Chapter 22 #3
The sponge moves lower, pausing at my hips before he glides it carefully down my thighs.
His eyes flicker up to mine, almost apologetically, as though the act of washing me is a violation.
I can’t help but close my eyes as his hands move on to my calves, his touch feather-light against my skin.
The cruel reality of our situation is momentarily forgotten as I lose myself in the gentle rhythm of the sponge moving over my skin.
Suddenly, Isaac halts his movements, the sponge still resting against my ankle.
His hands clasp around my foot as he tenderly massages it, his touch sending shivers up my spine.
I dare to open my eyes and find him looking at me, a sadness etched deeply into his face.
Once he is done, he places the sponge back into the water and stands before me.
I don’t have to look down to know he is hard.
I can feel the want and need that radiates like heat from his body, making me shiver with need.
It’s a strange dichotomy, finding such intimacy in a place of such wrath and despair.
His hand reaches out, fingers gently tracing the contours of my face before settling on my cheek.
“Go on,” Harry commands. “We don’t have all day. Fuck her.”
Isaac’s eyes flare with reluctant defiance, his gaze never tearing from mine. Surprisingly, he doesn’t fight it. He leans into me, the chains rattling as he rests his forehead against mine. “I never break promises.”
“Good,” is all I breathe out, leaning into his hand against my cheek as if to offer comfort at the brutal words.
I see it in his eyes, the quiet desperation born of a situation he is powerless to alter.
Isaac tenses, shaking his head. “Fuck, Ronnie. I don’t think I can.
Not like this,” he mouths, my hand finding his cheek.
“It’s okay. I promise.” Still, he hesitates even as my free hand finds his cock and wraps around it, firmly gripping him. It’s so big and thick. “Isaac. Please,” I breathe out.
The sudden click of a gun being cocked startles me and snaps Isaac out of his denial.
“Go on,” Harry commands. “Make us a baby, or you both die right here, right now. Make your choice.” Harry’s words hang in the air, a devilish ultimatum that chills the heart.
Isaac’s jaw clenches tighter, his gaze cutting into me with an unspoken apology before he turns to regard Harry once more.
“Enjoy the show, maldito perro1,” he sneers before meeting my eyes, apologizing for what’s to come.
I watch Isaac’s throat bob as he swallows hard, his knuckles whitening as he clenches his fists.
Harry walks away and resumes whatever he is doing with Priscilla, but I don’t turn to look, too scared to break the moment.
The weight of his gaze is a silent commiseration.
His fingers, cold with despair, trace a path down my cheek to my lips, where they linger for a moment too long.
He bends down, his lips brushing against mine.
“Perdóname2, mami,” he whispers against my lips. “Te amo.3”
My knees almost buckle under the intensity of his touch.
It’s a promising kiss. A promise of unwavering loyalty, a promise of breaking barriers.
A promise that he will do anything for me.
He pulls away just as I begin to melt into him, the taste of him still on my lips.
His eyes are full of unshed tears and emotions he dares not express verbally.
A moan escapes my lips, but it drowns in his mouth.
Whispering against my lips, he says, “Don’t make those sounds.
Please,” before his fingers thread through my hair, as if he could block out all the eyes watching us.
His lips firm against mine, a battle for dominance erupting between our tongues.
Isaac’s hands, assertive yet gentle, drift from my hand only to tighten around my waist. His touch is both an anchor and a sanctuary, pulling me closer to him, away from the cold reality of our situation.
I wrap my arms around his neck, clinging to him like a lifeline.
Once again, he threads his fingers through my hair, pulling me closer.
While his other remains on my hips. His lips move with mine, drawing out sighs and whispers unheard by anyone but us.
The bubble around us momentarily shatters, and I tense under Isaac’s touch.
“Mírame4, stay here. Feel me.” He grabs my hands and places them on him.
“Siénteme5… Feel me… It’s me. Stay here.
Stay with me.” I obey, my hands trembling as they explore the contours of his defined muscles.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers against my lips before picking me up, my legs wrapping around his waist, and slamming me into the wall.
All his restraints are shattered, and I gasp at the sudden forcefulness of his movements.
Our bodies align perfectly, his hard edges meeting mine as he slips inside me.
Kissing me to muffle the whimpers that work up my throat with each slow and deliberate thrust. Each motion sends rippling waves of pleasure coursing through me.
His movements are calculated, his eyes burning with raw need and emotion.
He bites my lip softly, a silent promise that he’ll protect me no matter what.
“God, I'm so fucking sorry,” he whispers in my ear, his voice trembling with pleasure.
His movements are slow but purposeful, each thrust accompanied by a whispered plea for forgiveness or a soft apology, leaving no room for doubt about the turmoil raging within him.
Pressing his forehead against mine, his body shakes violently against mine as he tries to control the animalistic urge to claim me fully.
His apology punctuates every breath I take. With every thrust.
1. Fucking dog.
2. I'm sorry
3. I love you
4. Look at me.
5. Feel me.