Chapter 43
St. Barts
Roman
There was a God. I was sure of it now. God allowed me to have Isla back.
She was back in my arms, and I’d given her my whole soul long ago. There was no more pain or suffering, just a pure Angel with me, on my lap, in my eyes, within reach.
My hand glided on her flawless, silky skin, burning with the afterglow of our reunification. I wrapped my arm around her while her cheek pressed into my chest, all of her gorgeous body slumped against me. We breathed in deeply, in unison, perfectly matching. She breathed me in.
She loved me.
I didn’t just love her; I was consumed by her. Obsessed. I wanted to serve her. To give her everything she’d ever desired, to be everything for her. My whole life before her didn’t matter to me anymore. All I cared about was her and a future where she was mine.
Time became irrelevant. We simply lay together and touched, unable to untangle.
"Why did it take you so long to come back?" Isla’s angelic voice broke the silence while her fingers traced my tattoos, sending a tingle through me.
"Would you have given me the time of day…if you hadn't read everything you found out today?" I answered back with a question, which I thought was a very legitimate one.
She was silent for a long time, still swirling the pad of her little finger on my skin. Finally, she placed her chin on my chest and looked into my eyes. "I don't know,” she admitted in a whisper. “What I found out today was…pretty earth-shattering."
I had to know. "Will you ever be able to forgive me?" She bit her bottom lip as she considered the question, my heart beating out a wild rhythm beneath her.
"Yes.” Her answer was quiet but confident, and relief flooded me. “I will…I just haven’t yet." Her eyes fluttered closed, and she pressed her sweet angel lips to my chest.
That's when I knew—I knew that nothing would tear us apart from now on. We were forever bound.
Slumber claimed Isla shortly after, and she dozed on top of me, her hot skin burning softly with mine. Silently, I typed an email to my jewelry guy, who had already completed her birthday present. He would fly to New York to show me the ring design we had discussed a few weeks ago.
All the time that we were apart, I refused to believe it was the end.
I busied myself with designing her engagement ring, and that gave me the strength not to jump off a fucking bridge.
Because deep down, I could never imagine that I’d continue living and not have her be mine.
I was going to propose, and we were going to be married, and there would be no more uncertainty.
Morning light peaked through her huge windows, and I opened my eyes to a sleeping angel in my arms. I left her to rest, showered, and was getting started on breakfast—that she taught me how to make—when I heard her come downstairs, pure bliss and happiness on her face.
This felt…surreal. Like I was dreaming. Like she was a hallucination. She was with me again. I repeated it to myself over and over. I’d realized we were apart longer than we were together...a painful thought.
"Do you want to go away somewhere warm? While you have the time off?" I asked her, hoping she would agree right away.
Her eyes lit up in excitement. "Yeah! I’d love to!” She nodded quickly. “Oh wait. I told everyone I'm having a big housewarming bash next week…"
"So do it after we come back. Spend your birthday with me." I winked and placed a cup of hot coffee in front of her, momentarily turning around for the milk.
"How'd you know it's my birthday soon?!”
Oh, sweet, sweet Isla.
"You think I don't know when my girlfriend's birthday is?" I asked her, pouring milk into her cup.
"More,” she commanded when I thought it was enough milk. I swear, she was basically drinking milk with a splash of coffee, not the other way around. "When is your birthday? Did I miss it?!" she asked in alarm.
"February fourteenth. You have plenty of time to get me a gift. I'll send you a list of what I want." I teased my beautiful girlfriend.
She melted into a smile and then added. "So your name is Roman, like the word romance in Russian.
Your last name is Agapov, from the Greek word agapē, which means love, and you were born on February fourteenth—on Valentine's Day?
! Are you just a walking embodiment of love? " She observed me plate her omelet.
I’d never noticed any of that.
"I think Roman is from, like...Rome, not romance." I tried to reject her words, but she continued.
"Okay, we're not getting into the etymology of it here, but the way you pronounce your name in Russian is the same way you pronounce the word romance. Did you ever realize that love symbols surround you?"
I’d never made any of those connections, but it was curious. Suddenly, she jumped off the island stool and bolted upstairs, her naked legs taking two steps at a time. Within seconds, she was already back, typing something on her phone before reading it out.
