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"No," I grit out. "I will not be manipulated."
Isabella tosses her head, a smug smile curving her full lips. "So now you see, Stefano. You can't lock away what you crave."
A growl rumbles in my chest. I release Isabella and stride away, dragging a hand through my hair. My body thrums with a need I can't satisfy, my thoughts swirling in chaos.
When I glance over my shoulder, Isabella is watching me, a knowing look in her eyes. I scowl at her. "Get dressed. We're going shopping, as you wanted. But I will come along."
I need to get out of this house, away from the temptation she represents.
Isabella smiles, slow and predatory, and turns toward her room.
I curse under my breath, already dreading the hours ahead. She means to torment me, in retaliation for refusing her free will.
We go from store to store. Isabella is on a spree, and I fear my credit card limit will soon be maxed out. We exit Gucci, Fendi, Prada.
How many bags does she need, considering she isn't going anywhere?
We reach a high-end boutique clothing store.
"Well, since you're here," she states. "Might as well tell me how the outfits look on me."
"Sure," I shrug, slightly happy she's involving me without any ulterior motive in an innocent act of what could be perceived as friendship.
Maybe she just needs to get out more. It seems to be good for her mental health.
As Isabella emerges from the dressing room in a slinky red dress, my thoughts turn explicitly to imagining what's underneath. She's not wearing a bra and I can see her nipples through the sheer silk.
What the hell does she think she's doing? She turns and shows me the back. She slides down the zip.
"What do you think?" she asks. "Would it look better if it was backless?"
Her ass beckons me. I picture the curve of her hips, the swell of her breasts barely contained by lace and silk. Heat coils in my gut as I envision peeling the dress away, baring her body inch by inch.
I imagine what it would be like to rip that dress off her, smack that ass, take her from behind as I bend her over that chair in the corner. How she'd moan my name ..."Stefano, Stefano, Stefano," as I grab her tits and fuck her mercilessly, my dick pounding her hard, harder, as hard as it can. The slap of my skin against her ass.
I'd love to pull back her hair, bring her ear close to mine, tell her how fucking horny she makes me feel as her wetness consumes my cock. I'd like to see her on her knees, my cock in her mouth as she pops it in and out. I imagine cumming on her round, big tits, watching her take a finger, catch the drip and suck her finger dry.
My breaths come faster, and I have to clench my fists to avoid reaching for her.
Isabella smiles, slow and knowing, and does a slow turn. The dress clings to her figure, accentuating every line and curve.
I imagine taking her in the dressing room, pressing her against the wall as I lift her thighs around my waist. I imagine the sounds she'd make as I thrust into her, hard and deep. The fantasy is so vivid I can almost feel her pussy, taste the salt on her skin.
When Isabella turns back to me, eyes gleaming, I know she can read the hunger in my gaze. But she's pushed me too far this time. I stalk forward and grasp her arm, all but dragging her from the store. "Change, now."
"Oh come on," she whispers. "We're just having fun."
"Change," I demand.
"No," she says, pouting. "I want this dress. And I have another I am yet to change into."
I am on thin ice. If I say no, I will be facing her wrath for weeks to come. If I just shut up, perhaps she'd be nicer.
"Fine," I say. "Hurry up."
She emerges a few minutes later. Only this time, she's wearing lingerie. I sit there, stunned, as I take in the garter going up her thighs, attached to a slinky, see-through black lace thong.
"How about this?" she says, turning for me, showing me her perfect peaches.
