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EPISODE Thirty-two

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“Should I give Keke the go-ahead?”

After angling my body away from Scout, lead pilot for Colt Enterprises, I answer Hunter’s question. “Yes, but ensure each of my…”  I grit my teeth before snarling through them, “… dates are aware of the rules.” 

 

I can’t believe I agreed to do this, but when I take my feelings out of the equation, it makes sense. Keke’s girls are professionals. There are no hidden expectations or hopes. They’ll be seen on my arm for an hour or two at known Petretti haunts, double their hourly fee from the underhanded endorsement, then go on their merry way.

 

It should take a week to get Col off Isabelle’s scent. Two at most. 

 

I’ve just got to hope like hell I can hold that long. 

 

My mood is already rancid from waking up before the sparrows to beat Isabelle, Cormack, and Harlow to the private airstrip we’re departing from today. With two cars with stolen plates still keeping an eye on Mommon Koti, I had to make it appear as if I left before everyone else since that’s how I usually operate after a risqué weekend.

I’ve been twiddling my thumbs for hours, my mind far from business. 

As my eyes drink in Isabelle’s stumbling steps toward the private jet, I say, “Have Keke bring the first date forward.” I wait for Hunter to stop humming in shock before finalizing my statement. “I’m not a patient man.”

He laughs like I’m not telling him anything he doesn’t already know. “I’ll have everything ready to go by the time you land tonight.”

“Including surveillance?”

He hums again. “Being installed as we speak.” Before I can bark out further orders, he adds, “And Hugo has already spoken with the security team at her apartment. No one not on your preapproved list… which only has one name on the list… will get past the foyer.”

“Harlow—”

“One male name,” Hunter corrects, his tone far too pompous for the early hour he commenced work this morning. 

“We have all bases covered, boss,” Hugo jumps in. “So enjoy the in-flight entertainment on your way home before the shit hits the fan. From what Scout told me, this jet has a bed—”

I disconnect our call before his rile sours my mood more.  My hands are already itching to touch, caress, and explore every delectable inch of Isabelle, so picture how tenacious the desire becomes when her wide with need eyes lock with mine when she stumbles into the jet.

Her knees knock for an entirely different reason when they rake my suit. It’s the same one I wore the night I took her to 57, and despite it being recently dry-cleaned, it still has the magnum condom I placed in my pocket with the plan to finally claim her as mine.

Col upended my plan just as the chips started to fall into place and the reminder has me jerking up my chin in greeting to Isabelle instead of lashing my tongue across her lips as I truly desire. 

When she returns my greeting with the faintest of smiles, I shift my focus to the window beside my head. I purposely sat in the only single reclining chair in the plane, conscious that positioning myself within touching distance of Isabelle would snap my qualm irrevocably.

My strategy on keeping my focus on objects outside of the jet is thwarted when I spot Isabelle hyperventilating in the corner of my eye. In her nervousness, she can’t get her belt to latch, and the panic it fills her with doubles the wetness brimming in her beautiful chocolate eyes.

“Fuck it,” I mutter, conscious Hunter would have overridden any surveillance devices in this hangar within minutes of it capturing my arrival. We let Col see what we want him to see, not a second more. 

Isabelle’s eyes stalk my approach. They’re still ladened down with worry, but something much more sought-after overtakes them when I bob down in front of her to buckle her in. I clasp the silver clips together before tugging on the strap to ensure she’s strapped in tight. 

The scent my tug wafts up causes a low growl to rumble in the back of my throat. She’s scared but fear will never be her strongest emotion when she’s with me.

After silently advising her with my eyes that her every desire will be answered by me soon, I head back to my seat and recommence staring out the window. Within seconds, the plane commences taxiing toward the runway. Then, just as quickly, Isabelle’s panicked breaths fill the cabin of the private jet. 

She’s gripping her armrest so firmly, her nails are digging into the plush leather material, and her face is as white as the clouds we're about to ascend to. 

“Breathe,” I demand when her wheezing loudens. She’s seconds from hyperventilating.  

 

Just like it did in the manager’s office of 57, her body snaps to the clipped command in my tone, but it isn’t enough. She looks moments from passing out.

With no concerns for my safety, I unclasp my belt, then kneel in front of Isabelle just as she shakes her head, wordlessly advising me she’s too panicked to follow the screaming demands of her lungs. 

