Chapter 14
chapter
fourteen
Drake
I drove the Escalade into the four-car garage of the estate home and turned off its engine. I grabbed the Italian takeout bag and another orchid I’d picked up on the way home.
Doc G had called me an hour before to let me know she was leaving.
It was Izabel’s second meeting with the shrink and three days after that cathartic scene at Angelise’s grave.
At first, I was pissed that I didn’t know more about her, but my anger quickly dissipated when Izabel held out her hand, asking me to meet our daughter.
It was as if all my guilt over abandoning my family had finally found its place in the past. When we returned to the house that night, our dynamics shifted, the last barrier keeping us apart evaporated.
Were we fixed? Of course not, but hope shined like a beacon in a storm-tossed ocean because my wife was starting to look at me in the way she used to—with love and adoration.
During the day, I cooled my heels at Castle Rock, sitting beside Tim as I assisted Edmunds and Brick in their stakeout of Allison Tierney.
We also discussed how to spin our story and return Izabel and Marcus to society after their “alleged” kidnapping by the notorious gang.
Viktor was of the mind to use my back-from-the-dead story as bait and see what rats we could trap.
As Tierney was the chief of staff of a possible future president, we needed to act fast and figure out if her boss was complicit.
I opened the door of the garage leading into the house. “Iza?”
The kitchen had the under-cabinet lights on and a faint smell of toasted butter permeated the air. They’d been baking madeleines again.
I smiled.
I tracked movement from the living room, and that was where I saw her.
“Here.” Izabel rose from the couch, a tablet in hand.
She was wearing a short tee and low-riding drawstring gray sweatpants.
Her heavy tits conformed to her tight top, and her belly button was exposed.
My heart somersaulted beneath my chest. A stirring in my groin didn’t bode well for my self-control tonight.
Jesus, what was this woman doing? Izabel knew how much I loved her exposed belly button, and all I wanted to do was throw her on the couch, rip away her clothes, and fuck her.
I was like an ex-con who hadn’t had a woman in years.
A knowing smile played on Izabel’s lips.
Oh, my little temptress.
“Everything go well today?” My voice croaked. I lowered the takeout and orchid on the dining table.
“It did.” She closed the distance between us and trailed a finger down my torso. My abs tightened in response. “How hungry are you?”
Every muscle in my body seized, and I forced myself to put our relationship above my lust, but I had to be honest. “I don’t want to mess this up?—”
“I wasn’t suggesting sex.”
Just that three-letter word out of her mouth conjured up all the erotic images in my head.
She bit her lower lip. “I don’t want to mess this up either.” Izabel was fair-skinned enough that a blush on her was discernible. At that moment, though, her face was flaming. “Uhm, I was thinking.” Her eyes lowered to my crotch, widened, and then quickly returned to my eyes.
I smirked.
“Stop that,” she whispered.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“Not in the way you mean.”
“Maybe it’s exactly the way I want it to mean.”
“Drake…” she chided in gentle annoyance.
“Iza…” I teased.
She puffed a short laugh. She was adorable and I wanted to snatch her in my arms. Fuck, this was torture.
“So what’s on your mind besides eating this delicious Italian dinner I brought home?”
She looked at me critically. “Do you still use a straight-edge razor?”
“Hell yeah.” I grinned, beginning to see where she was going with this.
“Have it with you?”
“Yup.”
“Then let’s give you a shave and a haircut.”
“Gina suggested we engage in a familiar activity that’s also personal,” Izabel said as she tested the sharpness of the razor on a section of my hair. She used to cut my hair and sometimes gave me a shave. “I kinda like this longish style on you. Mind if I trim a bit?”
I shrugged. “Whatever you want, baby.”
We were in the main bedroom. Izabel told me to take a shower, so it’d be easier for her to give me a haircut.
Meanwhile I sat on a swivel stool that was part of the vanity table with only a towel wrapped around my waist. My oversized frame probably looked ridiculous on it, but I didn’t care.
Izabel was behind me, running her fingers through my scalp, and, if I were a cat, I’d be purring right now.
Holding out a section, she shaved off the edges.
Clumps of hair fell to the tiled floor as awareness and heat flicked against my skin with every brush of her body against mine.
My cock began to tent the towel and I forced myself to think of Brick in a pink dress because it made me more squeamish than thinking of blood and guts.
I played this game with my erection while Izabel moved temptingly around me.
“Do you like this length?” Her eyes met mine in the mirror.
“Looks good to me.”
