Positive/Negativity (10 page)

“Yes,”
I breathed.

“Yes, what? Tell me,” he said. “Tell me what I want to hear.” He continued kissing and claiming my sensitive skin.

“Yes, I want this,”
I said. I’d never wanted anything more than I wanted him at that moment. I didn’t think I could verbalize much more.

That was Declan’s powerful effect on me. Intellectual thoughts were a luxury I no longer possessed. I could only conceive thoughts of him. I craved, needed, and desired only him. The overpowering ache that beat within me was one that only
he
could satisfy. All thoughts were of him;
his
power,
his
stance,
his
jaw against me, and
his
tattoos underneath my gripping fingertips. I wanted to see him and feel him—
naked.

“You want me, baby?” his teasing mouth was against my throat. He was aware he was pushing me over the edge, and the knowledge intoxicated him.

I gathered all my courage and pushed my school girl modesty aside. He had caused the woman in me to surface, and she was screaming to have her say, but it came out as a hoarse plea.

“I want you—naked—inside me—taking me.”
TTTT

“Yes, my beautiful girl,” he spoke low and rough into my ear. “I’ve waited patiently to give you what you want. Now, tell me what you
need
.”

He knew me; knew that I hadn’t let go of my “good girl” mindset. He wanted me to let go of all thought and give in to what he could make me
feel
. I finally understood what he was asking of me…to
completely
let go, and give it all
to him
.

I fisted his hair with my hands and pulled him to me. I released any reservations, telling him the words I had been too afraid to say.

“Make love to me, Declan. Make me forget my name, while you make me scream yours…”

He growled in satisfaction. It was a deep, carnal, animalistic sound. I knew it was what he’d waited long and patiently to hear. He made me know that he wanted me enough to wait for
me
to be ready, and that made me want him all the more.

He released me for a brief moment, giving me a hard stare and said, “I love a woman who knows what she wants.”

All passion carefully held for the past weeks broke loose in the firm hands holding, feeling, and gripping me. Declan began to claim what he had been patiently waiting for. His tongue entered my mouth, and I forgot everything except the sensation of the powerful, silk thrusts that invaded and claimed me. He lifted my legs up and placed them around his waist. That was how he carried me upstairs. He laid me down in his huge, delicious bed. As he removed my clothing, he allowed my hands free access, and I removed his. I explored what I had longed to touch. He took control, but he was attentive to every need my body longed and cried out for. His hands, lips, and tongue were equally talented, and he tortured and tantalized my body.

For months we had stopped when he could feel my reservations. The graduation of our relationship had been sensual and left me longing with an immediate desire, but a reality for patience. He told me that he knew I was a “relationship girl”, and I wanted to see where we were heading. I couldn’t have prepared for the orgasmic and emotional experience that I was now feeling. The ownership that I had felt with the thrusts of Declan’s tongue, he now mirrored in the same delicious propulsions with which he was claiming my body. The luscious and swirled patterns he used to massage my shoulder, he was using in a creative way with his thumb as he stroked me. He filled my body to full with his. He left no part of me untouched by his lovemaking. Tempting and talented he branded me with his mouth, his tongue, and his sex. Goose bumps formed on my skin, though I was flushed all over. My breasts had become so full and tight that they were woefully painful with desire for his touch. I was warmed and chilled simultaneously with his sensuous skills. He relentlessly stroked, thrust, and claimed, formally announcing that I was no longer the possessor of my body and soul. He had declared me as
his
with his love making, of that I was certain. He claimed my heart. I so much as told him so with each labored breath…

…and a torrent of powerful emotions erupted for both Aria and Declan, as thoughts of breathing, and all else, became irrelevant…

T
If I Could be Her – ZZ Ward

TT
Question Existing – Rihanna

TTT
Oh My – Gin Wigmore

Marisol Franzi was considered one of the world’s most beautiful women, and her photographs graced the covers of practically every fashion magazine. She was consistently in high demand with nearly every major fashion designer. Due to her fame and success, virtually everyone who was anyone wanted to be in her presence. Marisol never lacked invitations to the most exclusive parties, the latest popular night clubs, or paramount elegant events. Paparazzi followed her constantly. She could be seen keeping company with the world’s most eligible bachelors on multimillion dollar yachts, private islands, or posh European villas. Reports of her activities and escapades were continually chronicled on nightly news and gossip shows. She was a woman who lived by her own rules; she did as she wanted, where she wanted, and with whom she wanted. She was refused nothing because she didn’t take “no” for an answer. Another reason she was rarely declined anything she desired was due to reports of her malevolent temper. The one thing she coveted most that she hadn’t been able to obtain was Declan Sinclair.