“Breathe, Isabelle,” I encourage while rubbing my thumb along the veins protruding in her hands. 

“Good girl,” I praise when the panic ripping through her eases enough to suck in a shallow, much-required breath.  

With her eyes arrested on mine, I brush away the tears staining her beautiful face before lowering my hand to her lips. The salty blobs of her tears moisten the area she dragged her teeth over when her anxiety was sky-high.

The zap my briefest touch causes is catastrophic to my astuteness. The tension is palpable, and not all of it is coming from my side of our exchange. Isabelle is burning up all over, and as her eyes bounce between mine, nothing but unbridled hankering fills her alluring hooded gaze.

I angle my head to the side when another flare darts through her impressive eyes. It isn’t one I’ve experienced before but one I’d give anything to witness again. My empire. My wealth. My health. I’d give it all away in an instant if it guarantees she’ll keep looking at me how she is now.

I’ll even surrender to the devil if I must.

With my mind shut down to the consequences of a haste decision, I unlatch Isabelle’s seat belt and lift her into my arms.  

“What are you doing?” Isabelle gabbers out, her words breathy.

When I walk us toward the back of the plane, her pulse heightens more with hope than worry. Even a novice flyer could anticipate what’s beyond the highly varnished door, and the bed Isabelle is anticipating is exactly what she gets this time around.

Most of the Colt Enterprises jets are fitted with desks. Only months ago, nothing but business was on mine and Cormack’s mind when we traveled. Right now, it’s the last thought entering my head.

After placing Isabelle onto the bed far smaller than the monstrosity Catherine had designed to fill some of the excess space of the master suite in my private abode, I fall to my knees to remove Isabelle’s shoes. We’re ascending at a rate fast enough for the tubes in my ears to take notice, but my dedicated attention to answering every whim in Isabelle’s hooded gaze has her oblivious to the fact we’re not fastened to our seats during the most dangerous part of every flight.

I love that my presence blinds her good judgment as much as it does mine. It’s almost as tempting as the hungry flare darting through her body when I commence removing the cufflinks on my jacket before shrugging out of the suddenly constricting material. 

She drags her teeth over her bottom lip again when I toe off my shoes and place them next to hers, doubling their plumpness while drinking in every minute move I make. I go extra slow, teasing her to the point she’s on the verge of pouncing.

When something holds her back, I pluck her off the bed with a pull on her wrist. A growl rumbles low in my chest when my tug flattens her chest to mine. Her nipples are budded, and the scent I was sucking in like an addict while kneeling in front of her greatens. 

“Do you want this?” I ask.

I’ll never take anything unwillingly given, but I’d be a liar if I said I’ve asked this question to a bed partner before. Usually, nothing but suffocating urges I can’t live without is on my mind, and the woman I used to achieve that were aware I was with them for only one thing.

Well, most of them. 

It took Theresa a lot longer to get the hint than the rest. 

When Isabelle nods, my lips thin. “No, Isabelle. Say it.” 

I’m over the apprehension that forever fires in her eyes when she peers at me, and her constant skirting of her body’s desires. If she wants this, it’s time for her to be honest with both me and herself.

Months of reckless yearning highlights her tone when she replies, “I want this.” 

Since her answer is delivered without an ounce of hesitation, an unexpected smirk itches my lips higher as a dominance I struggled to harness is unleashed in the most brilliant way. I step back from Isabelle before dragging my eyes down her shuddering frame. 

My smirk extends to a genuine smile when she groans in frustration about the loss of my contact, and the tension it crackles between us dangerously boosts when I mutter, “Strip.”

 

Blood surges to the lower half of my body when she does as instructed without seeking clarification of my demand. With her eyes arrested on mine, she unclasps the buttons in her shirt before sending it to the floor with the slightest shimmer of her shoulders. 

My cock thickens painfully fast when I notice the color of the material barely containing the generous swell of her breasts. Any doubts that she’s being coerced to do something against her will fly out the window when I drink in the steel-gray coloring of her bra. It is the color of my eyes, and from the expression on Isabelle’s face when our eyes lock and hold, she bought it solely with the hope I’d see her in it. 

 “Leave the bra,” I demand when she bands her arms around her back to unlatch the material I’m mesmerized by, my voice as rough as the bite of my zipper digging into my cock.  

