Elena
The next morning, I wake to find Declan already up, standing by the window with a cup of coffee.
The early light catches in his copper hair, turning it gold at the edges.
He's wearing only sleep pants, his chest bare, and I can see the tension in his shoulders.
"Morning," he says without turning around.
"Morning." My voice sounds rough. I didn't sleep well. I couldn't stop thinking about my father's words, about the gun I hid in my jewelry box where I know Declan won’t look, about the impossible choice I have to make.
Declan turns to look at me, and something in his expression softens. "You okay?"
"Fine. Just tired."
He studies me for a moment, then sets his coffee down and moves to the bed. The mattress dips under his weight as he sits beside me, his hand coming up to brush hair back from my face. The gesture is gentle, and it makes my chest tighten.
"You sure?" His voice is concerned. "You seemed upset last night."
"I'm fine," I say again, and this time I force a smile. "Really."
He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. Instead, he leans in and kisses me soft and slow, his hand cupping my jaw. I kiss him back, trying not to think about what I'm supposed to do. I try not to think about anything except the warmth of his mouth and the solid weight of him beside me.
When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with desire. "Come here," he murmurs, and pulls me into his lap.
I go willingly, straddling him, the silk slip I wore to bed last night riding up around my thighs.
His hands settle on my hips, warm and possessive, and I can feel him hardening beneath me.
The evidence of his desire sends heat pooling low in my belly, chasing away some of the cold fear that's been sitting in my chest since last night.
"Elena." He murmurs my name, his hands sliding up my sides, taking the silk with them. "I want you."
I reach between us, freeing his cock. I stroke him slowly, feeling guilt flood me as he groans with pleasure. I lean in to kiss him again, trying to banish those thoughts, to not think about what I can’t change.
He lies back, stripping my slip off and pulling me astride his face. He licks me to a slow orgasm while he strokes himself, then lifts me, the strong muscles of his arms flexing, and sets me down just above his cock while he rolls a condom on.
I feel that guilt again. By the rules of the world I live in, this man doesn’t have to do this—doesn’t have to sacrifice the pleasure of fucking me bare for my own neuroses.
And yet, he did it without me even asking him to buy them.
He could have just pulled out every time and insisted on taking the risk.
But instead, he’s sacrificing his pleasure for my happiness.
And I’m supposed to kill him.
I force the thought out of my head as he guides my hips, teaching me to ride him. I find a rhythm, and he groans, his head falling back on the pillows. “God, you’re a quick learner,” he murmurs roughly. “You look so pretty on my cock, wife.”
He reaches down, spreading me as he plays with my clit. “So perfect,” he rumbles. “God, you feel so good. So beautiful.”
His praise makes my chest ache. I’m anything but perfect. And he has no idea.
I moan his name as he makes me come, arching and shuddering as I ride him, and he follows a second later, fingers digging into my hips as he thrusts deep inside of me. And as I feel him gently ease me off his softening length, I try not to think about what I'm supposed to do.
—
As if to make it worse, he throws himself fully into trying to be the best possible husband he can be.
He brings me white roses, my favorite, though I never told him that.
He must have asked someone. Maybe one of the staff at my father's estate.
The gesture makes my chest ache. Another day he brings me pastries from a specialty bakery in Little Italy in a variety of flavors, leaving them for me with breakfast along with fancy coffee.
We have sex constantly, and every time he focuses on me before he ever takes his pleasure.
We fuck in the morning when we wake up, in the afternoon, late at night.
He touches me like he can't get enough, like he's trying to memorize every inch of my body. And every time, I respond and let myself get lost in the pleasure and the way he makes me feel wanted and desired and seen. I can’t help it. It’s the best thing I’ve ever felt, and I want him as much as he wants me.
But underneath it all, my father's words echo in my mind. Kill him. Be free.
I have opportunities to do it. I keep the vial on me when I can, and one afternoon, I'm in the kitchen making tea when Declan comes in for water.
He's been working out, his shirt damp with sweat, his hair disheveled.
He kisses my temple as he passes casually, and I watch him pour a glass from the filtered pitcher in the fridge.
The poison is tasteless and fast-acting. All I'd have to do is slip it into his water, wait for him to drink, and then it would be over.
My hand trembles as I pour hot water over my tea bag. Declan doesn't notice. He's checking his phone, frowning at something on the screen. "Everything okay?" I ask.
"Yeah. Just business." He looks up and smiles at me. "You want to go out tonight? There's a new restaurant one of the guys told me about that we could try.”
"Sure," I say, and watch him drink his water. He sets the glass down and kisses me again before heading back to his office.
The vial is still in my pocket.
Another night, I find him in the living room reading. He's sprawled on the couch, one arm behind his head, completely absorbed in whatever book he's holding. He looks relaxed and unguarded. Vulnerable.
The gun is upstairs. Small enough to hide in my hand.
I could walk up behind him, press it to the back of his head, and pull the trigger before he even knew I was there.
I stand in the doorway watching him, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it.
But he doesn't look up, just turns the page and keeps reading.
I turn around and go back to the bedroom.
I don't get the gun.
—
Three days after my father's revelation, Declan takes me to dinner at Gibsons. We're halfway through our meal when his hand finds my thigh under the table. His touch is warm through the silk of my dress, and when I look up at him, the heat in his eyes makes my breath catch.
"Declan—"
"I can't stop thinking about you," he says quietly, his hand sliding higher. "About this morning and the way you looked when you came."
My face flushes. "We're in public."
"I know." His fingers find the edge of my panties, teasing. "But I don't care."
"Declan." My voice is breathless now. "We can't—"
"We can." He leans in close, his lips brushing my ear. "Come with me."
He stands abruptly, pulling me up with him. I barely have time to grab my clutch before he's leading me through the restaurant, past the curious stares, toward the back hallway where the restrooms are. But he doesn't stop at the restrooms. He finds a door marked "Private" and pulls me inside.
“What’s the point of all this power if I can’t fuck my wife when and where I want?
” he growls. I realize we’re in a small office—someone’s office.
But Declan doesn’t care. Something about that sends a thrill through me as Declan locks the door behind us.
Then his mouth is on mine, hot and demanding.
I kiss him back desperately, my hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer.
"I need you," he growls against my lips. "Right now."
"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.