Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 15909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 80(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 80(@200wpm)___ 64(@250wpm)___ 53(@300wpm)
His head lowers once more, and I can't stop myself from burying my hands in his hair. He lets me hold him in place as I roll my hips up into his face, desperate for the friction that will push me over the precipice. I feel shameless and wild, utterly unlike myself, but I don't care.
It feels so good, and I know I'm about to come again.
My second orgasm hits me like a truck, and Dante works me through it even as I drag my nails across his scalp.
Finally, he slows his movements as I start to relax. My hands fall away from his head, my muscles losing tension, and all I can do is watch him in a sort of awe as he rises to his feet, dragging the back of his hand over his mouth, still shining with my wetness.
Then, he helps me to my feet, bracing me when my legs threaten to give out. He chuckles, scooping me into his arms and carrying me up the stairs. I bury my face against his chest, his shirt soft against my cheek.
"You need some rest," he rumbles, and I'm only partially aware that he's carrying me into his room and not mine. "I'll wake you for dinner, sweet Isla."
He lays me down on the bed and pulls the covers over me, pressing a kiss to my forehead before straightening up. I want to tell him to stay, to come to bed with me and pull me into his arms, but Dante is turning to go.
Before he leaves the room and hits the light, he stops and tells me, "I changed my mind on the time frame. From now on, you will sleep in my bed."
There's no complaint in me, not when I'm surrounded by the most luxurious sheets and Dante's delicious scent. I barely register the door clicking closed before I'm asleep, muscles still trembling from the aftershocks.
4
DANTE
Ihold back for a week, and it's the longest fucking week of my life.
I knew Isla would give in to me the moment I grabbed her in the fitting room of the boutique, and she looked up at me with arousal and not fear. She liked that I was possessive with that prick of a tailor, and while she said she was scared, I knew it wasn't fear of me as a man.
It was the fear of how intense her hunger for me was. I knew exactly how she felt.
After eating her pussy that first afternoon, I limited myself to only using my mouth on her for a week. Legally, Isla is stuck with me, and she'd probably have let me fuck her right after I made her come twice in my favorite leather chair after the fitting appointment. But I want her to be begging me to fuck her, so there's no question that she wants this as bad as I do.
So I sleep with her in my arms, eat her until she is screaming before breakfast, and find at least one other opportunity to do it again before we go to bed, even if I’m at work past dark. I even find an 'assistant' job for Isla to do, digitizing paperwork that had piled up over the years, and she'd spend some of her days in the office with me, dressed in the perfectly crafted pencil skirts I had made for her.
By the seventh day, I'm almost positive I spend all of my waking moments hard as steel. But Isla is about to break, about to beg, and I can't wait for it.
That evening, I'm expected at a retirement party for another big-name investor I'm on good terms with. This is my least favorite part of the work I do, but it's a necessary evil. Having Isla as my plus one helps, too. It will be my first chance to show her off.
The party is held after-hours at the Seattle Art Museum, and I have to admit I'm impressed by how much it must have cost to rent out. Isla is stunning in a pale lavender dress, sleeveless and hugging her body, before gently flaring out to flow around her long legs. Her hair has been smoothed and curled into a complicated twist at the back of her neck, and her makeup is soft. She looks like she belongs here, even if she doesn't think so herself.
She's been quiet since we arrived, and I've been making small talk with the people around us. Isla keeps up well with the flow of conversation, and there's quite a bit of interest around her. Everyone knows I'm too much of a prick to have a woman on my arm … until now.
Well, I'm still a prick to everyone else. Just not my Isla.
She pulls away at one point, quietly telling me she's going to use the restroom and get a drink on the way back. I let her go, taking some time to actually admire the exhibits that line the walls of the room. Time ticks by, and not even the artwork is enough to distract me from the fact that my woman has been gone too long for me to be comfortable with.