Chapter 20 Isabella
Lupo stands there, water still dripping from his hair, the towel I wrapped him in barely clinging to his hips. In the soft glow from the bedside lamp, I can see every scar, every bruise, every mark that tells the story of a violent life I'm only beginning to understand.
He killed a man today. For me. For Elena.
And I'm not sorry.
I should be horrified. Should be running. Should be putting as much distance between us as possible. Instead, all I want is to be closer.
"Isabella." His voice is rough. "If you're doing this because you think you owe me—"
"I'm not." I step closer, my hands already reaching for him. "I'm doing this because I want to. Because I need to."
"Why?"
The question hangs between us. Why am I doing this? Why am I choosing a man who just committed murder? A man who doesn't even know his own name?
Because when I watched him drive away tonight with a body in the trunk, I realized something.
I can't lose him. Won't survive losing him.
"Because you came back for me," I say quietly. "Because you could have kept walking this morning. Could have let Draco take us. Could have saved yourself. But you didn't."
"I couldn't—"
"I know." I touch his face, feeling the roughness of stubble, the heat of his skin. "That's why."
He stares at me for a long moment, something raw and vulnerable in his eyes.
Then his mouth finds mine, and this kiss is different from the others.
Not desperate or questioning. This is claiming.
Possessive. His hands slide into my hair, tilting my head back so he can deepen the kiss, and I open for him without hesitation.
I'm still dressed—still wearing the clothes I put on this morning in another lifetime.
He makes quick work of them, his hands surprisingly gentle despite the violence they're capable of.
My shirt falls away. My pants. Until I'm standing in just my bra and underwear, and he's looking at me like I'm something precious.
"I never get tired of looking at you," he murmurs, his hands skimming up my sides, leaving heat in their wake. “You’re perfect.”
"So are you."
He laughs, a rough sound. "I'm a goddamn mess."
"You're mine."
The word comes out without thinking, but I mean it. Possessive and absolute. The same way he claimed me and Elena earlier.
Something flares in his eyes. "Say that again."
"You're mine, Lupo." I reach up, unhooking my bra and letting it fall. "Whatever you were before. Whoever you are doesn’t matter. Now, you're mine."
He makes a sound low in his throat and pulls me against him. Skin to skin. The towel is gone—I don't even remember him losing it—and the feel of him, hard and wanting against me, makes my breath catch.
His mouth moves to my neck, my shoulder, the curve of my breast. When his lips close around my nipple, I gasp, my hands fisting in his hair. He sucks gently at first, then harder, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. The sensation shoots straight between my legs.
"Lupo—"
"Tell me what you need." His voice is muffled against my skin, his other hand kneading my other breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. "Tell me what you want."
"You. Only you. Everything."
He lifts his head, his eyes almost black with desire. Then he hooks his fingers in the waistband of my underwear and slowly, deliberately, pulls them down. His hands trail down my legs as he does, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
I step out of them, and now I'm completely bare before him. Vulnerable. Exposed.
But I don't feel afraid.
His hands map every inch of me. Memorizing me. The curve of my waist. The flare of my hips. The soft skin of my inner thighs. When his fingers slide between my legs, finding me already wet and ready, we both groan.
"God, Isabella." He circles slowly, his fingers exploring, learning what makes me gasp. "You're so wet. So ready for me."
I can't form words. Can only hold onto his shoulders and let him work me higher, the pleasure building with each stroke. He slides two fingers inside me, curling them, finding that spot that makes my knees buckle.
"I've got you," he murmurs, his other arm around my waist, holding me up as I tremble against him.
When I'm on the edge, my breath coming in short gasps, he stops.
"Not yet." He picks me up—just lifts me like I weigh nothing—and lays me on the bed. "I want to taste you first."
Heat floods through me. "Lupo, you don't have to—"
"I want to." He settles between my legs, his hands spreading my thighs wider. His breath is hot against my most intimate place. "I always want to. I dream of tasting you."
Then his mouth is on me, and I forget how to breathe.
He's not gentle. Not tentative. He devours me like a starving man, his tongue working me with deliberate, skilled strokes. He alternates between broad, flat licks and focused attention on my clit, building me up, pulling me back, driving me higher until I'm writhing beneath him.
