Isabella
I must have been doing it right, because he looked at me as if he wanted to devour me whole. His dark eyes were somehow both soft and intense, a contradiction I didn’t have the words for. His lips glistened, still wet from that filthy kiss.
He bent down again, and I closed my eyes, bracing for it. My lips ached, tender and swollen, but it was the gentleness of that final kiss—so at odds with everything that had come before it—that made my heart ache instead.
I’d missed this. Not just the physical touching, but the quiet after. Someone to hold, someone to be held by, once the world went silent each night.
“Luke,” I sighed his name, but couldn’t quite find the words to follow it.
My mind and heart waged a war inside my chest, neither one willing to concede ground.
His lips curled a fraction. He said nothing. Maybe he felt some version of what I was feeling too—that strange, unbearable tenderness that had no business existing after what we’d just done.
“March. Let’s get married in the first week of March,” he murmured, and my mouth fell open.
I scrambled to sit up, and he helped me upright before his weight pressed me back into the mattress, warm and solid and impossible to argue with.
“That’s nine weeks away,” I gasped.
“I’m getting on, Bella,” he said, bottom lip jutting out in mock offence. “I don’t have the luxury of waiting.”
I was still turning over the mammoth task ahead of us when he began kissing the soft spot just below my ear, trailing his lips slowly along my jaw, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world despite everything he’d just said.
“Bella, I found you, and I’m never letting go,” he whispered against my mouth.
I ran my hands down his shoulders—broad, the muscles beneath taut and warm, his skin impossibly smooth as my palms travelled the length of his back, memorising the shape of him.
My lips parted, and his tongue flicked against them before he kissed me properly. His tongue delved deeper, and I met it with mine, chasing the same hunger. My muscles tightened low in my abdomen, then lower still, that familiar ache stirring back to life like it had never truly left.
I traced my hands back up his body until I reached his face, cupping his cheeks, feeling the line of his jaw and then the rasp of stubble beneath my fingertips. Our breath mingled, hot and unsteady, and I arched my chest, dragging my sensitive nipples against hard muscle.
His eyes opened. Dark lashes fluttered for a beat, longer than I’d noticed before. I traced the stubble along his jaw, loving the silver threading through the darker hairs, proof of every year he’d lived before he found me.
“I don’t want you to let go of me,” I whispered, barely catching my breath as the words left me, sparking a fear I hadn’t expected to feel.
Mark had been too immature to stay. The virus had eaten away at Clive’s blood vessels until his organs simply gave out, taking him from me piece by piece.
We were supposed to grow old together, complete our lives and our families side by side.
Someone to share the weight of the world with, so I never had to carry it alone again.
“You have my vow, Bella. Even if you wanted to walk away, I won’t allow it.”
I blinked.
What did he just say?
The weight of him lifted, and he flipped me onto my stomach in one smooth motion. It knocked the air clean from my lungs, and before I could catch my breath, he’d already dragged me to the edge of the bed.
“You’ve waited long enough,” he murmured, pulling my hips into the air and spreading my legs like I was some twenty-year-old gymnast, not a woman who’d have to ice her hip afterward.
All thought disappeared the second I felt his cock against my pussy. He dragged it between my folds, back and forth, teasing. I groaned and tried to push back against him, but a hand landed on the nape of my neck, pressing my face into the quilt.
“I love feeling how wet you are for me, Bella. Do you know how unbelievably sexy you look right now?”
Sir, you have my face buried in a twenty-tog quilt. How exactly did he expect me to answer that?
“I want to see this pussy stuffed full of cock.”
I managed to turn my head to the side, just enough to speak.
“What are you waiting for? Christmas has been and gone.”
Silence.
A deep, dark chuckle rumbled up from his chest—one that probably didn’t bode well for me.
“Ah, Bella. You do surprise me, from time to time,” he said, drawing the tip of his cock back and lining himself up again.
I hissed as he entered me.
Yes.
Then nothing.
I tried to glance over my shoulder, but his hand pressed harder against my neck, the other coming to rest just above my waist, holding me exactly where he wanted me.
He pushed into me at an excruciatingly slow pace. I tilted my hips, chasing every inch I could get, feeling my muscles clench around his thick length.
“My good girl,” he murmured, fingers stroking the back of my head. “Using that tight little hole to suck me in.”
Oh my god. What was happening? And why was I loving it?
“I’m going to fill you up, and I expect that ass of yours to slap right back at me.”
Ass-slapping. Got it.
There was no warning. No fanfare. He just pulled back and slammed so deep inside me that I forgot to breathe.
“Oh god,” I rasped.
“Fuuuuck,” he roared, and began to fuck me in earnest.
Long, deep thrusts that dragged my face back and forth across the soft quilt. I swear I could taste him at the back of my throat. A few moments later, I heard the slaps start—there was no escape, his hands pinning me to the bed, and it was open season.
I was so wet he slid right back in every time. The savage force of his entry made me clamp down around him, which only fuelled the beast further.
What had he been going on about? He’d been talking like a man twice his age just minutes ago, and now he was ploughing into me like he’d just discovered sex for the first time.
It wasn’t long before his balls started smacking against my pussy. I wanted them in my mouth again—wanted to suck my own arousal off his cock and balls. I curled my toes, rocking my hips, meeting every thrust with my own.
The tension curled and tightened into a knot low in my belly. His hand gripped my hair, then my shoulder, as his hips kept colliding into me, faster now. The slaps grew louder, wetter, more frantic.
“Yes,” I cried, long and loud into my quilt.
His fingers dug into my shoulder, grounding me as my whole body shook. He fucked me straight through my orgasm. For a moment, it felt as though my mind and body had come apart entirely—nothing but the relentless drive of his hips and the rapid, helpless contractions of my own body.
I wailed into the bed.
Felt warm, wet liquid run down my thighs.
Oh no. Not again.
His growl tore through the room, and he grabbed my ass cheeks, hauling me on and off his cock, thrusting back and forth without mercy.
I held onto the quilt as he used my body exactly how he wanted to.
“Going to fill that belly up with my cum,” he gasped, slamming into me one final time, hitting so deep inside that he erupted with a shout.
Only then did my body finally go slack, sagging into the mattress, savouring the feel of his cum filling me, exactly as he’d promised.
I closed my eyes, grateful just to breathe again.
His ragged breathing filled the room around us.
He slapped the side of my thigh.
“You squirted all over us again,” he said, chuckling.
I couldn’t prove it, but it was entirely his fault.
“You’re changing the sheets,” I croaked.
“Worth it.”
I smiled into the quilt.
It really was.