Chapter Sixteen
Chapter 16
SIENNA
DAY FIVE. THE HALFWAY POINT.
I feel the weight of every minute passing, every second ticking by. I’ll have to leave Declan soon, leave my life as Sienna behind. I’m still undecided, but I’ll likely find some shady person to make me a new identity. Probably safest.
But that’s a future problem. For now, all I need to do is focus on what I’m painting.
I’m out on the patio in the midday sun, the ocean sounds lulling me into a trance. After swiping my brush over a gray shade on my palette, I blend the color into the shadows under Declan’s feet. I’m determined to get the portrait of him finished before we say goodbye. I don’t know how he’ll react to it, but it’s something I want to give him. A parting gift.
It’s Sunday, and Declan’s conference started yesterday. He completely missed the first day because we were too busy in bed. It was the best sex of my life—multiple times—but I’m happy to get a reprieve today since he left for the conference this morning. I’m sore all over my body from the positions we tried, and there’s a sweet ache between my legs from his thickness.
I’m not complaining.
Never.
Hovering my brush over the canvas, I pause before making another stroke. Unable to stop myself from smiling, I gaze into Declan’s watercolor eyes. Even though I drew those eyes and then painted them a brilliant blue, they’re still giving me an electric buzz. Guess I should feel proud that I captured his intensity.
My smile widens. I do feel proud, and I really hope he keeps this painting. Even if he shoves it in a closet, I can live happily under a new identity if I know he has something from Sienna close by.
Too bad I don’t have enough time to paint what he requested—a larger version of that ‘inspired’ painting. Chewing on the end of my paintbrush, I wonder: would he really give me seven hundred thousand for it? I mean, fuck, how rich is he? I can’t even fathom seeing that number in my bank account, so it’s too bad I’ll never find out.
But if my life ever gets out of the danger zone, maybe I’ll look him up and see if he’s still interested.
Or…what am I thinking?
My shoulders hunch, carrying the weight of only five remaining days, as I dab my brush in some black and create a darker edge along a crease in Declan’s suit. I shouldn’t be thinking of contacting him in the future. I can’t. I can’t contact him or Jada.
God, now I’m back to thinking about Jada feeling so hurt and sad and betrayed…abandoned.
My chest is aching too much to continue working on the painting, so I move it to my room, where Declan won’t see it. Then I grab my sketch book and start drawing the flowering plants tucked along the edges of the patio. Just something pretty and carefree. My mind needs a break.
The front door opens, so I glance over my shoulder, expecting to see Sean sneaking to the fridge for a snack.
But it’s Declan.
He loves his three-piece suits, even in warm Hawaii, so of course that’s what he wore to the conference. I wonder if it makes him stand out, or if a lot of other people at the conference wear business attire. I’ve been wondering so much about him lately—what he does for a living, if he has any hobbies, his favorite color.
Anything and everything. But this little obsession is bad, so I push it down deep inside me and lock it away.
I grin as he enters and sets a paper bag on the kitchen counter. After running a hand through his loose, sexy dark hair, he grins back. His blue eyes light up and look mischievous.
My stomach flips. So ridiculously handsome.
I turn back to my sketch so he doesn’t see me blushing. “You’re back early,” I say, adding shade to a flower petal. “Or are you just breaking for lunch?”
I hear the soft tap of his oxfords along the floorboards as he approaches. “I sent you a few texts, but they went unread.”
Swallowing, I try to brush it off. “Strange. So what do you—”
“I also called,” he continues, clearly not ready to drop the subject. “Straight to voicemail.” He’s behind me now, so he rubs my shoulders with those thick, skilled fingers of his. “I asked Sean, and he said you were in here painting. I gave it some more thought and realized I haven’t seen you with a phone at all during this trip.” He doesn’t sound angry, only curious, as he leans down to kiss the side of my head. “Any comment about that?”
I worried he might notice eventually, because who goes days without looking at a phone in this modern world? “It, uh, broke.”
“It broke between you calling me and meeting at the airport?”
I try to keep my voice from rising in pitch because I’m usually an awful liar. “Yup. Crazy, huh? The screen just went black and it wouldn’t turn on. Some defect my model is known for.” I start sketching another flower to try to act casual. “I figured I’d deal with it later.”
“We can take it to a repair shop.”
My heart jumps. Dammit. That sounds reasonable, and any reasonable person would try to get their phone fixed before throwing it away. Could I claim to simply be unreasonable?
Instead, I continue to sketch a flower like everything is fine. “Oh no, that’s okay. I need to look into the warranty and it’s a big hassle I just don’t want to think about right now. I’m not expecting any calls, so I’ll get a phone later. Thanks though.”
“Hmm,” is his response. I don’t think he’s buying my excuse, but thankfully, he changes the subject. “Well,” he says, rubbing his hands over my arms, “I’m done with the conference for today, and I brought something we can play with.”
My hand pauses over the page. “Play with? What do you mean?”
Pressing his cheek against my hair, he inhales deeply. Then his hands run down the length of my arms, coming back up to trail along my collarbone. I’m wearing one of those sleeveless tropical dresses he bought me at the boutique, so my shoulders are bare. He takes full advantage of it, burning trails in my skin with his fiery touch.
“I’ll show you soon. But first, are you done sketching your pretty little flowers?”
I laugh. “Oh, you think they’re pretty?”
