Private 02 - Private Paradise

countless times with his hands, lips, cock.
    He whispered to her in the dark about how beautiful she was, how much he loved touching her, fucking her, the feel of her skin against hers. How he'd never felt like this with anyone else and he didn't want to be with anyone else ever again.
    Carla fought back tears, the deep satisfaction wearing her down, crumbling her defenses until she wanted desperately to believe him. Finally he took the restraints off, and she whimpered at the sound of foil ripping once again.
    Her body tightened in anticipation even though she was so well used she knew she'd have trouble walking for the next few days.
    But she couldn't resist him as he slid inside her, gentle now, slow, as his own urgency had faded in the course of their earlier, wild couplings.
    This time he sank in slow, held himself there as he urged her to wrap her arms and legs around him. “This is how I love it best,” he whispered with soft pecks of his lips on her mouth, cheeks, neck. “You wrapped around me, holding me tight. So deep inside you I feel like I could crawl up inside your skin and become a part of you.”
    Carla felt a twisting sensation in her chest, like she was falling over a cliff, helpless to make it stop. Even knowing he was a master of manipulation, it was so hard to resist, impossible not to fall for him all over again.
    “ This is how I always wanted it to be, Carla.” He kissed her again, then propped his elbows on either side of her head and held her gaze with his. “I love you.”
    Carla felt a laugh rip through her chest. It was either that or burst into tears.
    Sam froze, every muscle in his body stiffening against her. “What?”
    Her laughter rose to a hysterical pitch, overwhelming her until she could barely get the words out. “S-sam,” she sputtered helplessly, “isn't it obvious by now that you don't have to feed me a line to get me in bed? I'm here already!” She flung her arms up on the pillow to demonstrate.
    She didn't know what she expected Sam to do, but it wasn't for him to slip from her body and move from the bed without saying a word.
    Her body felt chilled at his sudden absence and she pulled the sheet up to her neck, a sense of dread settling over her as she watched him yank his shorts up his legs.
    “ What's wrong?”
    He didn't answer, but it was clear from the way he dressed in quick, jerky moves that he was upset.
    He stormed out without a word, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the villa's windows.
    She fought the urge to go after him, ask him if it was really true, if it was possible.
    But no. She already knew the answer. She didn't need to suffer the humiliation of having him confirm it once again to her face.
    Sam O'Connell didn't fall in love with women. Certainly not with her.
    He was just pissed, she reasoned, because no one else had ever called him on his bluff. Every woman before willingly played his game, listened to his pretty words, believed in the moment but knew it wasn't really true.
    But here came Carla calling his bullshit, ruining the charade he was so determined to keep up.
    Carla continued to tell herself that through the rest of her sleepless night, while her heart ached with the wish that his words had been true.

Chapter Thirteen

    Humiliation burned through Sam so fiercely he could barely see. Pain gripped his chest, tearing at him with such ferocity it was a wonder he wasn't sick from it.
    She’d laughed at him.
    He'd laid out everything for her, blurted out the truth he couldn't keep inside, told her that he loved her.
    And all she could do was laugh.
    Unbidden, his father's voice entered his head, sneering, slurring, but never failing to get his point across. You think you're ever going to be more than a hard dick and a good time to a girl like that? You think she's ever going to love a worthless sack of shit like you?
    He'd never felt anything like this, like someone had punched a hole clean through him.
    Sam let himself into his office, his eyes burning, his fists clenched. He wanted to punch a wall, beat his hands against the concrete, anything to dilute the pain gnawing through him. But he resisted the urge to grab the computer monitor and smash it to the floor, to kick over the desk and use the desk lamp to shatter the windows.
    He'd learned the hard way that wanton destruction and violence for its own sake didn't get you much more than bruised knuckles and a hefty bill to pay. It wouldn't chase away the crippling ache at the