Chapter 12 - Izabel
I look up.
It happens so fast.
At first, I think he’s reaching for the blanket, because I’m twisted up in it and giggling as I try to untangle myself, but his hand moves past it. I freeze, not understanding until it’s too late.
But then I realize I wouldn’t have moved, anyway. I wouldn’t even have tried to stop him.
His lips crash into mine as his fingers lock around the back of my neck.
He pulls me up onto my knees, the blanket suddenly falling away from me with ease. His arm threads itself around my waist while his lips stay locked over mine.
Inside me is a raging storm, the tormenting urge to let go and hold on to control at the same time.
But I have no control, and the deeper he kisses me, the more I realize that.
Anton gently lifts me and lays me down on the discarded blanket. He crawls over me, his hand pressing into the rug at the side of my head, his muscles flexed as he hovers above me. The way his eyes drag over me is so captivating I can’t look away from him. No one has ever looked at me like that.
Is this real? Is this just a game to him?
He cups his hand over the side of my face and the pad of his thumb brushes across my lips, pulling them apart slightly. He groans as he watches me, as though the mere sight of me is enough to drive him crazy.
Reaching up, I thread my hands around his neck and pull him down so his lips are on mine again. He lies at my side, keeping his massive body from crushing me, but he loops his arm around the back of my shoulders to hold me close.
My heart races wildly, and his hand drifts down from my face, over my throat. Tilting my head back, I unconsciously offer my throat to him. A moment of vulnerability. A hesitant offering that he can do whatever he wants to me.
No, Izabel. The kiss was enough. You need to stop this.
But I can’t.
His massive hand slips beneath my hoodie and cups my breast. I moan into his mouth as his fingers tease my nipple. His cock is hard against my leg, and he pushes it harder, rubbing himself on me.
Every cell in my body is screaming silently. I want him to take me, to have me, to break me in two.
His hand moves again, drifting over my ribs as my fingers brush over his.
I want to be bold. I want to touch him, too, but I’m nervous. Not of this. Not of physical stuff…but of him.
I’m nervous because of how badly I want this and how dangerously I’ve already lost control of myself. My body is humming beneath his hands, vibrating against his warmth.
His cock pushing into my thigh is a tease, and I find myself spreading my legs without realizing I’m doing it.
He growls, lifting his lips from mine so he can look into my eyes. My heart races as his gaze locks with mine, and his hand very purposefully pushes up the inside of my thigh, pushing my legs even wider open.
I open my mouth to protest. My mind is telling me I have to.
I have to stop this and say no. He kidnapped me.
He isn’t a good person. He’s the bad guy in this scenario.
But no words come out, and when his fingers brush over the soft cotton of my sweatpants, right over my pussy, I shiver in absolute delight and relief.
I had no idea how badly I wanted this. How badly I wanted to feel his hands on my body.
“Look at me, little pixie,” he mutters darkly.
My eyes flicker open obediently. His storm-gray gaze is so intense it steals my breath away as he pushes his hand inside my pants and his fingers find me without any panties on.
“Fuck,” he growls. “If I had known, I would never have waited so long,” he says hoarsely as his fingers brush over my honey-slick skin.
I’m drenched. I don’t think I’ve ever been this wet before, and as he slides his fingers between my pussy lips and pushes them slowly inside me, I can barely breathe or think about anything other than his body holding me close and his fingers inside me.
He doesn’t move fast. Everything is slow. Everything is a gentle tease.
From a man as brutal as him, as dangerous, as monstrous.
His touch is tantric and has my vision blurred.
“Open your legs wider,” he demands, and I obey.
With his fingers inside me, he uses his thumb to draw circles over my clit. My pussy is so swollen with desire that I’m already on the verge of completely losing my mind.
He groans in his own pleasure, purely at the sight and feel of my body.
The thought flickers through my mind. His cock thrusting into me. Pushing my pussy wide open as fucks me deep and slow.
His fingers push deeper, and I cry out as my pussy tightens over them, muscles convulsing and twitching.
“Oh, fuck, you feel so good,” he growls.
His words are my undoing.
His thumb flicks across my clit, still moving slowly, still tantric and teasing, but it’s too much to bear and sends me falling right over the edge.
