chapter 27
Iselyn
Not knowing where I could possibly escape him, I bolt out of the house, glancing over my shoulder. How stupid I am to think I could tie down Matleon, the wild bull, with a flimsy sex toy. I deserve an award for sheer stupidity, he’s the man who fought a lion and killed it barehanded.
I don’t stop running until I reach the forest area.
Today, I won’t let him catch me. But the moon is unusually bright tonight, casting more light than darkness.
There isn’t enough shadow to fully hide myself, though I can still use the trees as cover.
I refuse to accept defeat without fighting back.
His footsteps echo through the forest. “Where is my little Angel?” he sings, his voice loud, coaxing, and amused.
I press myself against a tree, my eyes scanning the shadows. He’s getting closer, weaving between the trees, grinning like a predator. “I’ll find you, you know,” he says, his tone menacing yet playful.
I notice something, Matleon loves the chase. He becomes wild, more unhinged, more alive whenever he does it. He’s a creature of instinct, reveling in the thrill of the hunt.
I edge backward from one tree to another, trying to stay unseen. He glances in my direction. No—wait, I misjudged. He’s still scanning the area, not focusing on me yet.
He spins toward another part of the forest, singing that same maddening refrain: “Where is my little Angel?”
The forest holds its breath with me. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig underfoot feels magnified.
My pulse pounds so loudly I’m sure he would hear it even if he were ten feet away.
But he’s moving away from me. I smile. Seems like today might be my winning day.
His footsteps fade, but I keep my eyes locked on the path he took. Who knows when he’ll come back?
After ten minutes with no sign of him, I let out a heavy sigh of relief. Now what? Am I going to spend the night here? I could sleep in Wen’s room, but it would be far too easy for him to drag me out of there.
I turn on my feet slowly, leaning my back against a tree.
A scream rips from my throat when I see him standing in front of me, grinning like a devil, leaning casually against a tree just ten feet away.
My heart nearly jumps out of my chest. When did he get here?
How was I so deaf that I didn’t hear him coming?
I spin on my feet, and he laughs, a deep, wild sound that chills me. I run again, pouring every ounce of stamina into my legs, but I don’t make it past ten trees before he catches me, spinning me in his arms so I face him. He lifts me effortlessly, his grin stretching wide like a madman’s.
“Now, Angel. I’ll give you two choices.”
“Let me go, Matleon,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
He grabs my chin, his fingers firm and commanding. “That’s not an option,” he mutters against my mouth, enunciating every word slowly. “You only have two choices, either get fucked by my dick or my mouth. Pick one.”
He releases my chin and, without warning, strips my shorts and panties down.
I cry out in protest, but my heart is thudding violently in my throat.
My traitorous body betrays me again, singing in response to his dominance.
The choice is quite easy to make, he’s been there with his tongue once before; what harm could a second time do?
“Second,” I mutter, my voice barely audible.
“Say the complete sentence,” he grins wickedly. “Say, I want you to put your tongue deep in my pussy, I want you to drink my sweet juices.”
“I’m not saying these crazy things,” I protest.
He chuckles, amusement and dominance entwined. “Fine. I’ll be generous.”
Before I can brace myself, he lifts me higher, my cry of shock escaping my lips.
Both his hands clamp around my thighs and lift me onto his shoulders, pressing me against the tree.
“Cheaper version of you sitting on my face,” he mutters against my core, lifting me further.
I grip the strong branch above me, my knuckles white.
Matleon’s gaze is locked on me, his face just inches from where I’m most sensitive. My wetness glistens in front of him, and he smirks, eyes flicking upward. “Such a good pussy… can’t wait to fill my mouth.”
I wrench my gaze away, focusing on anything but him, the number of trees around, the size and shape of their leaves, anything to distract myself from his scorching stare, his breaths fanning over me.
Trees. Leaves. Grass. Moon. Sky. That cloud looks like a map of Russia. “Ahhgg!” I cry out a moan as his tongue slides inside my folds.
Then he pushes deeper, and my body slams against the tree behind me. My thighs start trembling around his face, all the way down to my knees, which are balanced on his shoulders.