“Great,” she breathed and situated herself in front of me.
I widened my legs to allow her to move between them, the towel precariously gaping open.
A hitch in her breathing told me she was as affected as I was.
She worked on trimming my beard. Our eyes met briefly.
I fought the urge to steal a kiss, and I didn’t want the razor to slice my cheek open either.
Staying as still as a statue was a great fucking idea.
After Izabel finished, she moved back behind me and cupped my jaw. “I’m gonna work on your beard line.”
I chuckled. “You don’t have to.”
“Oh, but I want to.” She smeared shaving gel on my cheek.
“Want to find your husband beneath the scruff?”
“You can say that. Now, hush before I cut you.”
I closed my mouth, because the back of my head was more or less cradled on her tits.
Fuck.
Torture. Fucking sweet torture.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Brick in a skirt.
Brick in a tutu.
Fuck. It wasn’t working.
Izabel released my jaw and backed away. A warm, wet towel wiped the gel from my face.
I opened my eyes and stared at my reflection—and recognized a man I hadn’t seen in three years. My eyes shifted to Izabel’s and the watery smile on her face told me what I needed to know—my wife had found her husband.
“Drake…”
A growl escaped my throat as I swiveled on the stool and grabbed her hips. Her laughter was cut short when I lifted her and planted her ass on the counter. The towel falling away exposed my fully erect cock.
Izabel’s hand wrapped around my throbbing erection.
“Fuck, Izabel.” My eyes drilled into her fevered ones. “Are you sure?”
Her “yes” was needy, and I was a slave to her every need.
I framed her face and kissed her, devouring her lips like a man starved. Our tongues tangled. I was acutely aware of her soft hands stroking my cock and squeezing.
I knocked her hands away. “Enough.”
She protested and tried to grab me again, but I foiled her attempt.
“Too much,” I growled. I yanked at the drawstrings of her sweatpants as she took off her shirt. I stripped it off her legs and moved between them again, pressing close. Claiming her lips, I dug a hand behind her underwear.
Hot. Wet.
I plunged a finger inside her and she moaned into my mouth.
“Fuck, Iza.” I trailed kisses down her neck and slipped off the strap of her bra so I could devour her gorgeous tits. I swallowed a nipple, sucking and licking as a second finger joined the first. She was fucking tight as her slick inner muscles suctioned my fingers.
“Inside me, Drake!” she whimpered.
I looked up from eating her tit—“don’t rush me”—and resumed feasting on her body. She cried out as she came on my fingers and I continued to wring out every shudder of her orgasm as I lavished her skin with attention. I couldn’t wait to taste her, to have her juices on my tongue.
I plucked her from the counter and her legs automatically wrapped around me. Walking to the still-dark bedroom, I planted a knee on the bed and dropped her ass near the edge of the mattress. My knees hit the floor and I yanked her panties.
“Spread.” I shoved her thighs apart and dove in, tongue lapping greedily, the taste of her cunt turning my cock rock hard. Izabel squirmed as I tongue-fucked her. I brought her to the brink, withdrew, and then took her to new heights.
“Drake.”
I recognized that keening moan, relished that I still knew my wife’s pleasure points, how to drive her mad with need and bring her to orgasm.
I sucked on her clit.
“Drake!” And there it was. The explosion I was dying to taste. Her wet heat coated my mouth and I swiped every drop. Crawling up her body, I began pressing the crown of my cock inside her.
She was going to be tight and I didn’t want to hurt her.
“Let me know if it’s too much, baby,” I whispered to her in the dark, seeing the gleam in her eyes, but not her clear features. The bathroom fixture was our only source of light.
I continued to inch in. “Okay?” I gritted. Jesus, her pussy was tight.
She nodded vigorously, but her eyes squeezed shut.
Shit. Was that pain? Pleasure? I started to withdraw.
“No!” Her ankles hooked behind my ass, locking me in place.
I slid home, anchoring myself to the hilt.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” I groaned. I struggled not to rut into her like a deranged beast and, instead, stayed planted.
I needed to see her. Staying connected, I shifted us until I could see Izabel’s face in the dim light.
Her blissful smile made my heart soar. I was getting my wife back.
I pressed gentle kisses all over her face before capturing her lips in a deep, searing one.
“I love you, Izabel.” I stared into her eyes. “You’re in my heart every moment.”
She bracketed me with her arms and legs, drawing me closer. “Love me, Drake,” she whispered against my mouth. “Love me like you’ll never let me go.”