is this chaotic.
I leave his penthouse like a thief, taking an Uber to Sloane's apartment through streets that are just starting to show signs of dawn.
I use her spare key to slip into her apartment, careful not to wake her or she'd pepper me with questions. Her living room feels too small and empty. I collapse on her couch, stillsmelling like Declan, my body still thrumming with remembered pleasure.
My phone sits on the coffee table, accusatory.
Three unanswered texts from King.
King:
Hope your day was good.
