Page 50 of Haze

It took not more than a few minutes of his fingers touching my clit before I bucked my hips off the bed when I fell over the edge into an intense orgasm. His mouth found mine right then and as I moaned into his lips, he moved his fingers again, this time sliding two inside me, coaxing yet another climax from me.

He'd held me tightly against him then, our nude bodies pressed into one another while his lips rested on my shoulder. I'd tugged lightly on the handcuffs and without a word, he'd moved quickly to unlock them, taking the time to kiss my hands and both of my wrists.

I sat quietly as he reached for his phone to call Charles. He asked him to bring up my phone and while he tugged the sweatpants into place, I stared out at the city. Millions of people live here, each with their own unique story and yet mine is woven into Gabriel Foster's. It makes little sense but maybe that doesn't matter. Maybe this is just about enjoying these moments for what they are.

"Check your messages, Isla," he says as he hands me my phone. "The conversation you had with Garrett on the phone sounded important."

I nod as I skim my finger over the screen to open my email app. I find his message immediately and as soon as I open it, my eyes scan the text. I pop open the document, reading it each line with care.

"You look worried." His hand taps my bare knee as he sits on the edge of the bed next to me. I'd pulled a sheet around my torso when he left the room to wait for Charles, but my legs are still completely exposed.

I rest my back against the headboard balancing my phone on my thigh. "It's just some family stuff."

"Family stuff?" He leans forward, his fingers pushing the hair on my cheek back behind my ear. "Do you want to share it with me?"

I do. I want very much to do that but whatever this is between us is too nice to mess with. Dragging my family drama into this will weigh it down. It will change the dynamic. "I can handle it."

"I have no doubt that you can. Sometimes it helps to discuss it. It lessens the burden."

"Do you have family stuff too?" I ask half-jokingly.

"My family is one fucked up mess." His brows both jump up. "You must know that. It's all over the tabloids."

"All I know is your dad is marrying some crazy tall model."

"Crazy is the operative word, Isla." He rolls his eyes. "Bat shit crazy."

I laugh aloud. "Do people know you're this funny?"

"What people?" He edges closer to me. "You're not going to tell these people that I'm not only funny but scared shitless of heights, are you?"

"I knew it." I slap my hand against his bare shoulder. "I knew you were scared of heights."

His eyes float to the red mark on his skin. "You didn't just slap me, did you? Tell me that didn't happen."

I hear the slight change in his tone the moment I see the intensity in his glare. "I'm sorry?"

"You're sorry?" he parrots back. "It's supposed to be a statement, not a question."

"Is it?"

A ghost of a grin floats over his lips as he rips the sheet away from me, tosses my phone on the bed and flips me onto my stomach.

His lips brush over my ass cheek mere seconds before I feel the harsh sting of his hand as he slaps me in the same spot. I cry out and again when his hand connects with my flesh, harder this time.

I push my ass into the air, wanting more, craving not only the pain but the sound that escapes his lips when he hears my response. It's deep, low and wrapped around a litany of curse words.

"Please," I say into the sheets. "Again, please."

The only response I hear is the unmistakable sound of a condom package being ripped open and a moan as his hand brushes my pussy.

He yanks me back with both hands on my hips before he edges the wide crest of his cock along my folds.

"Your body is ready for me. You're wet, so wet."

I push my face against the sheet as I feel him slide inside.

"God, Isla." He pushes himself into me, inch by delicious inch, stretching me. "You're too tight. It's too much."

I nudge my ass back, wanting more. Sucking in a deep breath I feel him slide all the way in, the painful bite is so intense I can barely move.

Using his hands on my hips, he controls our rhythm. It's slow at first, restrained by my body's own need to adjust to his size and his command of my pleasure.

I start to move, pushing back to meet each of his thrusts. He speeds the plunges, his right foot darting to the bed to give him more depth.

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