Genevieve
Isaiah had kissed me. He was kissing me.
And damn, he tasted good.
I leaned into the kiss, drinking him in. I shuddered as his rough hands roamed my curves. I relaxed in the hold of his strong arms.
Any moment now he’d push me away. He’d retreat behind those sky-high walls and any chance I had at breaking through would evaporate into thin air. So I savored his kiss—every wet lick, every sharp nip—praying it would continue for just one more minute.
Isaiah let a groan loose and it hummed into my mouth and down to my center. My hands were between us, my fingers splayed over his T-shirt, pressing firm into the warm, taut muscle beneath. I risked a move and let my hands drift lower. His abs really were as hard as they looked.
His lips broke away from mine and my eyes snapped open. I expected to see horror or disgust. Instead, his gaze was pure lust. The colors darkened, the outer ring of chocolate seeping into the green and gold swirls as Isaiah framed my face.
I held my breath.
Would he kiss me? Would he tell me to go?
I wasn’t ready for this marriage—sham marriage—to end.
“What do I do?” he whispered.
“Kiss me,” I whispered back.
He dipped his head, tilting mine just where he wanted it. The first kiss had been a release. A test. But what came next was so full of heat and power, it left me dizzy.
Isaiah’s tongue slipped between my lips, caressing against mine in long, languid strokes. He shifted his hips forward, letting me feel the arousal behind his zipper.
I moaned, my knees weakening. We were moving in a slow shuffle that felt more like swaying in place until I realized Isaiah had taken us to the bed.
My racing heart skidded to a dead stop.
Was that where we were going? Sex? My core clenched. I wanted Isaiah more than I’d ever wanted a man in my life, but was this smart? We’d been fighting minutes ago. He’d asked me to leave.
His fingers dropped from my face and drifted down my neck. They pressed into my skin, branding me with his touch as they slipped lower. In one large hand, he cupped my breast through my sweater, filling his palm.
My breath hitched. My head lolled and I arched into his grip. Don’t think. I shut off my brain, the common sense and worry. I would not overthink this and sabotage the one good thing I’d felt in months.
Isaiah was kissing me. We had no audience. We had no ulterior motive. This kiss was mine.
And so was he for the moment.
I reached for the hem of his shirt, lifting it above his navel to feel his warm skin underneath.
The touch caused Isaiah’s muscles to bunch even tighter, but it wasn’t a cringe.
This was tension from a lover’s touch. It was anticipation that I’d slide my fingers into the waistband of his jeans.
The moment my nails raked over the line of hair below his navel, our kiss took on a whole new intensity, his tongue plundering instead of exploring. Our mouths fused.
I went for the button on his jeans, needing both hands to flip it open. Isaiah used his other hand to palm my ass.
“Genevieve,” Isaiah warned, breaking away from our kiss.
No. My spirits crashed. I’d gone too far. I’d pressed too fast.
“I want to,” I blurted. My eyes pleaded with his. “Once. Just once.”
Isaiah studied my face, a crease forming between his eyebrows. Then, after what felt like hours, he nodded.
I stood on my toes, smashing my mouth against his.
My palms skimmed over his short hair for a brief moment before moving in a frenzy to pull up his shirt.
With it raised between us, I tugged at the zipper on his jeans.
He met me step for step, until my sweater was stripped over my head and the black lace of my bra rubbed against his skin.
He reached behind his head and yanked off his T-shirt before coming back to me, cupping one breast while the other went to the side zipper on my trousers. They fell into a puddle at my bare feet.
Then I was up and moving, my lips ripped away from Isaiah’s as he hoisted me by my thighs.
My center was pressed against his erection, the dull ache becoming a pulse that couldn’t be ignored. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, holding on as he laid me on the bed, his nose running along my neck as he dragged in a deep breath of my scent.
Then his tongue went back to work, licking like my skin was made of melting ice cream. Isaiah’s hands went to his jeans, pushing them over his hips. I looked down to see those black boxer briefs I’d grown to love. They contained his straining bulge but just barely.
He lifted off me, grabbed one of my hands and hauled me up to a seat. Then he flicked the center clasp on my bra, replacing the lace with his hands.
“Oh, God,” I moaned, my head rolling loose the moment he had my nipples pinched between those calloused fingers. I squirmed and lifted my hips, desperate to feel his thick cock pressed against my panties.