My fingers dig into his skin, my lips parting as I fight for breath. The orgasm steals every piece of me for a moment. He keeps his rhythm steady and even until my body stops convulsing in his hands.
I’m in disbelief when I can finally think clearly again. He pulls his hand out of my pants and leans down to kiss me. His lips softly brush over mine as he shifts against me. My heart stammers, fluttering, moving inside me as though welcoming him in.
Into my heart.
Panic surges.
I sit up and bump my head against his.
He chuckles, finding it amusing.
But panic is still surging through me.
He notices the wildness in my eyes and moves a bit more to give me space.
“Are you okay?” he asks gently, with more care than I want to hear in his voice.
“I…” I stammer. “I should go to bed. I shouldn’t have…I need to….”
He moves way again to give me all the space I need, and with my cheeks burning, I scamper to my feet, grab my iPad and run from the room.
I can’t believe that just happened. The physical thing…yes, okay, that was a long time coming, and I never claimed I wasn’t attracted to him—but my heart? What the hell is going on with my emotions?
Up in my room, I close my door and lean against it, waiting for my heart to slow down.
What in the world is going on with me?
***
Over the next few days, I have to be doing something every minute of the day.
The moment I stop and my thoughts go quiet, I start thinking about him again.
Not only about spreading my legs as I lie on my back and watching as he hovers over me and positions his cock just before he thrusts forward and penetrates deep into me… .no. Not just that.
Although I tend to think about that a lot.
I’m also thinking about how tender he was. How he read me like a book, each word, each need, and gave me an experience that I have never had before. I’ve never felt so beautiful in someone’s eyes before. Never felt so exquisitely sexy beneath someone’s touch.
Was it just him? Or was it some kind of connection between us? I’m too scared to let myself think about it, even though I can’t stop thinking about it, because what if there is a connection between us?
I’ve been trying everything to distract myself.
I spent almost two hours in the gym. I thought that if I could exhaust my body, it would be too tired to want him. But I forgot how much the exercise energizes me, so that was a colossal failure of an idea.
I showered, only cold water. So unlike me, but I tried it, and it didn’t work, either.
I walked the entire layout of this mansion, studying each piece of art, every beautiful painting, every detail. I asked Yugoslav to have one of the guards go out and buy me paints and canvas, because drawing on my iPad wasn’t even working.
Now I am tucked away in a sunlit corner of the library, hopefully hidden where he can’t find me, and I am painting.
I haven’t painted in years, but finally, with intense relief, something might be working to keep my mind off him.
I start to lose myself in the process. My paintbrush drags over the canvas, leaving smears of colors and emotions spread out on the clean white surface.
Quickly, it becomes splashed with my thoughts, my feelings, the stories looping in my head.
I lose myself, and I stop thinking about him, and I am content and at peace.
An hour goes by. Maybe two. I don’t know.
I’m quiet in my own little world.
Until I step away from the canvas to see what I have created.
“Fuck!” I shout in anger at myself.
It’s a portrait. A damn good one, actually. His eyes are gray and stormy, and somehow, I have perfectly captured that intense stare. His lips, kissable. The dark framing of his brows and black eyelashes…his jaw and thick muscular neck.
Angry, I scream again and toss the paintbrush at the canvas. It hits the corner and bounces off.
I lean down to get the brush, horrified that I’ve got paint on the beautiful carpet. But in my hurry, I knock over the pallet of paint I was mixing. It flips up into the air and then lands right against the side of my face and slides down my arm.
I yelp, stumbling to catch it before it lands on the carpet, too, and now my hand is coated in paint.
I get one hell of a fright when I stand up, and Anton is right at my side.
“What happened? Are you okay?” he blurts out.
Embarrassment floods me instantly, realizing he will see the painting. He will see what I painted, and I will die inside.
But he hasn’t looked at it. His concern is entirely for me as he tries to figure out why I screamed. His hands are brushing over me, searching for an injury, and my body is spiking with desire so intense it’s overwhelming me.
“Stop that!” I shout in a rage. “What are you doing!?”
“Are you hurt? You screamed so loudly,” he says defensively.
“You can’t just run in here and start putting your hands all over me and then…” I have no idea what I wanted to say. But I’m angry.