"The Russian last name Agapov derives from the given name Agap, which, in turn, is derived from the Greek word for love.
" She held up her finger and then continued reading.
"Agápē is often defined as unconditional, sacrificial love.
Agápē is the kind of love that is felt by a person willing to do anything for another, including sacrificing themselves, without expecting anything in return.
" She met my gaze, such wonder and happiness reflecting in her eyes. “You—are love."
Agápē was the type of love I felt for Isla. It was absolute and all-encompassing. I was willing to do anything to ensure her safety and happiness. I would have sacrificed myself for her without even a second thought.
"You're just a lucky girl then. That your boyfriend is love on earth." I leaned in, planting a gentle kiss on her lips, still stained with more milk than coffee.
I proposed we go to St. Bart's, and Isla happily agreed but was incredibly surprised to hear we’d go today. She lived a different life before, that was for sure, but she was my woman again, and anything she wanted or wished for—would be hers.
We flew out that afternoon and stayed at a private villa right on the beach. My yacht was docked in St. Maarten and would meet us in St. Barts the next morning.
Just us two, no one else around, I turned my phone the fuck off and forgot it in my suitcase. The only person I ever wanted to hear from was finally with me, and I was dead to the rest of the world.
In hindsight, this would have been a perfect location for a proposal, but I hadn’t seen and approved the ring yet. It had to be a fucking monster rock because no one should have any doubts about who she belonged to.
Fuck, I would never fucking let her go again. I wanted—I craved to have her linked to me forever.
As soon as we arrived, Isla slipped off her shoes and bounded to the shore. The warm water caressed her feet, and she waded in, bathed in evening sunlight. A rogue wave hit her a little too hard, and she turned to me, her surprised laughter an actual angel song here on earth.
Her happiness, her light, and her uplifting energy reminded me that she was a whole ten years younger than me. She enjoyed the pure things in life, and her genuine joy was a reminder not to take things so seriously.
The first day we spent mostly in bed. I was starved for her touch. I needed to have my hands on her at all times. And I was elated to see her naked body on mine once more.
"Fuck, Daddy! Harder..." she moaned underneath me and squeezed my hand tighter.
Isla was any man's porn star dream come true. She wanted sex. She enjoyed sex. She actively participated, and she asked for what she wanted. When it was time, she played the submissive role so well. Not to mention, her moans and what she said. Her innocence was left at the fucking door.
"Yeah, Daddy, fuck my pussy harder…I want it harder,” she pleaded again, and I obliged, slamming into her, hypnotized by the way her body jolted on the bed beneath me.
She brought my hand to her breast, and together, we applied pressure that she loved to feel. As I fucked her—because this was anything but sensual—I imagined her with a choker around her neck, the word Angel etched into the leather.
But then I had another thought. Her ankles handcuffed to her wrists, taking it all obediently.
"Let me ride your cock, Daddy..." she whined, and after a few more thrusts, I obliged. Isla hopped on, her tits bouncing every time she sank onto me. Fuck, she had beautiful tits. Round, perky, and bouncy, and they fit into my hands like they were made for me. I had missed her so fucking much.
Up and down, Isla closed her eyes and worked diligently to bring us both to ecstasy. In the light of the day, she looked like a vision of a fallen angel, and I momentarily wondered if this was real.
But before she could come, I grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up, sitting her down on my face. Fucking fuck, I loved eating her out like this—I had the perfect view and the best access.
"Fuck…yes! Fuck, don't stop, Roman, don't stop..." she pleaded with me, her crimson lips open, my name leaving her tongue like a prayer.
I drowned in her delicious pussy, barely able to keep my eyes open from the view. Her skin was flushed, and she grinded on me, bracing herself against the headboard. I licked like a starved man but then focused on that one spot on her clit that she really liked.
Her fingers threaded through my hair, and she pulled gently, holding my head where she wanted it. I teased a bit longer but then pressed my tongue against her clit, ramming my fingers inside her.
"Roman…Roman…fuuuuck..."
Yes. Say it again. Only my name. Only my name will be on your lips.
Her breathing intensified, and I could see the way her body responded. Slowly, slowly, and then all at once, her orgasm ripped through her, that tight pussy clenching around my fingers.