Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“That woman is a pariah. The only part of what you said that’s true is that she’s closer to my age and it wouldn’t take much to be more experienced than you, would it?”
“Why do you always have to be a jerk?”
“The rest is bullshit. You? You’re honest. You bring light. You are light. It’s what this house needs. What I…what Angelique needs.”
I blink, watch his expression change as if he just processed what he said. I don’t know who is more surprised, him or me. But then he ruins it.
“You said you weren’t jealous,” he taunts sounding like his usual dick self. “Were you lying?”
“I just—”
“Don’t tell me you want me all to yourself, Isabelle.”
“If you’re fucking someone else I need to know. It’s to protect myself. That’s all.”
He lowers himself to his elbows on either side of my face and rests one hand on top of my head.
“You’re my wife. I’m only fucking you. I have no interest in fucking anyone but you. And speaking of…” he trails off, dips his head closer and brushes the scruff of his jaw over my cheek. Nudging my head a little so his mouth is at my ear.
“You’re drunk,” I manage weakly. I’m already aroused.
“Not that drunk,” he says and licks the shell of my ear as he slides one hand over my stomach, into my panties, and cups my sex. “Not so drunk I can’t make you come. Because you know what I love?”
“What?” I ask on a breath. He’s doing that thing with his fingers that drives me crazy.
“I love watching your face when you come. I love hearing you breathe my name and bite your lip when you come.”
I close my eyes and bite my lip. Do I always do that?
“Yeah. Like that,” he says and pushes my top aside to take a nipple into his mouth.
I cry out as soon as he does it, teeth and lips and tongue wet and hard and soft all at once. When he draws my nipple out and curls his fingers inside me. I find myself panting, clinging to him, wrapping an arm around his neck to pull him closer. I hold onto him when the wave of orgasm begins to take me under.
My anchor.
“One more, sweetheart,” he says when I can breathe again. “Turn over.” He doesn’t wait for me to do it. He lifts himself up just enough to roll me onto my stomach. His hands are on my hips and he’s on his knees, drawing me up to mine.
I arch my back as he settles between my spread legs and splays me open.
“You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?” he says. I look over my shoulder to find him looking at me, a raw hunger in his eyes. “Perfect,” he adds and dips his head to run the flat of his tongue over my sex and then my ass, before straightening to draw me to him, entering me in one long, deep stride.
I suck in an audible breath. It feels so good to have him inside me. To be stretched by him. For him.
“Are you going to watch me fuck you?” he asks, breathing ragged as he moves inside me.
I nod, resting my cheek on the bed, mouth slack.
“Good. Don’t look away. I need to see your face. Your eyes,” he says. A moment later, as he thrusts into me, I feel him at my back hole, pushing a finger inside me.
I moan.
He hooks his finger, pulling me up a little, his other hand tight on my hip as he thrusts harder, faster. Sweat drips down his face onto my back and I rise onto my elbows to brace myself for his thrusts.
I like this. Him taking me like this. I shouldn’t. I should hate him. But when he slides one hand between my legs I stop thinking about that. Stop thinking altogether. I need this. I need him like this. And I let myself have this moment, this reprieve from reality.
I’m his. And there are moments I want to be his. Even after everything. To let him be my anchor. To let go and give myself to him.
10
Isabelle
When I wake several hours later, I’m alone in the bed.
“Jericho?” I ask but he’s not in the bedroom or bathroom. I push the blankets off, pull on the shirt he discarded earlier and open the door. The hallway is dark. It’s the middle of the night. I creep downstairs barefoot, buttoning two of the buttons on his shirt and wrapping my arms around myself to keep warm. The house always feels cold inside. It must be the marble.
Inside the large fireplace in the living room are the remnants of a dying fire. I smell it and can see the deep red glow as I walk past. If he was here, he’s not anymore.