Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Isla
“I’m waiting, little one.”
I can’t focus on anything but the blindfold.
“Tell me yes,” Dorian urges. “Let us know you want this.”
“I…” How have I become this person? “Yes.” My voice cracks on the word.
“That’s our good girl.”
The reward of his smile makes my heart flip. I’m getting to the point that I’d do anything for a glimpse of his approval.
He kisses my forehead, and then Brennan does as well before Dorian secures the blindfold snugly in place.
My world goes dark. Every sound, every touch, is heightened.
Both sets of cuffs hold me fast even though I strain against the leather.
My helplessness sends a fresh wave of heat through me.
Brennan’s voice comes from my left, and it’s rough with approval. “You’re so ready for us, Isla.” He trails his fingers down my stomach, teasing, and I arch into his touch, desperate for more. “Aren’t you?”
Shakily I exhale.
The bed shifts, and there’s a rustle. Of clothing? Then there’s a soft thud. Maybe fabric hitting the floor.
A hand grips my hip, firm, possessive, and I tense, unsure who it is.
“You’re ours,” a voice murmurs.
Dorian’s? But the words are gruff, and the blindfold is disorienting.
Slowly one of them strokes in, sinking deeper with each thrust until I’m filled completely. I cry out, and my body clenches around him.
He—whichever of my men is fucking me—moves with relentless precision, each stroke deep, claiming, the cuffs keeping me spread and helpless.
Then he groans. “Fuck, you feel incredible.”
Now I know for sure. It’s definitely Dorian. His voice is raw with hunger, and he digs his hands into my hips, angling my body so I can take him deeper.
The pleasure is making me spin.
“You’re taking me so well, little one.”
I moan, pulling against the restraints, the leather biting into my skin as he drives into me, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge. But he slows, teasing, keeping me there, and I whimper, desperate for release.
“Not yet. We’re nowhere close to being finished with you.” His tone is as commanding as it is approving.
He pulls out, leaving me whimpering.
One of them strokes a finger gently across my lips, and I taste myself. I’m sure the gesture is meant to be soothing, but it only intensifies my emotions .
The bed shifts again, and another hand grips my thigh. Brennan? Or is Dorian trying to trick me?
I’m confounded as much as I’m turned on.
In a few pumps of his hips, he’s inside me. These movements are slower but no less intense. His cock stretches me wider as he finds a rhythm that makes my toes curl.
One of them cups my breasts, his thumbs grazing my nipples.
I tremble as I’m fucked, helpless, exposed.
He quickens his pace, each thrust hitting deeper, and I’m lost in the sensation, the uncertainty that heightens my arousal. “Please…” They’ve broken me so completely that I beg without being prompted. “Please, let me come.”
“You’re doing so good.” Brennan voice is as soothing as it is rough with pride. “But we’ll let you know when you’re allowed to climax.”
He slows, torturing me. I moan as my body silently screams for release. Once more, he thrusts deep, then pulls out.
I’m helpless, left there blindfolded, throbbing, unsatisfied.
From somewhere close, their low murmurs of satisfaction reach me. There’s a clink of a glass—champagne, maybe. Then silence.
Desperately I squirm.
“Look at her,” Dorian says, his voice warm with satisfaction. “Ours completely.”
“She’s everything.”
Their approval makes my heart stutter, even as my body aches for them to finish what they started.
The bed shifts again, and a firm hand grips my thigh.
This time there are no words, no clues—just the heat of a body moving closer.
I’m entered in one swift thrust, and I gasp, my body clenching around the cock that’s stretching me wide. The rhythm is relentless, each stroke deliberate, claiming, driving me higher.
Then he withdraws and the other man enters me. At least I think it’s someone else.
Right now, I’m so lost that they might not be taking turns and I wouldn’t know.
They torment my nipples and squeeze my breasts, even while flicking a finger across my clit.
I’m kissed and caressed, making me spiral in my solitary darkness.
The cuffs bite into my wrists and ankles, anchoring me as pleasure and demand coil tight, threatening to snap.
Whichever of my lovers is fucking me begins to slow, but continues to tease me, keeping me on the edge. I whimper as I frantically pull against the restraints.
Then he’s gone, and the bed shifts again. Another hand, another body, and he’s inside me, slower, stretching me with every thrust. The rhythm is different, more deliberate, but just as consuming.
I’m drowning in sensation.
My moans fill the room as he drives deeper, his hands reaching beneath me to dig into my buttocks.
