I fuck her as her eyes have been begging me to do the past hour, and I love every goddamn minute of it. The intensity of our sexual connection is insane. It’s better than it was on the plane, and it is the first time in a long time I’ve allowed my partner’s needs to enter the equation as equally as mine.
“Oh god,” Isabelle pants on a moan before she locks her eyes with mine.
Her orgasm is building. It is coming in hard and fast, but as per her earlier confession, never again will she achieve that level of ecstasy without me.
She will forever need me to get off, and the knowledge is intense to my smarts.
“This is mine,” I grunt out without a single thought about the consequences my confession could cause. I’m done playing Col’s games. I’ve done it for weeks. It caused more hurt than it hindered. The groove between Isabelle’s brows at the start of our interlude assures me of this, not to mention the relief that darts through her eyes during my declaration of ownership. “All of this is mine. Say it, Isabelle. Say it, and I’ll let you come.”
My cock throbs when she pushes out without hesitation, “It’s yours. All of it is yours. I am yours.”
Something inside me snaps, and for once, it isn’t my mood. The heaviness on my shoulders becomes nonexistent, and years of torment seem inconsequential.
Nothing but pleasing Isabelle is on my mind.
“Oh. Oh. Oh,” Isabelle purrs on repeat as her lusty expression augments.
“Eyes on me, Isabelle,” I demand when the shakes hammering every inch of her body turn dire. She’s on the brink of ecstasy, and it takes everything I have not to fall into a previously overused crutch. I’m so desperate to hear her scream my name, it overrides everything and everyone, including myself.
After locking my eyes with her exhausted face, I drop my hand to where our bodies are intimately joined. As her beautifully rich eyes stare into mine, I circle the nervy bud between her wet folds with my thumb.
My meekest touch sends her freefalling into orgasmic bliss. As my name rips from her throat in a guttural moan, her nails drag down my back. My cock throbs with untamed need when the squeezes of her pussy coerce me into the madness with her. I freeze my hips a mere second before hot squirts of cum rocket out of my cock.
While Isabelle’s pussy milks my cock of its spawn, I take advantage of her gaped mouth. I plunge my tongue between her sweat-dotted lips before dragging it up the roof of her mouth. “You are mine,” I growl over her kiss-swollen lips, never surer of anything in my life. “Every inch of you is mine, Isabelle.”
Without an ounce of hesitation firing in her eyes, she dips her chin before murmuring, “Yes. Forever.”
42
Hugo yanks a bottle of water out of the almost empty refrigerator before spinning around to face me. His expression exposes my lack of thoughtfulness when it comes to feeding guests I invite to my apartment, but he keeps his thoughts to himself. It is for the best. I’m tired, and although I’d rather be snuggled up with Isabelle in bed, sleeping off the tiredness of our marathon sex romp, more pressing issues require my attention.
“Did Regan wire transfer your down payment today?”
He notches up his chin. “She did, but she had a handful of barriers she had to jump over first.” He scrubs at the stubble on his chin while muttering, “Even mafia entities don’t want a ghost’s money.”
He’s tired because instead of spending the past several hours waiting for Isabelle and me, he kept Col on his toes with another impromptu visit from Keke. Col thinks his dealings with Keke will put him in the good books with Henry. Little does he know Henry never lets a single trade slip his scrutiny. Keke and Tatiana aren’t residing in Ravenshoe for no reason, and even with Henry’s constant denial ringing in my ears, I know that reason is Col.
I get back to the reason for Hugo’s late-night visit when he eyes me dubiously. “What did Regan give them?” A smirk tugs on my lips when he shoves a printout my way. His alias is more hideous than Isabelle’s real job description. He is a financial advisor at the firm Isabelle works at as an accountant. “Will this cause ruffles for Isabelle?” Hugo appears lost as to what I’m referring until I add, “Her name could come up in background searches.”
He untwists the lid on the water bottle before taking a big gulp, then he says, “I highly doubt that. Hunter took weeks to unearth her information, so I don’t think the monkeys working for the Popovs will find it.” His reply fills me with suspicion, but before it can be seen on my face, he informs, “We believe Izzy’s credentials are buried because of blondie.”
“Brandon?” I guess, conscious Hugo only gives nicknames to the people he either likes or loathes. There is no middle ground.
He lifts his chin. “He works at the same firm as Izzy. Seen him coming and going a few times the past week.” When my jaw tightens enough to crack, Hugo talks faster. “I thought Hunter advised you of this?”
“No, he didn’t,” I mutter under my breath, mindful I can’t work Hunter to the brink, then complain about him being too tired to function at full capacity. “But I’ll be sure to have a word with him about his slip-up.”
“You have nothing to worry about, boss.” He leaps over my couch before wriggling his ass deep into the luxurious leather like he’s settling in for the long haul. “I watched the surveillance tape. There are kisses, and then thereare kisses. Izzy’s kiss with Brandon wasn’t the latter.”
“I know,” I bark out without the slightest bit of unease in my tone. Isabelle melts when I kiss her. Her cheeks didn’t flame when Brandon tried to do the same. They didn’t even rouse a little. But I’d rather she abstain from kissing anyone but me—cheek pecks included.
Needing a drink to wash down the jealousy swirling in my stomach, I enter the kitchen to fill a crystal glass with whiskey. I’ve barely tossed down half a nip when, “Oh, hey, Isabelle,” rumbles into the well-equipped but basic space.
When I re-enter the living room, Isabelle’s tug on the hem of the shirt I left on the floor freezes partway down her luscious thighs. As she shifts her eyes to me, she stumbles back with a shaky step.
“Stop, Isabelle,” I mutter, revolted by her panicked expression.
She gave herself to me last night as no woman ever has—wholeheartedly and without restraint—so the last thing I want is for her to see me as an overbearing ogre.