Declan and Marisol were frequently photographed together. Their looks complimented each other dramatically, which made them highly desirable to clients. The two were incessantly in high demand. Marisol was well aware of how magnificently striking a couple they appeared. She, herself, thought that Declan was a beautiful and desirable man. Marisol, who rarely gave thought to anything other than herself, found that she was lingering on thoughts of Declan more times than she cared to. At times, she thought of him to distraction, which caused her distress. Marisol didn’t like not getting what she wanted—Declan.
T

Marisol admired and was attracted to the powerful way in which Declan carried himself; it intrigued her. He displayed himself with a strong and quiet confidence, and she found herself drawn to that air of self-assurance. He was physically pleasing to watch, and she found that her eyes lingered while viewing his preparations for photo shoots. As the hair stylists coiffed his hair, she longed to run her fingers through it. She stared as make-up artists ran their fingers and brushes over his cheekbones and down his strong jaw line, and she imagined her hands lingering there. When Declan was completely dressed for a particular campaign, she admired him in a fully dressed suit. Marisol had found that, over the years, she preferred Declan in less clothing, rather than more. The skimpier the attire he wore, the better she liked it. They were frequently posed so that they’d be touching each other intimately, and she did not protest those stances, not one little bit.

There was little of Declan Sinclair that Marisol Franzi did not find to her liking. What she had found distasteful was the company she found Declan keeping of late.

Declan had been accepting less than a normal amount of commercial print work. The rumor amongst their circles was that his thoughts were to gracefully bow out of the spotlight and invest himself in more of the business side of the modeling profession. It was said that Declan had been trying to keep it quiet, but theirs was not an industry without a generous amount of gossip, as tabloid sales would confirm. Marisol loved gossip as much as the next person, but with regard to Declan, she only wanted more of the facts. He hadn’t yet succumbed to her charms, and charm him she would. She was determined to have more accessibility to him, not less. She, herself, had no intentions of taking less work; she wanted as much visibility as possible. She knew that she was more marketable
with
Declan as they were a photographic dream team. Photographers said that they were
stunning
together, and they were offered more jobs in unison than separately.
She
wouldn’t be slowing down any time soon, and if Marisol had her way, neither would Declan. In her opinion, Declan’s aspirations were foolish.

Marisol wanted—no, she
needed
to get more information on what Declan was doing when he was away from the influences of New York. She believed that, once she discovered what his diversions were, she could form a plan to occupy his attentions and divert them back to New York, Marisol, and the limelight that she coveted for them both. Once she had that, she was certain that she could distract him until he was, once again, immersed in his former, and more appropriate, work ethic. He was slacking, and she did not approve.

Marisol held an envelope in her hands with the report of a private investigator she’d hired to observe Declan. As she opened the report, read the results, and viewed the photographs, she began to familiarize herself with the personal details of Declan’s life, something she had never cared to do previously as she saw no benefit for her could come from it. Marisol saw a photo of Declan having lunch with a man who looked very much like him. He was handsome, though not as handsome as Declan. Looking at the report, she learned that the man was his brother. There was also a woman in the photo, and she was listed as Declan’s sister-in-law. The report said that Declan’s brother was in law enforcement.
What a menial thing to do for a living
, she thought, quickly dismissing him.

She then saw a photo of Declan attending a grave site. That was curious. Consulting the report once again, it said he was visiting the resting place of his Mother. Marisol had never given thought to Declan having parents, so of course she didn’t know his mother had died, much less when she died.
I wonder if I knew him when that happened?
she thought, but she dismissed the thought as quickly as it came.

The remainder of the report was full of minor, and what she considered, insignificant details; Declan went to the post office, auto garage, and the home improvement store—the various errands that one does when they don’t have someone to run the errands for them. Nothing seemed too suspicious with the exception of this house that Declan had purchased.
What about this house?
TT

The old, ugly house raised her suspicions because Declan seemed to be spending too much time there. It was at a small, insignificant beach town where no one that she knew would be caught dead visiting. There were pictures of him carrying items into the house—personal things that would lead one to believe that this was a more permanent residence. The pictures didn’t make sense to her. The reports listed him going to furniture stores and galleries, while the pictures reflected items that would validate purchases from those places.
Why would he go to such a place? What was the appeal?
Marisol didn’t see it.

There were pictures of Declan arranging furniture on an outside porch, painting chairs, putting up a “Welcome” sign, and reclining on the porch in early morning hours with coffee. Those pictures showed Declan to be more relaxed than Marisol had ever known him to be. The report and the pictures seemed to be confirming the rumors that Declan might truly be attempting to slow down and take a bit more personal time.
Why would he want to be in that stupid little town and take personal time?
Marisol was perplexed.