Chapter 6 Valentina #2
I can’t stop myself. My body is too far gone, too consumed by the way he is working me over. “I can’t—” I gasp, but he doesn’t let up, his tongue and fingers driving me closer and closer to the edge.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, like the words are being dragged out of him.
His dark eyes meet mine, and there is something in them—something raw, possessive, and utterly intoxicating.
He looks at me like I am the only thing in the world that matters, like he waited his whole life for this moment.
The pressure coils higher with every stroke, every flick, every wicked graze of his teeth against my clit, until I’m nothing but a trembling mess beneath him. Then he pulls back just enough for our eyes to lock, and the feral heat in his gaze nearly rips the breath from my lungs.
“Shit—” the word tears from me as I lose control, grinding down against him like a bull trying to buck a rider off its back.
“That’s it, baby. Use my face,” he growls, fingers biting into my thighs as he drags me tighter against his mouth.
His tongue strokes lazily, cruelly, savoring me as if he owns me, and the look in his eyes—wild, unhinged, almost psychotic—tips me straight over the edge. I’m gone, undone, drowning in him.
And just like that, I shatter. My orgasm rips through me, violent and all-consuming, and I scream out a broken
‘fuck’ as I watch him devour me like he’s been starving for years.
He doesn’t stop—not until every last shudder, every last wave has been wrung out of me, until I’m left limp and trembling.
The pleas tumble from my lips without thought, begging him to stop, because after years without release besides my own two fingers and a vibrator I can’t take anymore.
This is the first time anyone’s ever gone down on me.
This is the first time anyone has ever touched me like this.
But Isaiah doesn’t give me space to catch my breath.
He prowls up my body with the same hunger he used on me, slow and deliberate, every movement pressing me deeper into the mattress as though he’s staking his claim.
His mouth finds me again, leaving a scorching trail over the thin cotton of my oversized shirt, kisses so hot they sear straight through the fabric as if it isn’t even there.
At my stomach, he lingers, teeth grazing lightly through the shirt, pulling a gasp from my lips before he pushes the hem higher, baring my skin inch by inch. His lips follow the path he’s revealing, reverent and consuming, each kiss hotter than the last.
He works his way upward—across the curve of my ribs, the swell of my chest—burning me with every slow press of his mouth. His hands slide beneath the fabric, shoving it higher until the cotton bunches above my breasts, leaving me exposed to his mouth, his heat, his relentless devotion.
But he doesn’t rush. No—Isaiah drags it out, savoring every inch of me like he has all the time in the world.
His lips part against the underside of my breast, breath warm and heavy, as if he’s inhaling me.
He kisses the delicate skin there, slow and lingering, before moving higher to the soft curve, teeth scraping lightly as though he wants to mark me.
Each kiss, each brush of his lips feels like a vow whispered against my body.
When he finally takes my nipple into his mouth, it’s not rough but deliberate, reverent, his tongue circling slowly as if memorizing the shape of me.
A soft whimper escapes me, my back arching, offering him more, but he steadies me with his hands, pinning me down as though he refuses to let me move from this moment.
He pulls back only to press his mouth across my chest, scattering kisses like offerings—over my sternum, the dip between my breasts, the opposite curve—his worship unyielding. His hands smooth over my sides, fingers splaying wide, holding me in place as though I might vanish if he loosens his grip.
By the time his lips trail up my throat, his breath fanning hot over the frantic beat of my pulse, I’m trembling, overwhelmed by the sheer devotion in every touch.
He kisses the hollow of my neck, then higher, along the sharp edge of my jaw, slow and consuming, like he’s tracing a map he already knows by heart.
When he finally reaches my ear, the edge of his mouth brushing against it, I can feel the heat of him everywhere, caging me in. His voice is a husky rasp, low and intimate, sinking straight into my bones.
“I can’t believe it took me twenty-three years to taste heaven,” he murmurs, his words curling like smoke, dangerous and tender all at once.
“You only tasted me because I am tied to your bed, and you turned me on,” I snap, jerking against my handcuffs and putting on my most dangerous glare despite the fact that I know every inch of my body is flushed and tinged pink.
“I turn you on, Angel?” he teases. I jerk away from him with a low growl, but he only grins—boyish, disarming—his lips still glistening with the evidence of my arousal. He tucks his head into the curve of my neck, voice warm against my skin. “It’s okay if I do. It’ll be our dirty little secret.”
I avert my gaze, but he follows, nose trailing along the sensitive line of my throat. His breath fans hot, and I catch the faint crease of smile lines at his cheeks. The sight almost hurts—it’s too much, too beautiful.
“Don’t do it again, Zay,” I whisper.
“You’re really going to lock me out of heaven? Why?” He pouts, brown eyes shining as they catch mine.
“Because I’ve never—” My voice falters. Heat floods my cheeks. I drop my gaze, unable to finish.
He stills. “Don’t tell me…” his voice dips, softer now, “…you’re a virgin, Angel?”
The words hang between us, heavy. He lays his head against my chest like it’s the most natural place in the world, and for a moment I forget to breathe.
The words hang between us, heavy, until his lips twitch into the slowest, wickedest smile. His head rests on my chest, and for a breath, I think maybe he’ll drop it, let the silence cover me. But then his shoulders shake with a quiet laugh that vibrates through me.
“A virgin,” he breathes, lifting his gaze to mine. His dark brown eyes catch the dim light, bright with something sharp and alive. “Fuck, Angel… you have no idea what you’ve just given me.”
My lips part, but no sound comes. I can only watch as his grin grows feral, boyish and brutal all at once.
“I get to be your first.” His voice roughens, husky with awe and hunger, like the words alone are a prize he’s been waiting to claim. “Do you even know what that means? That every touch, every sound, every memory—you’ll think of me.”
His hand slides up my side, fingers brushing just enough to make me shiver. He cups my jaw, thumb stroking over my flushed cheek. “You’re mine in a way no one else could ever fucking be.”
I swallow hard, my chest tight, pulse racing. “Zay…”
He presses his forehead to mine, a smile still carved against his lips. “Don’t say it like you’re warning me, Angel. You’ve just made me the luckiest bastard alive. And I’m not letting anyone else take what’s mine.”
“It’s not yours to take, Zay. It’s mine to give,” I snap, but his smile just widens.
“You’re right, it’ll be even better when you give it to me.
It’ll be like a divine blessing,” the rough husk of his voice vibrates against my skin, and I almost forget myself when he jerks back and sighs, straddling my lap.
“And as much as I want to convince you I am worthy right now, our master requested your presence.”
I crook an eyebrow. “Master?”
“Xavier,” Isaiah sighs, reaching over me with one hand on my cuffs and the other digging into his pocket. “He has requested you come to initiation night.”