17. Isolde
Isolde
Ifollow the asshole out of the bar. He’s not even discreet as he follows after the drunk girl. She’s fumbling with her purse, pulling her phone out.
Get a cab, I silently scream at her.
Hair streams in front of her face as she looks around, eyes wide but glassy. The man gets closer, angling his body as if he’s ready to herd her into whatever alleyway he can.
It makes my skin boil. There’s not even any thought to this crime of convenience. No great forethought, just some asshole who’s about to think with his dick and fuck up a girl’s life.
My feet surge forward, chasing after them, when I’m yanked back.
“No,” Tristan says.
“But—” I argue, my leg kicking out.
“No.” His eyes flash, telling me to tread lightly. He sets me upright again, takes two steps forward, and grabs the asshole’s shoulder. “Chasing after drunk girls is a dick move, creep.”
The guy’s face slips into terror and embarrassment. He trips over his feet as Tristan pushes him backward.
“You, come here,” he orders the drunk girl. She’s clearly pissed because she has no survival instincts telling her not to approach the grumpy man.
Tristan catches a cab, opening the door.
“But I don’t have. . .” the girl says, confused.
“You’ll thank me later.” He slams the door shut, the cab speeding off.
And then it’s just him and me on the curb.
I take a step back.
“Have a good night, Isolde?”
It’s really unfair that he’s still wearing such a fitted suit. It makes my stomach swoop despite noting how his sharp jawline keeps spasming.
I’m not in the mood to be told off. I was doing a good thing. Killing a pervert.
“I was handling that.”
He grabs my arm, tugging me into a stinking alleyway, steam and the night’s hot air stinging my face.
I wrench my arm back, loosening his hold. Except he merely steps forward, boxing me in between his chest and a brick wall.
“Care to explain why the fuck you decided to go chase after that man?” His body is so tight, I think he might snap.
“That guy was an asshole.”
“You are supposed to be keeping a low profile, Isolde!”
“Do this, do that!” I childishly push back. I’m dimly aware that I’ve had much more to drink than I first thought. “Fuck off, mate. If I want to keep the streets safe, I’ll kill whatever bastard goes around creeping on women at night.”
“Isolde!” he snaps.
“Nah, I’m not taking shit from the Ghost right now. No, thank you.”
His knee shoves between my legs before I’ve even finished. My breathing is a lot more ragged the closer he pushes his chest into mine.
“Is there a reason you’re in a mood?” He grabs my arms and pins them to the wall. “Did something happen, Isolde?”
“I’ve decided I’m tired of having a bodyguard.”
He chuckles, the noise deep and rumbly. “Poor Izzy baby.”
“Don’t mock me. And don’t call me that.”
“Baby?”
“Izzy.” My skin heats. The pet name makes me melt, but I also don’t like how it sounds.
“That barista called you that.”
“Yeah, well, he’s just a barista, isn’t he?” I tug at my hands, but he only tightens his hold. His knee spreads my legs further, and I can’t help a whimper. I’m suddenly not interested in putting up a fight. “If you’re going to do that, you might as well fuck me.”
His head tilts to the side, his breath soft against my skin. “Is that what I need to do? Fuck you stupid, so you don’t go off and make shit choices.”
Stopping a guy from hurting a woman isn’t a shit choice. I squirm under his gaze. I’ve been fine the past week. I’ve only wanked off a couple of times at the thought of Tristan’s cock inside me. Okay, so more like daily, but can you blame a girl?
I’m tired. And needy, and if he’s going to trap me against a wall like this, then why can’t he just fuck me?
Tristan is dead silent. He’s an unmovable stone. It only makes me squirm harder.
His head leans in the other direction. A predator playing with his food.
Then he leans forward, rubbing his erection into me.
Another little noise escapes out of me.
“Yeah, all right, baby. I’ll fuck you if you say so.” Like he’s doing me a favor.
He drops my arms, his hands sliding under my tank top. His fingers find the pasties, and he laughs, exploring the material before tugging them off and throwing them down the street. His hands are right back under my tank, squeezing both nipples.
The painful throb shoots to my pussy, clenching.
An obscene noise comes out of my mouth. I’ve never come from nipple play alone, and I’m stunned at the quick jolt.
“Jesus, baby.” His words hold a dark chuckle. “You really did need to come, greedy girl.”
I whimper as he rubs my nipples, making sure I feel every electrical shockwave. Then his fingers make quick work of my jeans, the zipper down before I fully register it.
“This will be quick,” he tells me. “You’re going to be a good girl and come around my cock, okay. Do you understand?”
I’ll do whatever he wants just so long as he’ll fuck me.
He unzips himself, and another unflattering noise comes from me. He fists his hard cock, stroking himself once, twice, my mouth watering at the sight.
“Jesus.” He breathes out. “Fuck, Isolde.”
“Mhhhhmmm.” I claw at his arms, the thick woven material of his suit jacket covering his muscles. “P-please.”
He rolls his hips, my back slamming against the rough brick. I welcome all of it. The way his cock hits me inside, his movement hitting a spot that has my mouth dropping open. The rougher, the better, and I love how he’s basically holding me up, using me however he wants against the wall.
“Fuck,” he grunts. He leans back slightly, one hand still gripping my waist. The other tilts my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You’re going to prove to me that you can follow rules, right, baby?”
I nod.
“You’re lucky I’m letting you come again, considering the bullshit you just pulled.”
“I-I need to come,” I pant.
His hand slips under my tank top, his fingers pinching my nipple. The back of my head slams into the brick wall. He teases and pulls my nipple, lifting my breast as he rolls the nipple between his fingers.
“Let go, Isolde,” he coaxes me. “Let go, baby. Let me feel you.”
I tumble into the sensation, zaps of pleasure raining over me.
His movements only get more aggressive in response.
“I’m going to come inside you.” I nod. “You’re going to have to take it, like a good girl.” I nod again. I can be his good girl.
I hold onto him tight, stroking the back of his head. This time he’s the one making some strangled noise, his spine stiffening. He keeps rocking his hips, spurts of his cum filling me deep.
Laughter cuts into the night. A car horn blares. Chests still heaving, we stare at one another as the realization that we’ve just fucked in an alleyway hits home.
Tristan pulls himself out, and cum leaks out of me.
“You okay?” Tristan asks, tucking himself back into his pants. “Isolde.”
I need to shower immediately, but it seems like now is hardly the time to complain about sensory issues when I quite literally begged him to fuck me again.
“Isolde, baby?” Tristan cups my cheeks.
“I’m fine,” I say, but I don’t understand the look on his face. His touch is gentle, like he’s afraid I might shatter.
He presses his lips to mine, and surprise sweeps over me. The sweetness is a stark contrast to the hurried, frenzied nature of needing a quick fuck in a somewhat public place.
“Okay,” he says more to himself. He fixes the band of my underpants, zipping my jeans back up for me.