Chapter 23
Isabelle
He's standing up, completely naked in front of me, and I'm still on the bed panting and trembling, my body humming with aftershocks from the orgasm, desperate for him, aching for more despite having just come so hard I saw stars.
All day today and yesterday I've wanted him, needed him like I need air or water or food, this constant gnawing hunger that nothing else can satisfy.
And the thought that cuts through everything else with perfect clarity, is that I'm in love with him. Completely. Irrevocably. In a way that terrifies me and thrills me in equal measure, that makes my chest feel too small to contain everything I'm feeling.
We haven't said it yet, though we've danced close enough a few times, the words almost unspoken between us when we've talked about our futures, about changing plans, about what comes next. But the actual words haven't been spoken out loud.
I've never said them to anyone before, never felt it enough, never met anybody who made me want to be that vulnerable. Too scary to admit and too much power to hand over to someone else.
I look up at Alex, and he reaches down and cups my cheek with his hand, his palm warm. I melt into the touch like I'm made of something softer than I've ever been before, like he's reshaped something fundamental in me.
I turn my head and reach over to the bedside table, and he watches me with dark focused eyes, his breathing still heavy from going down on me.
I pull out a black silk blindfold I bought this afternoon while he was meeting with my father, the fabric soft and expensive in my hands, and look up at him with what I hope is confidence even though my heart is pounding.
"I thought we could play that game you showed me that night in the kitchen," I say, my voice coming out steadier than I expected. "I've been thinking about it all day. I want to feel everything without seeing or thinking. Just... pure sensation. With you."
He goes very still above me, taking the blindfold from my hand and turning it over in his fingers, his eyes never leaving mine. "You sure?"
I nod, biting my lip hard enough to hurt. "I trust you completely, Alex. Completely."
The words hang in the air between us, heavy with meaning beyond just this moment, beyond just sex. I'm trusting him with everything. My body, my heart, my carefully constructed walls that I've spent years building and he's managed to dismantle.
Slowly, he leans down and puts the blindfold on me, and everything goes black.
Next, I feel his hands on my shoulders, warm and steady, and then he's helping me stand, his touch grounding me as my balance shifts without vision.
The nightgown whispers against my skin as he slowly lifts it up and over my head, his fingers trailing along my sides, my ribs, my arms as he removes it completely.
I'm completely naked now, standing in front of him, exposed and vulnerable and unable to see his reaction, unable to gauge his expression or read his body language. But I can hear the sharp intake of his breath, can hear the low groan that escapes him.
His hands come to my waist, his palms warm against my skin, spanning my ribcage, and then he pulls me back against him, my back to his chest, and I gasp at the full-body contact, at the overwhelming sensation of skin against skin.
Without vision, every point of touch is magnified a thousand times—the warmth of his chest against my back, the hardness of his cock pressed against my lower back and making me acutely aware of how much he wants this too, the way his arms wrap around me, one across my stomach and one coming up to cup my breast possessively.
"Mmm," I moan softly, the sound escaping before I can stop it, my skin hypersensitive in the darkness, every nerve ending firing, every sensation amplified tenfold.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against my ear, and I shiver at the warmth of his breath. "I love looking at you, but I wish you could see yourself through my eyes right now. How perfect you are."
"You feel so good," I murmur, my hands exploring his chest, his shoulders, mapping him through touch alone. "I can feel everything so much more like this."
Then his mouth is on mine, kissing me deeply, thoroughly, and I lose myself in it.
In the taste of him, in the way his tongue slides against mine, in the small sounds we're both making.
My hands slide into his hair, gripping, and he makes a low sound in his throat that I feel vibrate through both our bodies.
His hand on my breast cups it fully, feeling the weight of it, and then his thumb brushes over my nipple with deliberate slowness. The sensation makes me gasp, makes me arch into his touch, and he does it again, circling the sensitive peak until it tightens into a hard point.
Then he pinches, hard enough to send a sharp spike of pleasure-pain straight through me, and I cry out, my back arching, pressing my breast more firmly into his hand.
The sensation is so much more intense without being able to see it coming, without being able to brace for it, and heat floods between my thighs, makes me clench with need.
"That's it," he murmurs, his other hand sliding down my stomach, over my hip, between my thighs. "I love the sounds you make."
His fingers slide through my wetness and I moan, my hips jerking forward into his touch. I'm so wet already, soaked from the orgasm he gave me with his mouth, from the anticipation, from the sheer intensity of being blindfolded and at his mercy.
"I can feel how much you want this," he says.
"I do," I gasp as his fingers circle my clit, not quite touching it, just teasing around it. "I want this so much. I want you."
He continues touching me like that, his fingers exploring, learning, taking his time, and I'm lost in sensation.
His hand on my breast, pinching and rolling my nipple.
His fingers between my thighs, sliding through my wetness but never quite giving me the pressure I need.
His mouth on my neck, kissing and sucking, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin and making me whimper.
Time loses meaning in the darkness. It could be seconds or minutes or hours, I have no idea, can only feel and react and surrender to everything he's doing to me.
Then he walks me backward slowly, carefully, his hands steady on my hips, guiding me, and I trust him completely to keep me safe, to not let me stumble or fall.
I can feel the space opening up around us as we move, can sense we're crossing the room though I have no idea where we're going until I feel the cool wood of the desk against the back of my thighs.
The desk in front of the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city, I realize, my heart racing. The window where anyone looking up from the street might see us, might see my silhouette. The thought sends a thrill through me, makes heat flood between my thighs, makes me press closer to him.
