Chapter 29
Sam hadn’t expected Ophelia’s eagerness, though even he could see it wasn’t coming from a place of sexual arousal. Her gray eyes were desolate as she dragged the men into the bedroom.
She released her grip on Sam and pushed Logan into the rose-petal-covered chair in the corner, wearing an insincere smile that only seemed to worry the man further.
He cleared his throat, shifting in the seat, grabbing a petal from under himself and staring at it incredulously.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked hoarsely, looking up at her.
“This is what you wanted,” she bit out, her expression wild. “I’m giving you what you wanted, what you were willing to go nuclear on our relationship over, and now you’re—what? Backing out?”
He blinked, reeling back in the seat at her ferocity. “You’re just not acting like yourself.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she braced her hands on either arm of his chair, leaning in close. “Is this what you want or not?”
His eyes darted from her to Sam and back again as his throat worked.
“Yes or no?” she snapped.
“Yes,” he said so softly that it was a wonder that Ophelia heard it, even as close as she was.
“Well, then,” she said, straightening. “Enjoy the show.”
She turned on Sam, her mouth set in a line of grim determination—not exactly the expression he’d like to see on her face when he finally fucked her, but he would work with it.
“Ophelia,” he murmured, smoothing his hands up her arms.
She shrugged off his touch, sliding her hands beneath his jacket to roughly shove it off his shoulders.
His shirt was next, half the buttons popping off and scattering over the floor as she wrestled impatiently with it.
He glanced curiously at Logan, who sat ramrod straight in the chair, looking as though he was watching a car crash unfold.
Sam shrugged out of his mangled shirt, holding his hands out of the way as she wrestled with the fly of his pants. Then they were gone, and he was naked before her.
She made short work of her clothes, batting away his hands when he tried to help. It was clear she had no patience for the kind of slow, sensual experience he would have liked to give her.
This wasn’t going the way he’d anticipated.
He’d thought she’d be shy and blushing the whole time, burying her face in his shoulder as he fucked her and taunted her worthless fiancé.
It wasn’t an unwelcome development, however.
He was made for her. However she came to him and however she wanted to use him, he’d go along with pleasure.
When she was naked, she shoved him down on the edge of the bed—the side, rather than the end, so Logan would be able to see her face while they fucked. Her stormy expression was pure vengeance as she knelt between his thighs on the hard concrete floor.
She’d barely pumped him twice before he was hard enough to cut a diamond. He leaned back on his arms, spreading his knees wide to give her room to work.
She looked over at Logan as she stroked him. “Tell me you love me.”
He made a strangled sound, then cleared his throat. “What?”
“Say it, Logan.”
“I love you,” he choked out, sinking back into his seat as though she was about to cross the room and strike him.
“Again, and say my name.”
“I love you, Ophelia.” He looked vaguely gray now, his knuckles white around the arms of his chair.
“Again.”
He obliged, the words stammered and strangled, and her mouth was wrapping around Sam’s cock before he’d finished the sentence.
“Fuuuck,” Sam breathed, thighs tensing under the sudden onslaught of pleasure.
She looked up at him with tears in her eyes, and he didn’t know if they were from the circumstances or from how deeply and roughly she was taking him into her throat.
“Do you want to stop?” he whispered.
She glared in answer, sucking him hard. Grinning at her ferocity, he gathered up her hair in one hand, winding it into an elegant knot that he used to control her movements.
When he made her take him so deep that she began to choke, her fingers biting into his thighs as she rose up onto her knees in reflexive escape, Logan sucked in a sharp breath.
“Easy!” he called, about to rise from his seat. He was breathing erratically, his eyes so big that he could see the whites all around the man’s irises.
“She likes it,” Sam said dismissively, pulling her off his cock with her hair so she could gasp for air as spit dribbled over her chin. “Don’t you, Ophelia?”
“Yes,” she said with a gasp, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“More?” he asked.
“Please.” Her eyes were on him, and he knew Logan had faded to the back of her mind.
Satisfaction thrummed through him as he guided her mouth back to his cock.
He worked her over his length, humming a sound of approval when she cupped his balls and used the other hand to cover the base of his shaft that her mouth couldn’t reach.
