My violent orgasm inspires Isaac’s release. He fills me to the hilt seconds before spurts of hot cum explode from his throbbing cock.
The walls of my pussy clench around him, milking his densely veined manhood. Once every drop of his spawn has been released, his hooded eyes collide with mine.
“You are mine,” he says before sealing his mouth over mine.
He kisses me so passionately my sex clenches around his still convulsing cock. “Every inch of you is mine, Isabelle.”
32
Isabelle
Groaning a long and tedious grunt, I flutter open my eyes. My muscles are weary, and my temples are throbbing from the lack of sleep I've gotten the past two days. Scanning the room, I realize it is just as bland and uninviting as it was months ago. The walls are void of any paintings or pictures, and no knick-knacks adorn the bedside tables. When I roll over and snatch my satchel from the bedside table, my face winces. It isn't a bad pain; more of a reminder of what Isaac and I did numerous times earlier this evening.
What Isaac said the last time I was in his room is undoubtedly accurate. You don't have any doubts when you've been bedded by Isaac Holt. If every muscle in your body aching in pain isn't an adequate sign, the surge of adrenaline running through your veins hours after the event is a sure-fire indication.
My nose screws up when I fire up my phone and see it is 10 PM. As much as I'd like to sleep until next week, I can't go back to bed now, or I'll be awake in the middle of the night.
Reluctantly, I scamper out of bed. My lips curve into a broad grin when I snag Isaac’s shirt he was wearing this afternoon off the floor. I shift my eyes around the room to ensure it is empty before raising his shirt to my nose and inhaling a huge whiff. A shiver runs through my body when his delicious scent invades my senses.
My eyes skim the room, seeking any article of clothing that was discarded when we barely made it from the entranceway to the bedroom. Since my impromptu gaze has come up empty, I pull Isaac's shirt over my head. After removing my unruly hair from the collar, my bare feet pad along the floor as I exit the room.
My long strides halt when, “Oh, hey, Isabelle,” sounds through my ears.
I freeze as my hands shoot down to the hem of Isaac’s shirt. Yanking on the hem, I pray my private parts aren’t visible. Hugo chuckles boisterously at my panicked reaction.I’m glad he can see the humor in the situation. I stiffen even more when Isaac strolls out of the kitchen with a crystal glass in his hand. His smoldering eyes run down my body before lifting to my face.
Swallowing harshly, I scramble back, intimidated by his darkened glare.
“Stop, Isabelle,” Isaac demands, his voice extra throaty.
I halt, rendered motionless by his pinning gaze. Smirking at my passiveness, he glides toward me, his steps as striking and bold as his handsome face.
He stands so close to me, his whiskey-scented breath fans my lips. “As ravishing as you look right now, I don’t like other men eyeing what is mine.” His words are only for my ears.
Although his warning could be mistaken as intimidating, his tone doesn’t reflect that.
“There are clothes in the closet for you. Go and get dressed, then I’ll take you home.” He runs his thumb under my eyes to remove the mascara caked there.
Ignoring the disappointment clawing my chest that he already wants to take me home, I pivot on my heels and stalk back to his bedroom. I'm barely two feet away from Isaac when he calls my name. My heart beats at an irregular rhythm when I crank my neck back to peer at him. It grows wilder when I spot the dominant gleam brightening his dark eyes.
“From now on, anytime you leave my room, you are only to wear my shirts," he commands as his eyes scan my body.
My brows squeeze together as I hesitantly nod.Didn’t I just get reprimanded for wearing his shirt out of his bedroom?
Shrugging off my confusion, I head for the hidden walk-in wardrobe. My bewilderment intensifies when I enter the expensive space. The vast collection of suits that were housed here months ago have been removed, replaced with a handful of dry cleaning bags.
My toes dig into the plush carpet as I saunter further inside. My breathing labors when I spot over a dozen Jimmy Choo shoe boxes lined underneath a handful of designer dresses and ball gowns. Allowing my love of Jimmy Choo to overrule logical thinking, I stoop down and pry open the lid on the first box.
An excited squeal emits from my lips when I spot a pair of Kia 110 boots. My eyes absorb every perfect stitch and exquisite design when I lift them from their box. My excitement is squashed when I see they're a petite size six. Even on a non-humid day, my size eight feet will never squeeze into them. After giving them one final hug , I place the shoes back into their box.
Once I’ve changed into a fresh set of clothes, I saunter back to the living room. My pulse quickens when Isaac’s eyes lift and lock with mine. The dominant gleam I spotted in his eyes earlier triples when he absorbs the white-wash jeans and light pink cashmere sweater I chose from the women’s clothing in his closet that was my size. All the designer dresses were two sizes too small for my generous breasts.
As I glide past a grinning Hugo, I mouth a silent apology for the awkward predicament I placed him in.
“It’s all good, Isabelle. I saw more the night you climbed over the privacy partition,” Hugo replies to my wordless apology, a sassy wink adding to the playfulness in his tone.
My eyes snap to Isaac when he growls at Hugo’s taunt. His jaw is quivering, and his hands are balled at his sides.
“I’m joking,” Hugo assures as his confused eyes flick between Isaac and me. “You know me, Boss, I never water another man’s turf.”