"Turn around," he says gently, his hands on my hips helping me, and I obey, turning so my back is to him, so I'm facing the window I can't see. "Bend forward for me. Hands on the desk."
I obey, leaning forward slowly, my palms finding the smooth wood surface. The desk is cool against my heated skin as I bend further, feeling my spine curve, my ass lifting, and I can feel how exposed I am like this, how vulnerable.
"More," he says, and his hand presses between my shoulder blades, applying gentle but insistent pressure until my breasts press against the cool wood and I gasp at the temperature shock, my nipples hardening painfully against the surface.
"That's it. All the way down. I want you completely bent over for me. "
My hands reach forward automatically, gripping the far edge of the desk for stability, for something to anchor myself to, and I'm breathing hard now, my heart racing, anticipation and arousal coiling tight in my belly.
I can feel how exposed I am like this, bent over with my back arched, my ass in the air, my thighs slightly spread.
The cool air from the window kisses my heated skin, and I'm hyperaware of every sensation—the temperature difference, the vulnerability of the position, the way my heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
His hands run over my back with reverent attention, starting at my shoulders and sliding down my spine slowly, tracing each vertebra, learning the curve of my body. Over my lower back, over the swell of my ass, his palms warm and slightly rough against my skin.
"Isabelle," he says. "You have no idea how perfect you look like this. How much I want you. How hard it is to go slow when all I want is to be inside you."
"Then don't go slow." I arch my back more, offering myself to him shamelessly. "I don't need slow right now. I need you. I need to feel you."
His hands grip my hips, his fingers digging in slightly, and I feel the thick head of his cock at my entrance, hot and hard and perfect. He doesn't push in yet, just rests there, the pressure maddening, and I try to push back but his grip holds me steady.
"Please," I whimper, beyond pride, beyond caring how desperate I sound. "Alex, please, I need you inside me."
"I know," he says, his voice strained. "I just want to remember this. You trusting me like this. Giving yourself to me like this. It's everything."
After another moment, he lines up his cock at my entrance, and slides in slowly, so slowly, and I gasp and moan as he fills me inch by inch.
His cock fits me perfectly, like my body was designed specifically for him. No other man has ever been able to make me orgasm from penetration alone, but his cock hits some spot inside me that lights me up like nothing else ever has.
He thrusts deep, gripping my ass and pulling me back onto him, his fingers digging into my flesh.
"Fuck, Isabelle.” His hands are all over me, running up my spine, gripping my hips, claiming every inch of me.
I have never felt so at his mercy. No one has ever made me feel safe enough to let them have me like this, to let them see me completely undone. I feel euphoric and completely lost and I cry out his name.
He suddenly pulls out, but then he's spinning me to face him, my legs automatically wrapping around his waist. He yanks the blindfold off in one quick motion and I gasp, blinking in the low light, looking up at him.
His eyes are dark and hungry and full of so much emotion it makes my chest hurt, makes my throat tight, and he enters me again without warning, quickly and urgently.
He tangles his hand in my hair, forcing me to maintain eye contact with him, not letting me look away or hide behind closed eyelids.
He presses his forehead close to mine, our noses almost touching, breathing each other's air as he thrusts into me, sending waves of pleasure over and over through my entire body, building and building.
"Alex," I whisper, feeling tears starting to form as the sensations and emotions threaten to overwhelm me completely, as everything I've been holding back comes rushing to the surface. "Alex, I love you."
I can't help it, whether it should be said during sex or not, whether it's the right moment or too soon, it's so completely true that holding it back feels impossible.
He thrusts even deeper, holding himself there for a moment, pressing me flush against him, our bodies completely connected with no space between us, and he cups my face with one hand, his palm warm and gentle against my cheek.
He smiles down at me, open and tender and full of everything I've been too afraid to hope for.
"I love you completely, so much, Isabelle," he says, his voice breaking slightly on my name. "I've loved you this whole fucking time."
He moves inside me again, and the fullness combined with the overwhelming vulnerability and feeling so completely loved and seen—actually seen for who I am and loved anyway—makes the tears fall freely and I pull him down for a desperate kiss.
He kisses me back, swallowing my moans as he keeps thrusting, our mouths moving together, tongues sliding, sharing breath.
I lean back against the desk and he follows me down, pinning my wrists above my head with one hand, thrusting harder and harder, and the waves of pleasure build. We come together, harder than ever before, him groaning my name and me crying out his, both of us shaking and clinging to each other.
We stay like that for a long moment, both of us breathing hard, neither of us wanting to move or break the connection. He's still inside me, still holding my wrists gently above my head, his forehead resting against mine, and I've never felt safer in my entire life.
"I love you," I whisper again, because now that I've said it once I can't stop saying it, like the words have been building up inside me for weeks and now they're pouring out. "I never thought I would say that to anyone, but I'm completely yours."
"I love you too," he says, kissing me softly, tenderly, completely different from the desperate kiss moments ago. "And I'm just as much yours as you are mine. You have no idea how strong the hold you have on me is, how completely you own me."
I smile a little bit at that, my voice still breathless, shaky. "Really? Because I think you're the one who just completely destroyed me."
He laughs softly, the sound warm and full of affection, and kisses me again, his lips soft against mine. "You have all the power here, my love. All of me belongs to you."
I look up at him, studying his face in the dim hotel room light, the way his hair falls across his forehead, the way he's looking at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters, and I've never felt so completely seen, so thoroughly loved.
This is what I've been afraid of my entire life. This feeling. This vulnerability. This complete surrender to someone else. And it turns out it's the best thing I've ever felt.