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“Isiah!” I whimper in a barely audible protest, but he has me pinned in his unyielding grip.
“What’s wrong, darling?” he mocks in a silky voice, his fingers working my core with precision and skill. “Can’t handle the pleasure I’m giving you?”
The heat of my arousal becomes unbearable, making me clench my teeth together to resist the waves of pleasure threatening to crash over me. But to no avail. Isiah’s rough treatment has me excited beyond belief, and his chiseled features make him look like a Norse God—an evil one who is determined to bring me to the heights of pleasure tonight.
His lips travel across the front of my neck, and I cling to him, my mind in overdrive.
His warm breath ghosts over my skin. “Tell me how it feels, Bella,” he murmurs, his baritone voice pure velvet.
His touch sends lightning through my veins. “Tell me how it feels to be touched by a real man.”
My mouth dries, as the thrill his touch elicits is purely because he’s the only man who has ever laid a finger on me. Isiah is the first man to touch me like this. The first man to kiss me like this.
His lips drift lower until they are between my cleavage, awakening a fire within me that I never knew existed. “What is it that you feel, love?” His thick accent swirls around me, luring me in with its raw masculinity and a hint of arrogance.
“It feels terrible,” I gasp, still trying to keep up the pretense. “Get off of me.”
His laugh is pure evil in response. “You are a terrible liar. You are dripping all over me, Bella. So fucking wet it’s unbelievable.” He nibbles on my earlobe. “Your pussy is practically begging to be filled with my cock.”
As he brushes the pad of his thumb over my throbbing clit, I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from crying out in pleasure. It’s torturous trying to remain silent when he’s making me feel like this. The wickedness of his touch ignites fire on my skin, setting me ablaze. His skillful fingers coax me closer, pushing me higher and higher until I’m trembling hard and gasping for air. I can feel the pleasure rising from the depths of my stomach, a pressure that I’ve never known before.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore and his touch sends me over the edge. A wave of pleasure crashes over me as every part of my body screams with delight.
“Fuck, Isiah!”
My voice is a ragged cry as I reach out for him, clawing my nails into his muscular forearm.
His deep chuckle is a vibration against my ear as he teases me through it, driving me deeper into bliss. “That’s right, love, scream my name.”
His fingers slip away, leaving me feeling hollow and empty. But the pleasure still lingers on my skin like a lingering kiss.
Slowly, he lifts his fingers to his lips and sucks my arousal off of them, forcing me to clench my thighs.
Humiliation hits me as the pleasure wears off and Isiah puts enough distance between us for me to look into his eyes. All I see is triumph, and it’s sickening.
“I told you that you’d wish we were married, but unfortunately until we’re married, I’m not going to fuck that eager little cunt.”
Clenching my fists by my sides, I hold my head up high. “I’d rather die than marry you.”
He tilts his head. “Don’t be so dramatic, love. Your pussy tells another story. You will marry me.”
“Marriage shouldn’t be an obligation. It should be based on love and respect between two people who want to share their lives together! It should never be arranged.”
“Too bad you’re a Benedetto. An arranged marriage was always on the cards for you.”
“I’d rather marry any other man at that party than be stuck with you!”
Isiah’s face darkens with anger and he closes the gap between us again— close enough for me to feel his hot breath on my skin again. “Love? Respect?” he scoffs harshly before continuing in a low whisper that only I can hear: “That’s not what marriage is really about— it’s about power and the man putting a woman in her place.”
That last comment hits me like a ton of bricks and I snap, bringing my fist toward his face with all the strength I can muster.
He catches it in his own palm and shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” He bites my bottom lip hard enough to break the skin. “Something for you to remember this encounter by. And if anyone asks what happened, you say you chewed your own lip.” He gives me a warning glare. “I’ve noticed you like to chew on your lip when you are nervous.” With that, he turns and unlocks the bathroom door, walking out without a glance backward.
I slump against the wall behind me, my mind racing in chaotic circles. Isiah Darcy is a bastard, and he seems determined to prove a point. He’s found my deep-seated longing for submission and mercilessly exposed it with every breath he drew. His dominance makes me shudder with both revulsion and pleasure all at the same time.
10
ISIAH
