“Now I need to decide whether I should fuck your mouth before reminding you exactly who your pussy belongs to or if I should stuff my cum back inside you with my dick.”
When her wide eyes rocket to my cock, I give it three long, precise strokes. I don’t need to touch it to get hard. It’s throbbing with untamed need. I am merely reminding Isabelle that her constantly goading will end disastrously for her. I’ll still give her what she needs, but it will just be at my pace and pleasure.
After a handful more pumps, I swipe the crest of my cock across her plump lips before saying with a growl, “Leave it there.” She’s so eager to taste me for the first time, her tongue was a hair’s breadth away from the droplet of pre-cum I smeared on her lip before I demanded her to stop. “You’ll taste me whenIgive you permission to taste me.”
Goosebumps follow the trek of my hand when I glide it down the bumps in her spine and over the globes of her ass. Her thighs quiver when my index finger skims past her puckered hole, but she doesn’t clench her ass cheeks closed like she did yesterday. It is an improvement but not enough for me to pursue my wish to claim her as I’m sure no man has.
“It just won’t be until after I’ve fucked you over the tub, in the shower, then on the counter after we’ve consumed brunch on it.” Her knees curve inward when I cup her drenched pussy in my hand. “Then, once you’ve done precisely as asked, I may let you suck my dick.”
Isabelle’s disappointment about that event not occurring now is left for dead when I line up my cock with her slicked entrance, fist her hair, then drive home.
Nothing but chasing the next thrill is on her mind—and perhaps stealing a portion of my heart I thought died years ago.
44
Ifreeze partway into the kitchen, equally furious and panicked. It is late in the afternoon. Isabelle has been resting the past six hours, so she is not the cause of my worry—this time around. Catherine is. She’s snooping, and although I pay my staff well for their discretion, a grandmother’s respect isn’t something you can purchase anywhere, and what she is reading could very well have me losing hers.
“It isn’t as it seems.” My voice is rough both from sexual exhaustion and the constant need to defend myself. It is expected in my business life, but I avoid it at all costs in my personal life. My inner circle is tight for a reason. It means less carnage when the chips inevitably fall. “She is a child, and although the prose of her sale reads…” I can’t finish my sentence. Not only am I sickened about the thought as to why there are over one hundred registered bidders for Callie, but I also have no reason to explain myself. What I do in my personal life is no one’s business but my own. “Once you have finished laundering Isabelle’s clothes, you are free to go. I won’t need you for the rest of the week.”
“Week?” Catherine blubbers out before she corrects herself with a quick, “Yes, sir.” Her curt, professional tone hurts, but I’d rather it over seeing the disgust in her eyes if she forgets her place. She is my family, but as far as she is aware, she is merely a member of my team.
After gathering her keys from the drawer I stuffed Callie’s auction documentation into last night and her purse from the kitchen counter, she dips her chin in farewell. “Isabelle’s clothes are in the closet in the guest bedroom. They have been laundered and ironed, but I didn’t want to wake her by placing them in your room.”
Even though her eyes are facing the floor, I bob my head in thanks. She must see it as she returns it before she races for the kitchen’s exit half a second later.
I’m almost in the clear before Catherine’s inability to let the dead bury the dead raises its abhorrent head. “Can I ask one question?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer her. She spins on her heels, pins me in place with an unexpected proud glance, then says, “Does she know?”
I’m lost to whom she is referencing until she nudges her head to the top story of my home. After taking a moment to determine if I am being interrogated or being offered advice, I shake my head.
Relief engulfs Catherine’s weathered yet still captivating face. “Good. And I suggest you keep it that way.”
When she spins on her heels, preparing to leave as asked, I stop her by grumbling her name. I am not a patient man, but I am even worse when it comes to solving a riddle with no obvious starting point.
“Why do you say that?” I ask after she pivots back around to face me.
She shrugs like the name she says next isn’t as important as it is. “Nick.” She takes a moment to gauge the authenticity of my rare shock before finalizing, “You would die for that boy as would every other sibling who believes they owe more than they do.”
“I owe him everything! I wouldn’t be here without him.”
I’m wholly stumped when she snaps, “And neither would he.” With nurturing, kind eyes, she steps closer to me. “He was made in a test tube to save you, but not once have you realized he wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for you. Your parents were getting a divorce, your mother wasn’t even living with your father anymore, but they came together to give Nick life. You merely borrowed his no-longer-needed umbilical cord.” I’m at a loss for a reply, which gives Catherine plenty of time to explain her reasonings for me to continue keeping Callie’s auction a secret from Isabelle. “Keeping someone safe is about more than money and a security detail. Your heart must occasionally come into the equation. If you lose—”
“I won’t.”
She peers at me like she has faith in me, but it won’t stop her warning. “But if you do, it won’t just change you, Isaac, it will change Isabelle as well. Living a life of guilt isn’t living. It is existing merely to pretend your life was spared on purpose.” She doesn’t say,‘like you were living before Isabelle tumbled to your feet,’but her eyes do. “When you win…” she gives me time to absorb the actuality in her tone before adding, “… all bets are off. But until then…”
“Treat life like a game of chess and protect the queen at all costs because if she falls, the game is over.”
Catherine smiles a mammoth grin. “Your father is a very wise man, Isaac.” She twists her lips, flops her head side to side, then murmurs, “When it comes to anyonebutyour mother.”
Since I can’t argue with her, I remain quiet.
It doubles her smile. “I’ll return Monday morning to change and wash the sheets.”
Since she is more telling than asking, I don’t need to bob my chin. I do, though. “I will see you Monday.” Needing to even the playing field, I lean in and press a kiss to her cheek, smirking when they shift to the rosy, red coloring I’m aiming for.
“You Holt men,” she stammers with a playful chest slap before she races out of the kitchen like more than her granny panties are on fire.
Since a lot of what she said makes sense, when Isabelle joins me for an early supper hours later, I keep her thoughts far from what she might have faced in her childhood by speaking frankly about mine.