There are still no voices, just the raw, unspoken claim of their bodies on mine. They switch again, seamless, one after the other, keeping me guessing, keeping my mind whirling until I’m a mess of need, my body begging for release they won’t grant.
Finally the blindfold is tugged away, and I blink into the soft light.
They’re both standing over me, naked, their eyes burning with hunger and pride. Dorian’s hand cups my cheek. “You’ve pleased us, little one. ”
For a moment, I’m lost in the dangerous depths of his eyes.
“Now we’ll give you what you need.”
They release my ankles first, then my wrists, their hands gentle as they massage the faint red marks left by the cuffs.
My chest is heaving, and I’m slick with sweat, ready to come undone.
With their hands, they guide me onto my side.
Then Dorian slides in behind me, his body warm and solid, his cock pressing against my pussy. He enters me slow and deep, each thrust a deliberate claim that makes me gasp.
He fills me with his length, stretching me, the angle hitting every sensitive spot inside.
Brennan is in front of me, his fingers finding my clit, circling with maddening precision.
With his free hand, he teases my nipples, pinching and rolling them until I’m shuddering. I’m caught between Dorian’s steady rhythm and Brennan’s relentless touch.
The pleasure builds, splintering, and I’m so close. Seeking the completion that I need, I rock my hips back against Dorian.
Just as I teeter on the edge, Brennan’s fingers still, and he murmurs something low to Dorian. They move me again, rolling me to my other side with seamless coordination.
Dorian is now in front of me, sliding his cock into me, the new angle sending fresh waves of sensation through me. His thrusts are deeper now, more insistent, and I moan, surrendering to the rhythm.
Brennan reaches around to continue caressing me, teasing me.
The dual assault is too much—Dorian’s cock driving into me, Brennan’s touch igniting every nerve.
The moment I’m ready to crash over the edge, they switch again, Brennan repeatedly driving up into me .
“Take it.”
The long-denied orgasm crashes over me, a white-hot wave that leaves me crying out.
Only when the aftershocks recede does Brennan begin to move again, finding his own release, hot and pulsing inside me.
We remain as we are for long minutes, until my breathing nearly returns to normal.
And then I see Dorian, his eyes dark, cock still straining with need. “I need to be in you, little one.”
I might die if he isn’t.
The two men shift me onto my back. Then Dorian spreads my thighs and positions himself above me.
He enters me hard, relentless, each thrust a claim that rocks my already-sensitive body. I’m still riding the physical high from my climax, but his intensity, the raw hunger in his eyes, reignites me.
My hand finds Brennan, and I gently stroke him, my fingers slick with our combined release.
Dorian’s pace quickens, his hands gripping my hips, and I’m lost again, the pleasure building impossibly fast. Another orgasm rips through me, my cries mingling with Dorian’s growl as he spills inside me, his release a final, possessive mark.
Only then does he slow, his forehead resting against mine, our breaths mingling as we come down together.
I’m not sure how long we remain in a tangled pile of limbs.
With a satisfied sigh, I close my eyes in sated bliss.
I’m floating, flirting with the edges of sleep—something I haven’t had a lot of since I was summoned to my parents’ house.
There’s movement around me, and then the sound of running water. Dorian’s voice brings me back to reality .
“Let’s get you cleaned up, little one.”
Even though I softly protest, he lifts me from the bed.
Since there’s nothing left of me, my body is limp in his arms.
Brennan follows us as Dorian takes me into the luxurious bathroom. The space is all curves and light, with creamy marble underfoot.
A rain shower is behind frameless glass, and a soaking tub is positioned beside a wide window that frames the water like a painting. The shower is already steaming and the glass fogging as Dorian sets me on my feet.
How long was I out?
For a few moments, he holds onto me, making sure I’m steady.
Brennan grins. “I think our girl needs a little while to rest.”
Since I still feel like I’m swimming in an ocean of sensuality, I think he’s right.
In the shower, warm water cascades over us, soothing my aching muscles. Brennan lathers a cloth, and he gently washes my shoulders, my arms, my back.
Dorian occupies himself with my front, running his soap-slick hands over my breasts, making my nipples pucker, and wringing yet another small moan from me.
Both men continue down my body—Dorian bathing my stomach while Brennan rubs my buttocks and legs.
Then Dorian turns a valve and detaches the shower wand to cleanse my pussy .
Happily I lean into their care, my body humming with the afterglow.
A sharp ring cuts through the steamy atmosphere.
“Fuck.” Dropping the washcloth, Brennan stiffens.
He steps out of the shower, water dripping onto the marble as he grabs a towel .