He cocks his head to the side and lifts his hand to wipe some of the paint of my cheek. I shove his hand away and glare at him. “Stop touching me, dammit. I’ve already made enough of a mess as it is, and now you come in here, and you think you can just…”
“Is that me?” he asks, and my heart hits rock bottom as I see where his gaze has drifted, locking on the canvas behind me.
I quickly step in front of it to try to hide it.
He takes a step towards me and wraps his hand around my jaw.
“You painted me?” he asks, his voice husky and low.
“It was an accident,” I say weakly, fully aware of how stupid I sound.
“You painted me by accident,” he muses as dark desire floods his eyes.
His finger tightens over my jaw.
I gasp, heat rushing through me, his eyes piercing into me.
His lips are over mine in an instant, and there is absolutely nothing I can do.
I fought this for days. I hid and kept myself busy. I avoided him and didn’t let myself think about it.
But now his lips are on mine, and whether I want to accept it or admit it, this is everything that I have been so desperately longing for.
Anton wraps his arms around me and scoops me off my feet. I gasp in surprise, but his lips lock over mine again, and I’m silenced.
He carries me down the hall to his bedroom and into his bathroom. Tiled black, masculine. A raw stone shower.
He sets me down on my feet and starts peeling layers of paint-covered clothes off me. His hands explore my body as his mouth explores my lips, and in doing so, the paint spreads over both of us.
When he steps back to look at me, there is a handprint in bright blue right across my breast, and he has streaks of paint over his torso where I’ve pushed my hands against his muscles.
I’m breathless, not willing or able to stop him as he walks backward into the shower, pulling me with him.
Hot water splashes over us as his lips find mine again.
Colorful streams run around our feet as the paint melts from our skin and washes away. His hands explore every inch of me, massaging into my skin and seeing ripples of need pulling through my body.
His cock is rock-hard, erect and pushing into my stomach as I stand in front of him with my head tilted up towards his lips.
He looks down at me, gently pausing to wipe the last of the paint off my cheek with his thumb. “You’re fucking gorgeous, Pixie,” he growls.
I bite my lip, my heart hammering like the hooves of wild horses running free. I’m free to choose. I’m free to do anything I want.
Standing on my tiptoes, I grab his face and kiss him again, harder, more insistent. I want him to know how desperate I am.
He pushes his hand between my legs and cups his hand over my pussy. He lifts me off my feet, holding me by that one hand as he slips his middle finger into my pussy, and I am left dangling from his hand while desperately trying to rock my hips against it.
He chuckles against my lips. “That’s right Izabel, ride my finger like the naughty little pixie you are,” he muses.
My cheeks flush pink, but I can’t stop. I want more as I dig my fingers into his shoulders and use him to cling to so I can push harder against his hand. His bicep is bulging, but he holds me with ease.
It’s all so erotic that I am already on the verge of coming all over his fingers again.
He can sense it, and he reaches behind me with his other hand to tease me even more by pushing another finger inside me.
I’m cradled in his hands, impaled on his fingers, and I’m rocking desperately against him like a little slut.
And he’s looking at me as though I’m the most exquisite thing he’s ever seen in his life as I rub my pussy without a flicker of self-restraint or self-respect.
That’s the effect he has on me. He sets me free.
He lets me be raw and desperate and still looks at me with intense desire.
The orgasm slams into my body like a tidal wave, and I gasp and claw at him until it washes through me.
He shifts, wrapping his arm around my waist. He lifts me and pushes my back against the wall as he holds me there with my legs spread around him.
His cock presses against my pussy as he gently rocks back and forth, rubbing himself over me, teasing me all over again, and even though my body is still shuddering from the orgasm, I am immediately desperate to feel him inside me.
“Fuck me,” I beg in a desperate whisper as my nails dig into him.
“I’m going to wear you like a cock sleeve, little pixie. I’m going to fuck you until your entire body is shaking and you’ve forgotten your own name.”
His words are edged with something so darkly possessive that it aches inside me, and I want him a thousand times more.
“You are mine, Izabel,” he growls as he shoves his cock into me, and I tilt my head back against the tiles and scream in pleasure.