I try to stay quiet with Elena down the hall but it's impossible. Small sounds escape me—whimpers and gasps and his name, over and over. He makes an approving noise against me, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through my body.
When his fingers join his mouth, sliding inside me while his tongue works my clit, I shatter.
The orgasm crashes through me, stealing my breath, my vision going white. I have to bite down on my hand to keep from crying out, and through it all, he doesn't stop. Just works me through it, his fingers pumping slowly, his tongue gentler now as I ride out every last tremor.
When I finally come back to myself, gasping, he's kissing his way up my body. My hip. My stomach. The underside of my breast. I can taste myself on his lips when he kisses me, and it's somehow the most erotic thing I've ever experienced.
But I need more. Need to give him what he's given me.
"My turn," I whisper against his mouth.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." I push at his shoulders until he rolls onto his back, and I follow him, kissing down his chest. "You’re always taking care of me. Now it’s my turn."
His breathing gets heavier as I trail kisses down his stomach, feeling the muscles contract under my lips. When I reach the hard length of his cock, I look up, making sure he's watching.
His eyes are dark, hungry, his jaw tight with restraint.
I wrap my hand around him first, learning the weight and heat of him. He's thick and hard, already leaking at the tip. I stroke him slowly, watching his reaction.
"Isabella." His voice is strained. "You're killing me."
I lean down and lick the tip, tasting him. Salt and musk and him.
He groans, his hips jerking involuntarily.
I take him slowly into my mouth, as much as I can, and his hand flies to my hair. Not forcing, just holding on. Like he needs the anchor.
"God, your mouth." He's breathing hard now, trying to stay still. "So perfect. So good."
I work him with my mouth and hand together, finding a rhythm. Taking him deeper, then pulling back to focus on the sensitive head. Using my tongue in ways that make him curse and grip the sheets.
When I hollow my cheeks and suck hard, his whole body tenses.
"Isabella, I'm close. If you don't want—"
But I don't stop. I want this. Want to give him this release after everything he's done for us today.
"Please," he grits out. "I need to be inside you.” He pulls me off him and rolls us so he's on top, already positioning himself between my legs.
"Yes." I'm already aching for him again, my body ready despite the orgasm he just gave me.
"Look at me," he says.
Our eyes lock as he pushes inside. Slowly at first, letting me feel every inch as he stretches me, fills me. The sensation is overwhelming, bordering on too much but not quite.
"Okay?" His voice is strained with the effort of holding still.
"More than okay." I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him deeper. "Don't hold back. I need all of you."
We both groan as he seats himself fully. For a moment, we just stay like that. Connected. Breathing together. His forehead pressed to mine.
Then he moves.
The first thrust is deep and hard, and I arch off the bed, meeting him. He sets a punishing rhythm, his hands gripping my hips, holding me in place while he takes me. And I let him. Give myself over to it. To him.
This isn't sweet lovemaking. This is need. Raw and desperate. Both of us trying to forget what happened today. Trying to affirm that we're alive, that we survived, that we have this.
"Touch yourself," he commands, his voice rough. "I want to feel you come around me."
I slide my hand between us, finding my clit, and the added stimulation makes my whole body tighten. He feels it, groans, and somehow manages to thrust deeper.
"That's it," he growls. "God, you feel so good. So tight around me."
I'm close again, impossibly fast. The combination of my fingers on my clit and his thickness hitting that spot inside me with every thrust. His rhythm gets erratic, and I know he's close too.
"Come for me. Let me feel it."
And I do. The second orgasm is even more intense than the first, radiating out from where we're joined, making my whole body shake.
I bite down on his shoulder to muffle my cry, and I feel him stiffen above me, his own release following moments later.
He buries his face in my neck, muffling his groan against my skin, his body shuddering.
We collapse together, breathing hard, hearts pounding. He's heavy on top of me but I don't want him to move. I want to stay connected like this forever.
Finally, he rolls to the side, pulling me with him so we're facing each other. His hand strokes down my back, gentle now, soothing.
"Are you okay?" he asks softly. “Really, okay? Even after what happened today?”
"Better than okay." I kiss him, slow and deep. “We’re safe now.”
We lie there in the darkness, wrapped around each other, and I feel something shift. Like pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place.
Whatever comes next, whatever his past holds, whatever dangers we'll face.
We'll face them together.
And that's all that matters.