He shifted us deeper into the bed, settling his weight into the cradle of my hips and forcing my thighs apart.
My bra was stretched behind me from one elbow to the other.
My knees were up and bent, my legs splayed open.
It was a wanton position, no holds barred.
I closed my eyes and offered my body for his taking.
Isaiah drew a long, cool line with the tip of his tongue from my collarbone through the valley of my breasts. Then he stepped away, leaving me cold and breathless. The bed shook as he retreated.
My eyes stayed closed. My breaths came in heavy pants. Was he coming back? If he quit on me now, I would have to flee this apartment. Mortification would demand I disappear forever.
His knee hit the bed and a relieved cry nearly escaped my lips. I dared to crack open my eyes. They widened when I saw a hot and very naked Isaiah coming my way.
Good God, he was gorgeous. He was all inked skin strung over tight, bulging muscle. A work of art and beauty.
Isaiah looked in the mirror and saw everlasting broken pieces, but maybe my broken pieces would fit with his. Together, maybe we’d make a whole.
My hands went to my panties, pushing them down as my hips lifted off the bed. Isaiah’s eyes were glued to my pussy as I bared myself, kicking the black lace to the floor and shedding the straps of my bra.
He swallowed hard, tearing his eyes away to meet my gaze. “Fuck, I don’t deserve you.”
“Take me anyway.”
We were a blur as he captured my mouth in another scorching kiss. I was lightheaded and shaking as he positioned himself at my entrance and rocked us together.
I gasped at the connection. I was almost too full, the emotion too much. Sex had never been like this, threatening to consume me whole. I leaned into it too, taking Isaiah’s face in my hands to kiss him again as he started moving in deep, slow thrusts.
The build of my orgasm was like a brewing thunderstorm, the clouds billowing, the lightning looming, until there was no choice but to relish the downpour.
“Isaiah,” I moaned as my orgasm broke.
He groaned my name, dropping his head into my hair as his body trembled against mine. A sheen of sweat covered us both as he poured his release inside me. And then he collapsed, dropping to give me his weight as we both rode out the aftershocks.
I clung to him. He clung to me. His arms slid beneath my back, wrapping me up tight.
We’d both needed that connection for far too long.
“We didn’t use a condom.” He sighed, sliding out. He flopped into the empty space beside me, staring at the ceiling. It was cold without his body on mine. “Goddamn it. Sorry. I don’t even have any.”
“I’m on the pill. And I’m clean. I haven’t been with anyone in a long, long time.”
“Me neither.”
What about Shannon? Now was not the time to think of her. Not here in this bed. Not when for a few minutes, he was mine.
I rolled out of bed and walked to the bathroom on wobbly legs to clean myself up. I expected to find Isaiah on the couch when I emerged, those walls snapping back into place. When I came out wearing nothing, my steps faltered to see him in bed beneath the covers.
My side was turned down and waiting.
“I’m not ready for it to be over.” He cast me a longing glance. “Not yet.”
Me neither. I smiled and padded to the bed to crawl in beside him.
We curled together. My head rested on his chest. His hand closed over mine on his stomach. Our legs intertwined.
The pieces fit.
“Hi.” My face flushed as I came out of the bathroom the next morning.
“Hey.” Isaiah turned from his seat at the table that separated the kitchen and the couch. There were only two chairs and the table barely held a large pizza. But we’d been sharing meals there for months.
He’d dressed while I’d been in the shower. He had on a pair of faded jeans and his normal black T-shirt. His feet were bare.
I inched my way across the apartment, wishing we could have stayed in the bubble from yesterday.
We’d stayed in bed all evening, alternating between sex and sleep, until I’d drifted off into a dreamless slumber.
As the morning light had snuck through the windows, reality had come crashing back.
I’d woken up to find Isaiah on the couch. He’d moved sometime in the night.
“So . . .” This was the most awkward morning of my life. Worse than the first morning he’d stayed here after we’d gotten married. “Should we talk?”
He sighed, nodding to his coffee cup.
Coffee. Coffee would be good.
I went to the pot, busying myself by filling a cup and then mixing in some creamer, using the menial tasks to avoid direct eye contact.
Why had I asked him to talk? I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to escape this apartment and go to work, where I could lose myself in paperwork and research, where I would try not to think about sex with Isaiah.
Mind-blowing, marriage-shattering sex.
Shit. I was stupid.