Isabelle doesn’t seem to mind. While chewing on her bottom lip to lower the size of her smile, she undoes the button in her jeans, then teasingly lowers the fly. While cursing under my breath about her matching panties, I unknot my tie, needing to do something to distract my hands that are longing to caress every inch of her seductive body.

She has curves to bring men to their knees, a beautiful, unblemished face, and a pussy that would happily have men sustaining for sex for years just to sample it once. 

And I’m so fucking lucky, I get to taste it more than once.

The itch burning my hands double when Isabelle mutters, “Please don’t shred these. They cost way more than you think.” 

I smirk before asking a question I’ve been dying to know since the speakers at 57 drowned out her moans two nights ago “Are you a screamer, Isabelle?” 

“No,” she answers breathlessly, as confident as me that I can change her answer.

Her seductive smell lingers in the air along with the moan she can’t hold back when I mutter, “You’re about to become one.” 

Too blinded by the lust burning out of her to wait for her true response, I bridge the minute snippet of air between us, weave my fingers through her long hair, then slide my tongue along her parted lips.  

Just like all aspects of my life, I control our kiss as well. I nip at her lips, drag my tongue along the roof of her mouth, and swallow down every moan erupting from her throat. It is a furiously pent-up kiss that makes up for the last several weeks of sexual frustration. It is a kiss that rivals all others. It’s needy, possessive, and has Isabelle yanking at the buttons in my business shirt with so much aggression, she pops several of the buttons before straight-up ripping them off with sheer desperateness. 

“That shirt cost way more than you think,” I say with a groan, my mouth never leaving hers. 

With her tongue matching the strokes of mine, she tugs on my black leather belt. “I’m sure you can afford another.” 

As my chuckle amplifies the tension bristling between us, I curl her legs around my waist before moving for the only solid wall in the room. My cock knocks at the zipper in my trousers when Isabelle bears down to grind her clit against the head of my cock. Her patience is as thin as mine, and it’s heard in her voice when she huskily asks, “Do you have a condom?”

The lust in her eyes magnifies when I pull the condom out of my pocket, but it has nothing on the shallow breaths that lift and drop her fantastic tits when I tug my pants and boxer shorts to my ankles then rip open the foil packet with my teeth.

While sucking in the scent of Isabelle’s arousal, I roll the rubber matter down my twitching shaft. I hate how tight it feels around the base of my cock, but it is a small price to pay to finally reach this stage.

Isabelle is mine, and come hell or high water, I’m going to claim her as precisely that.

 

My possession.

 

My obsession.

 

Mine.

 

With my condom in place, and my eyes locked with Isabelle’s, I tug her panties off her body before watching their frail drop to the floor.  

“You’re buying me another pair.” There’s no annoyance in Isabelle’s tone. No angst. She’s wanted this as long as me, so a little bit of frustration is the last thing on her mind as she reacquaints our lips.

After returning the teasing lashes of her tongue, I mutter over her lips. “It will be my pleasure.” 

Desperate to feel her heat surrounding my cock, I pull her hips forward before guiding her torso back. When her back balances on the wood-paneled wall, I rub the head of my cock through the folds of her sex, lubricating it with a substance that grows damper the more times the head swipes over the nervy bud between her legs.

When Isabelle strays her eyes to the bed, my promise at 57 slams back into me. I told her I wanted to fuck her on a bed, and although I plan to make her bowlegged, escapades on a springy mattress will have to wait. The flight from Mummon Koti to Ravenshoe takes a little over an hour. I don’t have a second to spare.

Isabelle smiles a smug grin when I mutter, “Next time.” But it up and vanishes when I warn, “Hold on, baby, this is going to hurt.” 

Cockiness isn’t talking on my behalf. It’s both experience and the remembrance of how tight she was when I ate her for dessert against the door of the manager’s office at 57. She clamped around my tongue, so I have no doubt she’s going to experience some type of pain when I take her to the root of my cock. 

A brutal grunt escapes Isabelle’s lips when I impale her with one precise thrust. Her nails dig into my shoulders as tears well in her eyes. She’s hurting, but not enough to beg me to stop.  

I do, though. I remain perfectly still, hoping some time to acclimatize to the intrusion will lessen the strangles of her vaginal walls to my cock.

When that doesn’t happen anytime soon, I murmur under my breath. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

 

As the words leave my mouth, my body stiffens. Her childhood wasn’t close to ordinary, so why the fuck am I acting as if it was? 

