Tangled In Vengeance

Chapter 15: Isabella 🔞

There's no going back. From the moment we kiss, I can only focus on the sensations flowing through me. Hatred and desire battle against each other, screaming at me to choose one or the other. 

I hate Damien Blackhart with everything in me, and I will never stop, but if he's the one who gives me a break from all the turmoil in my life and gives me a moment of feeling precious and cared for, then I'll welcome it and won't judge myself about it later. 

I want this moment. I just want to forget about everything and experience something other than pain. I miss the touch of strong hands on me, reminding me that I am a woman.

I can't shame myself for succumbing to an act of indiscretion if it promises to soothe the ache within me, regardless of how fleeting its effects may be. 

So, instead of resisting Damien, I open myself to him, choosing to mute the voice in my head that warns me to desist, to flee from this insanity that is likely to consume me eventually.

In this shared moment, there's nothing but his body and the sensual sensations it induces within me. The second our tongues intertwine, our shared moan reverberates through the air, and my skin prickles into a landscape of goosebumps. 

He escalates the intensity of the kiss, tilting me back until I adjust my head to reciprocate every stroke of his tongue.

The fiery passion of our kiss overshadows any lingering guilt and replaces it with an overpowering need that compels my thighs to tighten around him. My nails rake the back of his head as I part my lips further to amplify the depth of our kiss, if that's even possible.

His palms slide up and down my sides, gripping me harshly beneath my shirt, and I gasp into his mouth as his hands move lower to unbutton my jeans. 

He tugs them down, and when I feel the cool sheets against my bare thighs, I snatch my mouth away, gulping for air. Our eyes meet in a silent, electrifying duel, and a breathy murmur of objection escapes my lips as he retreats a step. He roughly unbuttons his crisp dress shirt and flings it aside.

He closes the distance once more, his body heat radiating into me like an inferno, setting my senses ablaze. My gaze dips, drinking in the sight of his flawlessly sculpted abs and pristine skin. 

Leaning in, I run my tongue over his collarbone, nipping lightly at the skin, relishing the heady taste of him that's amplified by his uniquely masculine aroma. 

It's intoxicating to be in proximity to such a raw, masculine man. His hand finds itself in my hair, halting my actions as he tugs me back.

"Isabella," he whispers with so much heat in his tone.

I place a finger on his lips, silencing him before any more words can shatter the all-encompassing bubble I've built around us. His eyes turn stormy, a passionate blend of lust and fury, yet he remains silent, seemingly unwilling to relinquish this precarious chance at desire that teeters on the edge. 

One moment, I'm like a captive held in his iron grip. The next, a surprised gasp is torn from my throat as he pushes me further up the bed. His lips descend upon mine once more, but the nature of the kiss has shifted.

Gone is the earlier gentleness. It's replaced now with a fervor so raw it is overwhelming. The kiss engulfs me whole while his hardened arousal presses into me, sliding with a teasing friction that offers me a provocative preview of what it might bring to my body. 

As our mouths melt together, I silently plea for him to alleviate our shared agony and satiate this mutual, insatiable craving we both have.

He nips my lower lip, causing me to jerk from the sensory overload as his teeth tug on the sensitive flesh before kissing me again in a soothing gesture. The dual sensation is a heady mix of pain and pleasure, and I can't help the whimper that escapes me.

He leaves my lips, moving down to my chin, and the subtle scrape of his stubble against my skin sends shivers down my spine. His mouth travels further, over the curve of my throat, his teeth nipping at the sensitive flesh of my neck. I know he's leaving marks that will be hard to conceal.

His stubble grazes my skin, surely leaving red, irritated imprints as evidence of our wild passion, but I find myself not caring. The biting and the scraping. 

The pain and the pleasure. It all blends together into a storm of sensations that makes me crave for more. As long as there's the promise of pleasure at the end of this journey, I don't care. 

I don't care about anything but the feel of him against me, inside me. The world outside our bubble ceases to exist, and all that matters is the here and now.

"Your lips feel as good as I imagined," he says against my neck, and I moan from the sex exuding from his tone.

"This body was made for my hands," he says, biting my skin and causing a gasp to erupt from my throat.

I wiggle, trying to get him to kiss me again so I don't have to hear the sound of his voice. He may sound like sex and sin, but his voice is only a reminder that what I'm doing is wrong. 

Unable to move in his firm grasp, I feel him move down, and his breath gently caresses the curves of my breasts. A soft kiss is followed by the sensation of my nipple being pulled between his lips, ghosting through the delicate fabric of my shirt.

He nudges it down to reveal my breast before greedily drawing it into the warmth of his mouth, his tongue lavishing it with wet strokes. 

My back instinctively arches, and an involuntary moan causes me to swiftly clamp my mouth shut for fear of his staff hearing me. I already feel ashamed enough to give in to my desires. 

I don't need his staff giving me disgusted looks when they see me. That would make me feel even worse.

"I want to hear you, Isabella. Be as loud as you want. No one is going to hear you," he says and moves to my other breast, sucking and driving me wild.