“Mmm. But they don’t suit you.”
“Why’s that?”
He caresses my earlobe. “I like your edgier work. It’s evocative. Moody.”
“So I’m moody?”
His chuckle warms my chest; I love hearing him laugh, which he’s doing more often. “Moody isn’t a bad thing. I enjoy your moody paintings.” He touches my sketchbook. “Make these flowers moody and we’ll hang it on the fridge.”
“Oh, do I get a gold star too?”
“Absolutely.”
We both laugh and I reach up to touch his hand that’s on my shoulder. I love our little moments like this.
I tip my head, exposing the side of my neck so he can press his lips against it. His tongue darts out to taste me, and I feel flushed all over. “I could be done sketching,” I say, “depending on what you have in mind.”
“I’m sure you know exactly what I have in mind.” He sucks gently on my earlobe, and I bite back a moan.
His fingers trace my collarbone again before both hands dip into the front of my dress and discover I’m not wearing a bra. Instinctively, I arch into his touch as he palms my breasts, kneading them with slow, purposeful movements.
I don’t restrain my moan this time, my head dropping back as he pinches my sore, hardened nipples. His hands have explored so much of them these past few days, giving me the sweetest satisfied ache every time he brushes them with a thumb. It’s pain and pleasure and need and agony all mixed together.
Moving his mouth close to my ear, he says in a gruff tone, “I’ve spent the entire morning not listening to a damn thing at that conference. All I could think about was your beautiful mouth sucking my cock.”
His words send a spark down my spine. It ignites in my very center, one strong muscle contraction making me squeeze my thighs. My body is already pulsing to have this man between my legs again, as if that already didn’t happen over and over yesterday.
I’m really struggling to get my fill of him.
“Are you ready to get on your knees?” he asks, completely composed, completely in control.
I don’t mind a damn bit.
I nod.
He walks around my chair to face me, waiting. I dropped my pencil and sketchbook, then I slide off the chair. My knees meet the warm, smooth concrete of the patio. It’s an uncomfortable hard surface, but I don’t care; at this angle, I can see how hard he’s been for me.
I glance up through my eyelashes. His eyes, so dark and hungry and intense, are trained on mine. “That’s my dirty little princess,” he says softly, caressing my cheek. “Now unzip me.”
Doing as I’m told, I undo his belt and top button, then drag the zipper down slowly, inch by inch. Blood is whooshing through my ears and I salivate, so eager to have him in my mouth, to satisfy him; I know he’ll give it back tenfold. Every ounce of attention and pleasure I give, he pours right back into me. I’ve never experienced such a give and take during sex, like the two of us are an infinity loop, moving between moments of selfishness and generosity in an endless dance.
Well, until Friday.
This loop has an end. The connection will be severed. But thinking about that makes me too sad, so I focus instead on what I have now.
Right now, I have Declan.
His body. His attention.
His dominance over me that I’ve let myself surrender to.
Well, I’ve only surrendered my body; the rest is locked away.
I pull down the band of his boxer briefs. His erection springs free, twitching as if beckoning me closer. He’s so hard and bulbous, pre-cum dripping from the tip, that it almost looks painful.
I reach up to run my hands over his silky length, but he grabs my wrist. “Just your mouth.”
I take him fully into my mouth, his tip hitting the back of my throat. He releases a loud groan and heat engulfs me. I close my eyes as I savor his hardness, the taste that’s salty, tangy, him. His hands thread through my hair, guiding me up and down, guiding the pace. I take him in again fully until I’m choking on every inch. He grips the back of my head, holding me in place, stealing my air.
When we first started playing these games that night on the phone, I wasn’t sure if I should ever give in like this. Anthony had accepted what I gave him carelessly, controlling my life, my sanity, breaking off pieces of me bit by bit.
But Declan seems to cherish everything, never taking too much, pulling back when I’ve reached my limits. He might have some control issues, but they’re not destructive like Anthony’s.
He actually takes the time to satisfy me in bed; Anthony was never one to ‘play.’ Too impatient.
Either way, Declan has shown me that real control is tender. It guides and supports; it doesn’t just take until there’s nothing left.
I trust him.
Now, I can’t think of wanting anything else than to feel his powerful gaze on me.
When I glance up, I find those deep blue eyes watching like I’m doing the most fascinating thing in the world. There’s tension in the lines etched above his brows, but the slight curve of his lips softens his expression.
He looks pleased with the pain of being so close to coming.
Holding my breath, I’m content to keep him in my mouth as long as I can handle, to feel his release spilling down my throat, but he grips the back of my hair and pulls me off.
There’s another rumbling groan.
“Fuck, you’re too good at that,” he says. “It’s dangerous.”
I smirk, giving him a sassy look. “How cheesy. It’s not dangerous.”
He chuckles and caresses my cheek. “I’m not sure how else to describe what you do to me.” After helping me to my feet, he adds, “I can’t get enough of you.”
We kiss, and I cling to him. “ Same, ” I want to say.
And I want to ask, “ Can I belong to you? ”
I’ve craved it since the moment he laid his jacket over my shoulders.
I could surrender completely to this man—body, heart, essence.
But that’s a dumb thought. The two of us have an expiration date.
He breaks the kiss and takes my hand, guiding me off the patio. “Let me show you what I brought for us to play with.”