 

She could be a virgin.

 

She could be as pure as she was when her father sold her.

 

And I just went and rammed my cock inside of her like a brute who paid for the privilege instead of earning it. 

When Isabelle shakes her head at my unasked questions, I mutter, “Thank fuck.” 

I’m not grateful she’s been with other men—just the thought brings out an edge of aggressiveness I rarely use—but I am glad my eagerness to claim her didn’t taint her first time. 

After working my jaw side to side to free my head of the image of her being bed by another man, I ask, “You ready?” 

A pleasurable bolt zaps up my spine when Isabelle answers me by squeezing the walls of her vagina around my raging erection. It doubles the throbs of my cock and draws my balls in close to my body like release is imminent.

If it were any other woman’s heat circling my cock, I’d answer the begs of my cock. Since it isn’t, I adjust Isabelle’s position before slowly notching my cock out. Although pain is evident on her beautiful face, the slickness coating the condom exposes it won’t be long before her groans switch to moans. 

By the end of the second pump, lust is burning in her eyes.

By the fourth pump, she’s rolling her hips in rhythm with mine.

And by the sixth pump, she’s lost to the crazy tension that has crackled between us since day one.

Begs to be taken harder and faster rip from her throat as I drive her to the brink. When I tug down the cups of her bra to circle my mouth around her hardened nipple, she arches her back and throws back her head, making room for the frantic screams rolling up her throat.

I fuck her how I’ve been dying to do since the day she ran into me at the airport. I drive her to the brink, pounding into her with a relentlessness that proves I’ve never once fucked for pleasure. I want to feel the quivers of her orgasm when she surrenders to the madness, and the milks of her pussy as she strives to push me over the edge with her. Previously, none of that mattered. I fucked to get off. To free myself from the torment for an hour or two. 

Today, it’s all about pleasure, both Isabelle’s and mine. 

“Eyes on me, Isabelle,” I demand when her eyelids flutter shut for the quickest second. I need her eyes on mine when she comes, because although she views life in an entirely different manner than Ophelia once did, some circumstances of their childhoods are too similar for me to discount. 

I made mistakes with Ophelia. I don’t plan to do the same with Isabelle. And if that means she has to lock her eyes with mine every time she comes so I can ensure no tears dribble from them, so be it. I’ll force them to me every single time like I should have with Ophelia.

“I’ve got you,” I promise when Isabelle firms her grip around my neck a second after locking her eyes with mine, my voice rough from memories of my past haunting me.  

My skin is clammy, but when Isabelle surrenders to the sensation overtaking every inch of her body, it’s more in response to my name tearing from her throat than circumstances I can’t change. She moans my name on repeat while shuddering through an orgasm so blinding, it takes everything I have not to join her.

“Eyes, Isabelle,” I snap out when her eyelids flutter with signs of tiredness. 

The freedom in her eyes when she drags them up my face is almost my undoing. There’s no panic feeding them, no unease. She’s more free now than she has ever been, and the knowledge has me pumping into her so frantically, her orgasm stretches from a one-minute shimmer to an energy-draining shudder. 

“Oh, god. Oh, god,” she chants on repeat as our stare down doubles the height of the goosebumps coating her sweat-slicked skin. “It feels so good.  You feel so good.”

I wait until the tremors adding to the throbs of my cock subside before moving our exchange from the wall to the bed. I need her juices coating every inch of my cock. I can’t do that against a wall, so I have no choice but to change things up. 

The exhaustion in my voice is undeniable when I say, “Bend over the bed, open palms flat on the sheets.” Isabelle’s thighs squeeze together when I growl in a low tone, “Legs open wide.”

I grip my cock and squeeze it when she does as asked without a protest firing from either her truth-bearing eyes or her sassy mouth. She arches over the mattress, flattens her palms on the satin bedding, then raises her delectable ass high into the air. 

When she glances back at me, precum pools into the tip at the end of my condom. Her eyes fucking kill me. They take everything I have and leave nothing but pieces of a man in their wake. They’re so captivating, I have no choice but to get creative in my quest to claim her right. I need to mark her for eternity, to have her so knowledgeable about whom she belongs to, even if she catches wind of the dates I have planned for the next week, she’ll never doubt who my thoughts are with.

I need her to be as spellbound by me as I am her, and I know just the way to force her into the same murky waters. 

