Luke
When I turned back to Isabella, she was downing her Italian sparkling wine at a speed I’d never seen. I’d carefully measured that glass out to get her a little tipsy, but hadn’t factored in her sudden, alarming rate of consumption.
The television played on in the background, but my eyes stayed fixed on Isabella’s paling complexion, her gaze locked to her phone screen like it might bite her. I set the remote on the table and edged closer, dread already coiling low in my chest.
I read the three messages, and anger began to simmer in the pit of my belly, my nails curling into my palms hard enough to leave marks.
For years, she’d chosen to ignore me, to neglect our marriage. She’d invited other men into my bed, long before I’d finally checked out of the whole toxic partnership. She’d enjoyed the money, the fame, the fortune that came with being attached to my name.
Without it, there was nothing. She was nothing. The Jezebel was only now realising I was moving on, and there was nothing left she could do about it.
I crouched down beside Isabella, closing my eyes for a moment when I saw how devastated she looked, that familiar protective fury rising hot beneath my ribs.
“Block the number, baby,” I murmured, opening my eyes to meet hers. “I’ve already sent her a legal document to get her to stop. Send me a screenshot of the messages, and don’t delete them. This is all evidence of harassment.”
“But why is she after you now? Wasn’t she the one who had a string of affairs?”
I shook my head and rested my hand on her knee, steadying her with the weight of it.
“I don’t think she’s the full shilling. She sees herself as the victim, and the world owes her for it. Don’t let her ruin our first Christmas,” I murmured.
She sighed and took another sip of her Prosecco, though her hand still trembled faintly around the stem.
I took the phone from her limp fingers and sent myself the screenshots, before accessing her settings and capturing the number. It was Sadie’s number. I blocked it from Isabella’s phone.
“There, all done,” I said, placing her phone on the table before sitting beside her.
She leaned into me, and I wrapped my arm around her. My concern wasn’t just for Isabella, but for her daughter too. The thought of anything happening to either of them made me feel sick.
The television played a Christmas special in the background while Isabella drank the rest of her Prosecco in one go.
“You’re right,” she said, swinging her empty glass. “We had an amazing day today.”
She grinned and leaned in to whisper. “Plus, you promised me a cervix bashing tonight?”
A what now?
“That sounds interesting,” I murmured.
Did I know where her cervix was? Yes. Did I understand its function? Yes. Did I read up every article on the internet about the anatomy, and how to fuck a baby into her? Yes, I damn well did.
She exhaled, her eyes drooping, and leaned in, holding onto the neckline of my jumper.
“I can feel you hit my cervix when you deep dive into me with that monster dick,” she whispered, as if conspiring with me. “Five long, dickless years.”
“Right,” I said, taking a calming breath before I ended up bending her over the damn couch. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
The television switched off. I gathered her up off the couch and turned the lights off as we left the living room.
“Mm,” she moaned, practically hanging off my jumper. “How do you always smell so good?”
By the time I got us up the stairs, she was sniffing me outright.
“It must be my cologne,” I whispered, guiding her to the bedroom.
“I need to get me some of that,” she said, as I closed the door behind us.
If my various phases went to plan, she wouldn’t need my cologne in a bottle. I’d always be around, or in her.
Her fingers hooked beneath her cream jumper, and she whipped it off so fast the gold star embroidered on it became a blur. The pale yellow bra had me stopping in my tracks. Little irregular embroidered shapes covered the sheer material, and those succulent, darker nipples were all I could focus on.
What I loved about Isabella was all the small imperfections that left a trail of her past across her body—from childbirth, from time. She was real, the complete opposite of Sadie.
I was willing to trust my instincts and give this beautiful woman my seed. For her to carry it, as she had done before. In return, she would gain the most dedicated husband and father I could possibly be.
My eyes lingered on her belly.
She plunged her thumbs into her waistband and pushed the dark brown leggings down her thighs. Her long hair tumbled down with her, covering her face and grazing the floor as she pulled the leggings off her feet.
I rushed forward when she began to tilt to one side. Just one glass of Prosecco. She hadn’t been lying when she said she didn’t drink much. I caught her arms and pulled her up, backing her toward the bed.
“My sexy little minx,” I murmured, as the backs of her legs hit the mattress.
The wooden bed frame had horizontal slats—perfect for what I had in mind.
I crouched down to slide her leggings off her remaining foot.
Her bright red nail polish made me pause, and I lifted her foot, running my hand from her knee down to her heel.
I kissed the top of her foot, feeling the gloss of her polished nails beneath my fingertips as I worked my lips up her leg until she gasped.
She spread her thighs open, and I saw the damp patch of material.
Excellent. The stickier, the better it would be for my sperm. The conditions were favourable, and with any luck, the cervical mucus would have thinned. There would be every chance my seed would take root in her womb.
“Why don’t you lie on the bed, Bella?”
She smiled and used her hands to drag herself back onto the bed before laying her head on the pillows. I allowed myself one last look at the outline of her chestnut curls spread across the pillow. A lovely bit of padding for me.
I retrieved my case from her closet and untangled the restraints before dimming the lights.
“Ooh. What do you have there?” she asked, raising her head.
I climbed onto the bed and gripped her underwear, slowly peeling away the damp lace. It clung to her pretty little cunt, but I eased it down her legs. I lowered her bra straps down her shoulders. Her ragged little breaths made her chest rise and fall harder with every second.
“Did you know you have the perfect areola-to-nipple ratio?” I said, peeling the scandalous sheer fabric down to bare her breasts.
She glanced down and cupped one breast, holding it up like an offering.
“This one is a little larger.”
God. This woman could unman me.
I leaned down, ignoring my throbbing cock, and covered her entire areola and the flesh surrounding it, flattening my tongue so I could swallow her magnificent tit whole. It was so soft, so pliable.
So fucking suckable.
I sucked so hard that when I pulled off, the loud smacking sound merged with her strangled cry. I bobbed up and down, sucking and tugging at her until her hands hooked around my neck.
“Oh, Luke,” she moaned.
I moved to her neglected breast and started all over again. By the time I was done with her, my cock would glide straight in and knock right on that cervix.
I sucked and licked. Sucked and licked. Hard and fast, until her entire breast jiggled with each pass. She tried to wrap her legs around me, and I hoisted them up until her bare pussy rested against my clothed cock.
“Do you feel that?”
“Uh-huh,” she managed, nodding.
“Let’s see how wet you make my trousers, Bella,” I growled, feeling her hips arch up to meet me.
Her desperate blue eyes met mine.
I reached for the restraints.