Her eyes fluttered shut, so he let his head fall back, losing himself in the sounds and sensations, his skin prickling with awareness that they were being watched.
What was Logan thinking? Was he tormented by the sight of her on her knees for another man? Did it eat at him, knowing that it was his fault that it had come to this?
Sam cracked an eye to peer at him. Logan seemed more the android than he did, starkly frozen in his seat, barely breathing. His brows were knitted together, his face a mask of regret.
Then why orchestrate this? An uneasy feeling dug at Sam, but it was lost when Ophelia’s ministrations turned more urgent.
He came apart in her mouth with a harsh sound of pleasure, holding her still while his cum filled her mouth.
She whined and took sharp breaths between each swallow, but he didn’t release her until she’d sucked him clean.
When he did, she fell back on her heels, clutching at his thighs for balance with trembling arms. There was a sheen of cum on her lip; he swept his thumb over her mouth, gathering his essence, and pressed it into her mouth.
“All of it,” he murmured.
She licked it clean obediently, looking up at him with a hooded gaze. He rasped the pad of his thumb over the ridge of her teeth as he withdrew it from her mouth, punctuated by a soft, wet pop.
“You’re such a good girl,” he praised, letting her hair tumble down her back. “So eager to please.”
Logan made a strangled noise that nearly drew her attention, but Sam caught her by the chin before she could turn.
“Ah, ah,” he chided. “Not yet. Right now, you’re mine. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes," she breathed.
“Say it.”
“I’m yours.”
He beamed down at her in approval. Leaning in close, he dropped his voice too low for Logan to make out his words. “How do you want it, Ophelia? Do you want me to throw you on this bed and fuck you until you scream, or do you want to be in control?”
She shivered, her eyes going glassy. “I… I don’t…”
He captured her lips with his own—a gentle kiss that asked nothing, meant only to reassure her. She deepened it, chasing him when he would have pulled away. When she lifted onto her knees and gripped his shoulders, he had his answer.
She rose to her feet, pushing him back against the covers and straddling his hips. His dick was trapped between them, flush against the wet heat of her vulva.
Color had risen in her cheeks, a deep flush that might have been equal parts wine and arousal. She was undone in the most perfect way, so lost in the experience they were sharing.
“Do you mean it?” she whispered, letting her hair fall like a curtain around them as she looked down at him with a glassy, baleful gaze. “All those things you’re always saying about being obsessed with me? That you’ll be here for me and nothing will separate us? Is it just lip service?”
“I mean it,” he rumbled, sliding his hands up her back and enjoying the dance of her muscles as she shuddered beneath the touch.
“But you can lie.”
Her bottom lip trembled. This was important to her. Of course it was. She had no tolerance for uncertainty—that was what the compulsions were about, wasn’t it? A need to impose order, to find control in a universe of entropy. She was begging him to give her the certainty that she craved.
“Yes,” he said, dragging his fingers lightly up and down her spine. “But I am not.”
He’d known the words would do little to soothe her, but what she wanted and what she needed were two different things. He would not give her one at the expense of the other.
“But how do I know?” Her eyes searched his desperately.
“You don’t. In time, I’ll show you. For now, you’ll have to embrace the unknown.”
Her face scrunched up unhappily. “I can’t.”
“You will.” He gripped her hips and shifted her until the head of his cock prodded her entrance.
She planted her hands against his chest, her eyes widening as he teased her tight core. If she’d been less eager, he would have taken the time to prepare her, wringing orgasms from her until she was languid and without resistance.
Maybe this was better; she was never going to forget this moment, stretching to take all of him.
He swept her hair over her shoulder, gathering it to the far side of them, so Logan would have to see the ecstasy on her face as he entered her.
“Ophelia,” Logan called, braced to rise up out of the chair. He looked like he was going to be sick. “Wait—”
She held Sam’s gaze as she threw her hips back and sat, taking half his cock in one sharp movement. A ragged cry tore from her throat. Her nails raked across his skin. He caught at her hips, stilling her.
“You’ll hurt yourself,” he grated, holding her aloft.
“Fuck,” Logan bit out, standing. “Ophelia, stop.”
She panted, rocking up and sinking another inch. Her skin was growing slick with sweat as her body worked to adjust to his size.
