Chapter 25 #2
My fingers circle the back of his neck, and I rise onto my toes, letting my hard nipples press deliberately against his body. He wants me, I know it. I can see it. His breathing betrays him more than he’ll ever let his words.
“Kiss me,” I say.
“No,” he breathes, his lips barely brushing on mine.
“Why?” I complain desperately.
“Because it’s a bad idea,” he says quietly, pulling in a shaky breath.
Disappointment hits me again, but this time it only hardens my resolve. I’m done waiting for fate to straighten itself out. I want him, and I’m not shy about it anymore. I’m not going to let my inexperience make me look the timid little good girl he thinks I am.
That certainty pushes me forward before I can overthink.
My knees hit the floor in a fierce, hungry declaration. I want him to see what he does to me. I want him to feel the power he has over me.
He’s mine, and I intend to show him exactly what that means.
“What are you doing?” he asks, mild surprise in his voice.
“I want to be like her. I want to be able to please you like she would,” I say, slowly undoing his leather belt, my fingers grazing the bulge in his pants.
He traces his thumb on my lower lip. “No one can please me the way the mere sight of you can do. No one is as good enough as you,” he says quietly, as his finger invades my mouth slowly. “Not when I’ve already tasted the need you pull out of me.”
I suck on his finger, slow and bravely, watching his eyes darken as my hands fumble with the waistband of his boxers. I’ve never done this before, but the hunger is louder than the hesitation. His cock springs free, hard and leaking, and something about his sharp inhale only makes me bolder.
“I want to do it,” I whisper, voice trembling. “I want to taste you.”
His jaw tightens. “Isabella … if you cross that line, there’s no going back.”
“Then don’t let me go back,” I breathe. “Show me. Teach me.”
Silence stretches between us for a few seconds that feel like an eternity. He stares at me like he’s trying to hold back a monster barely chained, but something inside him snaps. He rips his belt off with a violence that makes me flinch.
In the next breath, it’s wrapped around my throat.
“I’ve been trying to stay human for you,” he growls, voice shaking with something twisted. “But you just fucked that up.”
His hand grips the end of the belt, keeping me close, breath hot against my face.
“I’ve wanted you since the second I laid eyes on you. I want every gasp torn out of you, every cry soaked in my name. I want to be the first to touch you, wreck you, fuck you so deep no one else ever dares to try.”
He stands, his dripping cock brushing against my lips.
“Open wide,” he demands, tightening the belt around my throat.
I do as he tells me. My heart is pounding, my body trembling. I open my mouth, uncertain but willing, desperate to please him.
He slides into my mouth slowly at first, watching me with that dangerous, possessive gaze, like he’s savoring the moment more than the act. His length brushes my lips, and I wrap them around him awkwardly, pretending I know what I’m doing even though every nerve screams that I don’t.
“You gave yourself to a monster, Isabella. And I’m done pretending I’m anything else.” He twists the belt tighter around his fist, forcing me down, shoving his cock deeper into my throat until I gag. “Monsters don’t fuck sweet. They make sure no one else ever gets a piece of what’s theirs.”
Oh, God, I want this. I want him. I want to be good for him, to make him lose control because of me. I clutch his thighs to steady myself and take him deeper, sucking harder.
He lets out a strangled groan, head tipping back as he runs his other hand through my hair tightly.
“Fuck,” he grunts. His hand grips the belt looped around my neck, pulling just enough to make my pulse stutter. The other’s tangled in my hair, holding me still as his cock pushes deeper down my throat.
I take it.
Messy and clumsy. Spit is everywhere. On my chin, down my throat, coating him. My jaw is screaming, my eyes are watering so bad I can barely see him through the blur, but I don’t stop.
Fuck, I want more.
I want to see him fall apart.
I want to be the reason he breaks.
He looks down at me, his eyes wild and starved, filled with both worship and violence.
“Mine,” he breathes. “You fucking hear me, Isabella? You’re mine now. No one else gets to feel your mouth, your sounds, your fucking soul. They’re all mine.”
I choke hard when he thrusts, and he groans like it’s goddamn heaven. The belt tightens—fuck—cutting off everything but the sound of his ragged breathing, and the obscene slap of his cock using my mouth like a hole.
He jerks his hips again, deeper this time. I gag around him, throat clenching, spit all over my lips, and he just groans, his fist yanking my hair tighter like that sound fuels him.
He’s not holding back.
And I don’t want him to.
He tightens the belt harder. My vision pops at the edges, black creeping in, and my lungs are useless, but it doesn’t matter. I’m already drunk on him.
“Fuck,” he groans again, voice breaking. “What are you doing to me …”
His cock throbs against my tongue, hips jerking forward. He’s in deep—so deep I gag around him, and the sound makes him shudder.
“I can’t—Jesus. I can’t think when you—” His words cut off in a growl, his forehead dropping forward, eyes locked on mine.
His grip in my hair tightens more, hurting me. The belt pulls again, enough to make me dizzy.
His hips jerk, rough and impatient. He’s not even trying to control it anymore.
“God,” he chokes out. “You don’t even know what the fuck you’re doing to me.”
He thrusts deeper and shudders, like he’s going to come undone right there. My throat clenches, tears run down my cheeks, and still, he doesn’t ease up.
“I’ve never—fuck—I’ve never wanted anything like I want you.”
His voice cracks, low, hoarse and shaking, and I feel his restraint crumbling as he fucks my mouth.
“Look at me,” he demands. “Eyes on me while I fuck that throat. Show me how desperate you are to be ruined.”
My gaze snaps to his, blurry, and the second he sees me like that, something in him shatters.
“I’d kill for this,” he whispers, ragged. “I’d burn the fucking world down if anyone else ever saw you like this. You’re mine.”
Another hard thrust, reaching deeper, as if punishing me. I gag again, and he groans like the sound alone could make him come.
And then …
He stops.
He just pulls away and stops.
“Enough,” he pants, flushed and wild-eyed.
“What?” I gasp, breathless.
“That was enough,” he says, zipping up, slipping the belt from my throat.
He turns away and simply leaves.
What the fuck?
He didn’t come. He just stopped. He fucking stopped!
I stay kneeling, spit on my chin, heart pounding like I’ve been slapped.
He didn’t even want to finish.
I feel sick.
I know men—when they come, they’re done.
But he didn’t.
He used my mouth, made me cry, gag, ache—and he didn’t finish. He just pulled out, zipped up, and walked away—like I was some passing urge he got over halfway through.
What the hell does that make me?
What did I do wrong?