Surprised, I blink. It’s usually Dorian’s phone that demands attention.
Dorian finishes what he was doing. “You’re really the perfect wife.” Though his words are tender and seem sincere, there’s a tension in his jaw. “I couldn’t be happier.”
I blink as his words hit me.
Happy?
That wasn’t something I ever expected to feel again.
But right now, I’m okay.
A few moments later, he shuts off the water and wraps me in a plush towel, his hands lingering but his mind obviously elsewhere.
Back in the cabin, Brennan’s nowhere to be seen.
The bed is neatly made, and the evidence of our earlier lovemaking has been erased. Probably by the very efficient crew. Dorian pulls a light, gauzy sundress from the closet.
“This or a swimsuit,” he recommends, hooking his thumb toward a dresser. “There are a couple in there.”
I open the drawer. The man has thought of everything. My belongings are meticulously organized. Alongside them are a woven tote bag, a wide-brimmed floppy hat, and sleek sunglasses, all of which I grab.
Then I pull out the swimwear. Unsurprisingly they’re both bikinis. And one of them is more floss than covering.
My decision is easy.
The dress swishes down my body, and the fabric is light against my skin.
With his back to me, Dorian slips into cream linen pants, opting to go commando. For a moment, I stare at his hot, tight ass.
When he turns and sees me, he grins, making me blush.
Then he adds a white shirt, leaving it open at the throat.
He’s so damn handsome that my breath catches. I can hardly look away from him .
How is it possible that I’m his wife?
“Let’s head to the deck?”
“Yes.” Grateful he’s brought me back to the present moment, I transfer a few things from my purse to the tote, and I grab a tube of sunscreen that’s thoughtfully been provided. Then I pull on the hat.
“Every time I don’t think you can get any more beautiful…”
He’s so generous with his praise. But I scrunch my nose. I’m not sure that beautiful is the right word to describe me right now. I think I look ridiculous.
Dorian leads me through the yacht, pausing at a small library paneled in dark wood, shelves lined with books.
“Thought this might make you happy.”
My lit-major heart skips as I scan the titles—Jane Austen, Toni Morrison, a worn copy of Mrs. Dalloway . Because I’m on a vacation of sorts, I select Persuasion and tuck it into my tote.
Dorian’s lips curve, and a rare tenderness softens his eyes. “Excellent choice.”
“You know it?”
“I know of it.”
On the deck, the sun is beginning its trek to the Western horizon.
Dorian settles me on a cushioned lounge chair near the hot tub, the canvas canopy overhead offering shade.
Instantly a steward joins us, offering bottled water and asking if I’d care for champagne or a cocktail.
“How about something tropical?” And because we’ve been honeymooning in New Orleans, I say, “Maybe a hurricane?”
“Very good. And for you, sir?”
Dorian uncaps his water. “This is fine for now.”
The moment we’re alone, he brushes a kiss across my forehead. “I’ll be back soon. ”
“You’re going somewhere?” I’m not sure why I’m taken aback. After all, Brennan disappeared.
“Enjoy a few minutes to yourself.”
His stride purposeful, Dorian vanishes below deck, leaving me alone with the sea’s gentle rhythm and the faint hum of the yacht.
I should be grateful for the solitude, a moment to breathe after the intensity of everything I’ve gone through since he stormed into my life.
But sitting here, surrounded by opulence, I feel strangely unmoored.
The Gulf stretches endlessly. I’ve already become accustomed to having them around all the time, and I feel their absence as a hollow ache.
I open my book and try to read, but the words blur and my mind wanders.
When my drink arrives, I’m grateful for the interruption. Instead of letting him set it down, I accept the glass with a smile.
The first sip of the rum-forward hurricane hits me hard. It’s sweet, tart, and strong, sending a rush of heat through me.
If I finish the whole thing, I’ll be more than a little tipsy.
Even though I want to down the entire thing in one go, I set it aside and try my book again.
A few minutes later, I give up in frustration. Instead, I pull out my phone and power it up.
The screen is glowing with messages—my sister’s bubbly texts about wedding plans, colleagues asking about my sudden wedding. Thanks to sites like Scandalicious , that news had spread fast.
Telling myself that responses can wait until I return from the trip, I pick up my beverage once more .
Right as I close my mouth around the straw, another text arrives.
The number is one I don’t recognize. With a small frown, I open the message and glance at it.
Tell your husband to watch his back, Mrs. Vale.
My hand shaking, I put my glass back down before I drop it.
Debts don’t disappear.