 Isabelle’s body shudders in anticipation of what is to come when I secure my dark blue tie over her eyes. 

“It will heighten your senses,” I mutter on an exhausted breath while knotting the thick material at the back of her head.

When my hand slithers across the lower half of her stomach, goosebumps follow its trek. They augment when I tilt her hips so both her ass and the slit I want to ruin as much as I want to devour presents like a dessert platter. 

The bedding bunches under her knees when the tip of my index finger brushes the nervy bud between her legs. I love how responsive she is to my meekest touch, however, to even the playing field, I act unaffected. 

“Open wider, Isabelle. I want to see all of you.” 

After doing as requested, she tilts her head so her bouncy locks fall away from her ears. She’s dying for me to make my next move as much as I want to fall to my knees and devour her pussy for dessert. I wouldn’t hesitate if my watch didn’t show we’re running out of time. We land in thirty minutes, which leaves me no choice but to take Isabelle hard and fast as her eyes were begging me to do when she bent over the bed.

“This will be hard and fast,” I warn before bracing the head of my cock at the entrance of her slicked sex. 

When she nods before grinding back to show her eagerness, I drive home. My cock faces no objections this time around. Isabelle is drenched from her orgasm, and the desirable tilt of her hips opens her up to me in a way I can get more of my cock inside of her but without additional pain.

 Her moans are felt by my balls when I skate my hand up her back before weaving it through her hair. When I tug her head back so I can see every rake her teeth does to her bottom lip, she grows wetter. She likes being dominated, and the realization has me holding nothing back. 

I fuck her, kiss her, and govern every inch of her body for the next several long minutes. 

My dedication gets awarded in the best way when a second orgasm tears through her so hard and fast, before I can rip the blindfold from her eyes, she screams my name while riding the wave coiling low in her stomach. 

Her screams are worth more than any asset I owe. They’re raw, open, and expose without a doubt that she lied when she said she wasn’t a screamer. If she gets any louder, I’ll have to gag her because as much as I’m relishing every moan, whimper, and beg to escape her lips, I don’t want any other man experiencing the same thing.

They’re my screams, and I’ll put more than my empire on the line to keep it that way.

“One more,” I breathe out with a moan before flipping Isabelle over so she’s on her back. After tugging down her blindfold, groaning when it doubles the grip her pussy placed on my cock, I slowly re-enter her. 

When the lust in her eyes shifts to something I’m certain I’ve never seen before, I slow the rocks of my hips even more. I marked her body in a way she will never forget, claimed it so thoroughly, she will feel me for days, so now it’s time to imprint her soul in the same manner.

After curling her leg around my sweaty hip so she can choose her pace, I seal my lips over hers. This kiss is lush and slow-paced but still teasing. It reminds me that fucking isn’t the one way a man can get off. You don’t even need to make love if you’re kissing the right woman. Isabelle’s lips could bring any man to their knees, but as of today, they’ll only ever kiss one man.

Me.

“Eyes,” I demand when the shimmers of another orgasm massage my cock. 

The snapped command in my tone sets Isabelle off. As she tightens her leg around my waist to lessen the impact of her fall, she gives in to the sensation beckoning me to join her. 

“Oh god…” she pants, overwhelmed by a tension thick enough to cut through.

When her pussy strangles my cock, and her nails mark me as effectively as her eyes, I also let go. I pump into her another two times before stilling the rock of my hips. The heat brewing between us is so blatant, even with my cock covered by a condom, I feel every spurt of cum pumping out of the crown.

“Fuck, Isabelle,” I moan, certain I’ve never experienced such a rush of euphoria before.

 

When she drags her teeth over her lower lip for the hundredth time this morning, I surrender to an urge that’s been plaguing me since the day we met. I trap her lip between my teeth before giving it a painful tug. Her moans of pleasure vibrate against my tongue when I slide it across her kiss swollen lip to soothe the sting of my bite.

Too exhausted for lucidity to form, I roll off Isabelle, remove and knot my condom before tossing it into a bin in the bathroom, then I rejoin her in bed. We’re due to land in ten minutes, but since that’s ten minutes of peace I most likely won’t have for days once I exit the airport hangar to portray the life of a single man, I plan to relish every minute of it.

Well, I had planned for that to be the case until Isabelle’s faint breaths tickle the hairs on my arms. She’s out cold, her climax-induced coma making her oblivious to the fact Scout has started out descend.

xx

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