“Ophelia!” Logan said more urgently, reaching for her.
Sam lunged up, grabbing his wrist before he could make contact with her. “Do not touch her.”
“Thirty-One, stand down!” Logan commanded, wrenching out of his grip.
“She’s mine,” he snapped instead of complying.
“What the fuck are you—”
“Sit down,” Ophelia said tightly. “And shut up.”
Stunned, Logan took a step back.
She rocked forward again, and this time when she came down, she took Sam all the way to the hilt. He groaned, his cock head nestled against her cervix as her channel squeezed around him.
Logan’s eyes were wild, his hands threaded into his hair as though he was about to pull it out. “Effie, what the fuck is this?”
“You tell me,” she said, her voice reedy and breathless. “It was your idea.”
She held Logan’s gaze as she rose and dropped hard, fucking herself with Sam’s length. He growled his approval, lending her his strength with a firm grasp on her waist as she did it again.
“Ophelia,” Sam crooned, reaching up to grab her by the chin and force her attention back to him.
The look in her eyes was pure, raw vulnerability. If humans were right about souls, he was looking right into hers. It was a beseeching look, though for what, he couldn’t guess.
“You’re doing so good,” he said, leveraging his feet against the floor to fuck her from below.
A broken sob that could have been despair or pleasure tore from her as he began to pound into her. Logan watched silently, his face a desolate mask.
Sam dipped his hand between them, sliding his fingers between her labia to nestle against her clit. She shuddered at the touch, and he wondered if she thought that was it—a bit of extra pressure while he fucked her, maybe. Some underwhelming friction.
He grinned wickedly as his fingers began to vibrate.
Surprise made her cry out and buck, but his free hand caught her hip and forced her back down where he wanted her, where he could piston in and out of her with obscene sounds as his fingers took her where she needed to go.
She writhed over him; it was as though she was being pulled in two directions, one moment trying to escape the onslaught of the pleasure, the next grinding down on him desperately.
Her hands came up to cup her breasts, and her head fell back as she tweaked her hard nipples.
Her thighs tensed around him, her little sounds of pleasure quieting with her singular focus, and a guttural moan ripped from her as she came undone.
The fluttering of her cunt ramped up the supreme satisfaction of having fucked her to completion in front of that bastard, still wavering near the bed, and then Sam was coming along with her, spurting synthetic seed into her womb.
She sagged over him, panting hard, her skin sticky against his. Strands of her hair stuck to her forehead and cheeks in curving patterns, soaked through with her sweat. Her eyes were stormy but full of fire.
She’d never looked more beautiful to him.
“Again,” he murmured, still hard inside her. His hands landed on her hips with wicked intent.
He had no refractory period. All he had was a burning desire to possess her again and again and again.
“Stop,” Logan rasped, rubbing hard at his mouth. “No more. Effie, please. We need to talk.”
Sam had every intention of ignoring the idiot, but she wriggled out of his grip, rising over him until his dick popped free. Hovering there, she took a deep breath and focused her attention on her fiancé.
“It’s over,” she said, her voice level if a bit breathy. “I know. I know about Tiffany and the sex clubs. I know what a big joke I am to you and your colleagues. You ruined everything, and I’m done. I want you to get out and never come back. You can send Brandon to get your things tomorrow.”
He swayed on his feet, tears gathering in his eyes. Sam sneered at the sight.
“Don’t do this,” Logan begged, staggering forward a step like he might try to intervene again. “I-I can explain everything. We just need to talk. Effie, please, you’re not thinking clearly—”
“Enough talking,” Sam interjected, sitting up. “She told you to leave. Get out.”
Logan’s gaze darkened. “Thirty-One—”
“That’s not his fucking name,” Ophelia shouted, lunging to grab a pillow and hurling it at his head. It hit him dead center in the face before falling to the ground with a soft whuff of air. “Now get the fuck out!”
He took a reluctant step toward the door, moving as though she was puppeting him with her words against his will. She grabbed another pillow.
“Out!” she screamed, throwing it.
Logan stumbled out of the room. Ophelia hovered over Sam, face turned toward the door, not so much as breathing until she heard the lock of the front door click loudly. Then she fell apart.