Page 93 of Sinful Bride

"Yes." The word comes out as a gasp. "Yes." I’m so aroused right now I can’t stand it. He lifts me onto the desk, pushing my dress up around my waist. His hands are rough as he tears my panties aside, and then he's freeing himself from his pants, his cock hard and ready. He doesn't wait or tease. He just rolls a condom on quickly and pushes inside me in one hard thrust that makes me cry out.

"Fuck," he groans, his hands gripping my hips. "You feel so good. Catch up, baby. I’m gonna come fast.”

He grabs my hand, pulling it between my legs. “Touch yourself. God, I can feel how fucking wet you are for me through the condom. Have you been like this all night, baby? Just for me?”

I moan, nodding breathlessly. I’ve been aroused since I saw him all dressed up for dinner tonight, thinking about what we might do when we got home. The fact that we’re doing it here, in someone’s office who has no idea, has turned me on even more. This is the kind of wild, reckless thing I never imagined doing before Declan, and it makes me feel crazy with desire.

He fucks me hard and fast, the desk creaking beneath us, my back arching as pleasure builds deep within me. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper, and he buries his face in my neck, his breath hot against my skin.

"Come for me," he demands, as my fingers move faster on my clit. "Come on my cock, Elena."

He thrusts into me hard, and I come around him, clenching as the pleasure crashes through me in waves. He groans, fucking me through his orgasm as he fills the condom, still thrusting until his climax finally eases.

We’re both breathing hard. He slides out of me slowly, taking the condom off, and when he tosses it into the wastebasket next to the desk, I cover my mouth and stare at him wide-eyed.

“Declan, someone is going to find that…”

“Let them.” He grins. “What are they going to do?”

I laugh behind my hand, feeling so reckless and free for a moment that it takes my breath away.

Free.

The word crashes into me, and it takes every bit of self-control I possess not to let Declan see the sudden change in my mood. He makes me feel free. But I’m not, am I? Not really. And if I don’t kill him, my father will find some other way.

Then we’ll both suffer, and get nothing out of it.

That night, I lie awake beside Declan, listening to him breathe. He fell asleep quickly, one arm thrown over his eyes, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He looks peaceful. Younger, somehow, without the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him.

I could do it now. Get up, get the gun, and end this.

But I don't move. I think about what my father said, about duty and family, and the freedom he promised me. And I think about Declan and the way he makes me laugh.

I don't know what to do, how to choose between the life I've always known and the life I'm starting to want. Between duty and desire. Between family and... what? Love?

Is that what this is?

I close my eyes and try to sleep, but sleep won't come. My mind races with the knowledge that I'm running out of time.

The next evening, Declan comes home late. I'm already in bed, reading, when I hear the front door open and close and the sound of him moving through the penthouse. When he appears in the bedroom doorway, he looks exhausted. There are shadows under his eyes, tension in his shoulders. He's been working too hard.

"Hey," he says, his voice rough. "You still up?"

"Couldn't sleep." I set my book aside and watch as he strips off his shirt, revealing the tattoos that cover his chest and arms. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Just a long day." He sits on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes, and I can see the weariness in every line of his body.

I feel a strange mixture of tenderness and guilt twist in my chest. "Come here," I say softly.

He looks at me, surprise flickering across his face. He’s still not used to this new dynamic between us any more than I am, and I can see it. But he finishes undressing and climbs into bed beside me. I turn off the light and curl into him, my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

"Elena." His voice is quiet in the darkness. "Are you okay? You've seemed... different. Since we got back from your father's."

My throat tightens. "I'm fine."

"You keep saying that." His hand comes up to stroke my hair. "But I don't believe you."

I don't answer. If I start talking, I might tell him everything, confess what my father asked me to do. I might beg him to run, to take me with him, to leave this world behind.