I’m moaning, shaking, and he’s doing exactly what he promised—fucking me with his tongue.
One thing I know with daylight-level certainty: after divorcing Matleon, I’ll be utterly doomed in my sex life. There’s no way my own fingers or any toys could make me feel this way. Another man? Out of the question. You have to give someone your heart for that, and mine isn’t available.
And then my thoughts scatter as he pulls his tongue out and sucks on my clit. His mouth moves from my clit to my entrance, licking and sucking, making me… God. Heaven. What is this?
My whole body trembles, my brain goes blank. All I can hear are my loud cries and the explosive shivers coursing through every cell of me.
Is there a medical condition called “death from orgasm”? If not, it should be named after me, because one day, I might die from the torturous orgasms given by this man, whom I’ll divorce if I survive them.
He pulls me down and sets my bare feet on his shoes; my flip-flops have long been discarded behind him. His steel-hard erection presses against my stomach. He moves his feet with me on top of them as if we are dancing, and every nerve in me is alight.
He stops right where my flip-flops are discarded and lets me go. I slip them on and meekly look up at him. He’s smiling, the devil himself. Satan.
“Run again, Angel. Hide under the covers,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his voice low and enchanting. “Don’t let the devil see you.” He lifts a lock of my hair from my shoulder. “Or your pretty red hair.”
My eyes widen in realization. He saw me behind that tree—no, he saw my hair. Untied, my messy curls cascade in a voluminous wave. I feel like the dumbest woman alive.
He lets go of my hair and takes two steps back.
His silent cue for me to run. I don’t waste a second.
My legs shake, but I sprint, only stopping when I reach our room.
No, his room. I dart into the bathroom, take a quick two-minute shower, change into fresh clothes, and slide under the sheets, hiding my face and hair.
Wait. Why am I obeying him?
He can’t boss me around. I’m his wife.
Shut up, Iselyn. You haven’t recovered from your earlier orgasm, just do what he said. Matleon’s style of “punishment” is making me come, which I’m still not sure can even be called a punishment.
Matleon
After taking care of myself under the hot shower, I enter the bedroom. I chuckle, watching her hiding under the sheets, not a single strand of hair escaping. I sit on the bed and slide under the covers. The soft, steady sound of her breath tells me she’s asleep.
I gently lift the quilt from her face, taking in her peaceful, angelic expression, my head propped up on my elbow.
Her soft brown lashes rest gently on her fair cheeks, her peach-colored lips slightly parted.
Today, they are in their brightest shade.
I touch the fine baby hairs along her frontal hairline with the lightest brush of my thumb.
It glides down to her temple. When it brushes over her ear, she makes a soft, squishy sound and turns onto her side, hiding her ear from me. This is better, now she is facing me.
I smile, pushing the strands of her curls that fall over her cheek behind her ear without touching it. She is very sensitive around her ears.
I lay my head on the pillow after pulling it closer to hers. There should be no gap between our pillows and our bodies. And our hearts—which is wishful thinking of mine for now.
There is so much peace in watching her sleep.
I used to think Zo was crazy, unable to live without watching Avi.
Now I can totally understand his craziness.
I think this is an infectious disease, I got infected from him.
Sure, there is nothing wrong with placing blame.
And since we are now into placing blame shamelessly, let’s put the blame for this relentless craving on this angel, who is sleeping as if she has done nothing wrong in her life.
She gave me a taste of her love, and even though it was very much juvenile, it was strong enough to shake the entire course of a growing man’s life.
She gave me a taste of it, and now I’m craving it, like…
what did those poets used to say? Like water in summer…
no, not summer—desert. Like water in a desert.
Will she love me back if I write some good-quality poetry? Girls like that stuff, right?
We’ll see.
I shift closer to her. Our noses are touching now. I tilt my face and press a gentle kiss to her relaxed lips, then lay my head back on the pillow. But I can’t keep it there, I kiss her again. And again.
Stop it, you dumbass, or she’ll wake up. I scold the impulsive part of me in my head.