Page 66 of Surrender

He presses back into the top of a push up and drags a pillow to us before lifting my hips with one hand and shoving the pillow underneath them with the other. The change in angle has him thrusting into my G-spot repeatedly. He's slow and gentle, but I can tell he's getting close. Sweat drips from his hair onto my stomach and his chest heaves.

I close my eyes and will my brain to quiet. And when he strums my clit, grunting with each thrust, I'm finally able to come again.

I squeeze my thighs around him, back arching, and I'm pretty sure my nails are digging into his back, but I can't find it in me to care.

He falls back to his elbows, thrusting into me through my orgasm before he's groaning long and low into my neck and coming. I hold him to me through it, praying he can't feel me trembling.

When he pulls out, I wince, but the pain is dull, and I don't really care. Declan sits back and away from me, staring at the blood coating the condom with a sweaty, reverent smile on his face.

He shakes his head once before whispering, "God, you really are perfect, aren't you?"

He steps off the bed and walks into the bedroom, stripping off the condom, I assume. I quickly wipe away the tears on my temples and run the back of my hand under my nose, trying to at least appear composed. When he comes back into the room, I give him a sleepy smile and lay there patiently as he cleans me up with a warm, wet hand towel.

"How are you feeling?" he asks before kissing my knee.

I nod. "Good. Not too bad."

He smiles again before tossing the hand towel in the hamper, laying down beside me and pulling my body to his.

He's asleep in minutes.

Chapter thirty-seven

Serenity

I'm waiting for Declan after my shift in the exhibitionist’s hallway. The scene in front of me just finished and I'm enjoying watching this beautiful couple hold each other, whispering sweet nothings and gently caressing each other.

It's a beautiful thing to see. It's a beautiful thing, in general. Two people find each other out of the millions of other people in this world and learn to trust and communicate with each other, to negotiate and compromise and put the other person first. They have to learn to be vulnerable together, and trust that the other person won't hurt them, even though they likely will. Then to trust each other with their bodies, to trust that the other person owns their pleasure and then to fall in love.

I think about myself and Declan.

We kind of did everything backward. I trusted him before I really even knew him. And we put the sex before the vulnerability and love. I'm not upset by it. I love what he and I have, but I wonder if a relationship that was built backwards can really last? None of my romance books are written like this. Sure, you have the occasional one-night stand that turns intoan accidental pregnancy or surprise baby, but that only forces the couple to work together to build a foundation of trust and affection.

"Enjoying the scene?" A male voice asks from behind me and I turn to find Harrison, arms crossed, leaning against the wall.

I nod. "I am. They're beautiful together."

I say motioning to the couple in front of us.

He nods in agreement but doesn't say anything else. I squirm under his scrutinizing gaze.

"Don't hurt him." It's a warning but there's no heat behind it.

"Excuse me?" I don't like the idea that he's insinuating I would do anything like that to Declan. I owe him my life.

"He's never really loved anyone before. He loved his fiancé, but it was a young, passionate love born out of need, not something that would have ever lasted."

I bristle, but he's also insinuating that Declan loves me. I've been in love with him for months now, and while I think he's fond of me, I'm not sure he's at the point of love. And maybe he never will be. And I think I'm okay with that.

I don't need grand gestures, or flowers, or date nights. I just want to feel safe, desired, protected. And I do with Declan. That's all I need.

"He doesn't love me," I reply, my eyes glued to the man's hand as it runs up and down the woman's arm, sweetly.

A sourness forms in the pit of my stomach. He doesn't love me. We have sex, we run, we work together, and he holds me at night, but he's never looked at me with the softness of the man in front of me. He's never caressed me like he can't help but touch me.

He's never even kissed me on the lips.

Shame is a heavy weight in my stomach. He doesn't love me.

---