I’m getting lost between reality and fantasy, and I need to pull pack. I didn’t think Declan would be able to drive me so high like he’s doing, moving as slowly as he is, so I close my eyes in a weak attempt to fight it away. To fight away the foreign emotions that are brewing inside.

You will not feel.

You will not feel.

You will not feel.

“Oh, God,” I moan without any filter of control.

“Let yourself go with me,” he urges when he takes my hand in his, lacing his fingers with mine as I begin to tremble into a shattering explosion of colorless light.

Clinging my free arm around him, he never lets go of my hand. Holding him tightly against me, my body writhes and bows up into his as I ride out the wave of ecstasy, coming hard around his cock. When I look up at him, I see the grimace in his face as he continues to move inside of me and then pulls out.

“What are you doing?” I ask, knowing he didn’t come.

He lies on top of me, bracing himself on his elbows with his face over mine.

“Why?” I breathe out on an uneven whisper.

“Because that was for you.”

Don’t let yourself feel.

Don’t let yourself feel.

My cycle of words slowly dies inside of my tightening chest. The thickness of my throat makes it hard and painful to breathe, and I know he sees it when he gently squeezes my hand that he’s still holding and says, “Don’t hide. If you need to cry, it’s okay.”

Immediately, with his words, the liquid heat fills my eyes, blurring my vision of his face into a prismatic swirling of watercolors before they finally spill out and run down the sides of my face. He rolls us to our sides, never letting go of my hand, as I quietly weep into the warmth of his skin.

We stay in bed for most of the morning. Declan cooks us a late breakfast while I take a shower and get ready. The smell of eggs is in the air when I walk into the living area and over to Declan who’s standing over the stove.

“Smells good,” I say as I slide up next to him and watch as he folds the egg of the omelet over a mixture of tomatoes and spinach.

“You hungry?”

“Starved,” I answer before he leans down to give me a kiss filled with eagerness as his tongue invades my mouth. He doesn’t stop fucking my mouth with his until the scent of burning egg wafts through the air.

“Fuck,” he says, pulling the pan off the stove and onto the unlit burner, making me laugh as I move over and start opening and closing cabinets. “What are you looking for?”

“A mug.”

He walks over, opening the door to one of the cabinets and pulls down a mug for me, saying, “There’s coffee in the French press,” as he nods to the glass carafe on the counter.

“Thanks, but I prefer tea in the mornings.”

He smiles, and then gets the kettle on for me. While I wait for it to boil, I spot my purse lying on the foyer table, and when I pull my cell out, I have two missed calls from Bennett. When I look at the time, I count the hours and realize that it’s a little after eight in the evening for him. It’s not like me to miss his calls, but with this new turn of events, my mind has been elsewhere.

Knowing I have to call him and check in, I walk back over to the kitchen with my cell in my hand.

“I need to make a call. Would you mind if I stepped out?” I ask gently, careful not to rock the boat too much.

But he doesn’t give it a second thought when he responds, “Of course. My office is down that hall across the room,” as he points in the opposite direction of where his bedroom is.

“Thanks. I won’t be too long.”

Walking into his office, it’s nearly as large as his massive bedroom, with rich, wooden bookshelves that line the back wall and up to the ceiling. His desk sits in the middle of the room. A dignified piece of mahogany accented by a large, leather chair with antique brass nailhead trim. I don’t sit at his desk, perching instead on the tufted black leather Chesterfield sofa that sits over by the bookshelves. I take in the musk of rich leather and look around. Everything in this room is covered in Declan’s masculinity.

I quickly swipe the screen of my phone and call Bennett. He picks up, immediately saying, “Honey, I’ve been worried.”

“I’m so sorry. My phone was on silent and in my purse.”

“What have you been doing all morning?”

“Writing. I’ve been working on that article,” I lie. “Seems I’m not a natural. I’ve been cooped up in the office and lost track of time. I’m sorry I missed your call and made you worry.”

“I don’t want you to apologize. It’s fine. I just miss you, that’s all,” he says sweetly, not even questioning my deceit. Knowing how fooled I have both of these men makes me smile, and I play into the good feelings, returning the sweetness, “I miss you too. Tell me about your day.”

“I had to fire a couple men on the project. It’s been stressful.”

“What happened?”

“Deadlines weren’t being met by the contractor, oversights to code specifications, and other issues I’d rather not discuss right now,” he explains, the note of frustration and exhaustion evident in his voice.

“I wish I was there. I’m sorry you had such a rough day. Is there anything I can do on my end to help you with anything?”

“Just tell me how much you love me.”

“Bennett . . .” I say, leaving his name lingering between us.

“What, honey?” he murmurs softly.

“I miss you, and I love you so much. I hate it when you’re not here, when I don’t have you next to me. It’s . . .” I trail off when I realize Declan is standing in the double door entry to the room. His scowl is murderous as he glares at me from across the room, causing my spine to straighten as I sit up. He’s irate, there’s no doubt, but I’m playing my ace at this point. To one man, I’m his loving and devoted wife. And to the other, I’m an abused woman who’s trapped in a marriage to a terribly violent and powerful man.

Bennett pulls me back to him when he picks up my lost words and questions, “It’s what, honey?”

With my eyes on Declan, I answer my husband, “It’s lonely,” and my words aren’t taken well by Declan as I watch his jaw grind and then set.

“I feel it too,” he responds as I drop my head to avoid Declan’s scowl.

Needing to end the call before Declan loses his shit on me, I say, “Honey, can we talk later?”

“Yeah, no problem. I’m actually in the car with Baldwin. We are meeting the project manager and one of his architects for dinner.”

“Okay, well, I hope you have a good evening. I’ll call you later tonight before I go to bed.”

“I love you.”

With my head still down, I return his words, “I love you too, Bennett.”

When I hang up, I slowly raise my eyes to see Declan walking towards me. He stands in front of me as I look up at him, but he doesn’t sit, he just exudes his authority while staring down at me, jaw still locked.

“Dec—”

“Don’t talk,” he snaps, cutting me off, but I don’t take his order when I state softy, “He’s still my husband.”

“And those words you said to him?”

“They’re just words,” I whisper in a mock cowardly tone.

“You miss him?” he asks, keeping his words clipped and tight.

“No.”

“You love him?”

“No.”

“Are you lonely?”

“No,” I tell him firmly.

His tension looms as he stands here, unmoving as time passes in silence. He eventually breaks it when his rough voice admits, “I want to punish you for calling that dickfuck in my home, but . . .”

His voice trails as he closes his eyes and puffs out a hard breath through his nose, his lips pressed firmly together. I give him a moment and then he slowly shakes his head as he drops down to his knees in front of me. His hands grip my hips and his head falls to my knees before he looks up, but he isn’t looking into my eyes; he’s looking at my bruises.

I open my mouth to speak at the same time he does, but I let him go first.