Chapter 129
ISABELLA
A wicked smile curved my lips—like a sinner kneeling at the altar, suddenly convinced her prayers would be answered.
I leaned forward, mouth open, breath shaking. My teeth grazed the zipper. I tried to pull it down, but it caught.
And then—
Slap.
A sting across my cheek. Sharp. Quick.
Not cruel—but enough.
Enough to shock the breath from me. Enough to make arousal spike like a fever through my blood.
“Shit,” I gasped, heat flooding my limbs, pooling between my thighs so fast my toes curled in my shoes.
I had to slip them off. My feet were shaking too hard.
“Bad girl,” he murmured, the words like silk soaked in threat.
“Sorry, Master,” I whispered, breathless, heart hammering.
Again, I tried. Again, the zipper slipped. Again—
Crack.
This time, the slap landed harder. I yelped, a tear spilling from one eye.
The pain burned sweet, twisted with the pleasure it dragged out of me like a secret I didn’t want to keep.
“Bad. Girl.”
I looked up, eyes wide and glassy, pleading—not for mercy, but for more.
He took both hands and grabbed my hair, holding my head in place, forcing my gaze up to his.
“You’ll get it right, won’t you?” he asked, caressing the spot he had slapped, softly.
I swallowed, nodding—eager to try again. Eager to get it right, but knowing that if I didn’t, I wouldn’t mind the punishment that came with failing.
“My sweet sub,” he said, his voice velvet and gravel all at once. Then he paused, like his own words triggered a memory that made him still.
I took a deep breath.
I centered myself, knowing I had just one more chance to get it right.
And this time—I succeeded.
The zipper slid down between my teeth like it had been waiting for me to be ready.
I reached up instinctively to pull down his boxers—
But his hand snapped out, slapped mine away.
The sound echoed in the still air, like a slow piece of music.
“Use your lips,” he said. “I want those pretty, sharp lips worked out.”
I obeyed.
I leaned in, letting my mouth graze his waistband, my teeth catching the elastic, tugging it downward with effort and heat.
The scent of him hit me—stronger now. Musk. Skin. Heat. Want.
And then he was free.
His cock sprang out—hard and heavy—and the moment it did, it hit me.
The memory.
That same stunned, ravenous feeling I’d had the first time.
Like I couldn’t believe he was real.
Like I’d never wanted anything more.
And that hunger?
It hadn’t died.
It had grown teeth.
I let my tongue trail up the underside, slowly, reverently, until I reached the flushed pink tip. I circled it, tasting salt and heat, and then wrapped my lips around him.
His hand tightened in my hair, gripping me, controlling me.
“Open your mouth,” he growled.
I did.
And he thrust—deep, unrelenting—until he hit the back of my throat.
My eyes watered. My breath stopped. My body trembled.
“Fuck, fuck… fuck,” he groaned, the sound raw and breaking. “Fuck. You feel so good. I’ve forgotten what this feels like. Fuck.”
His hips stilled for a moment, just long enough for me to catch my breath.
But I didn’t need it.
I wanted more.
Because I wasn’t just on my knees.
I was exactly where I’d always wanted to be.
I moved slowly. Obediently. Worshipfully.
He held my head in place—firm, unrelenting—and thrust deeper.
Deeper.
Until I choked.
His groans filled the air—raw, guttural. A sound no man makes unless he’s losing his mind.
Losing it to me.
The cold night air kissed my burning skin. My ears rang. My throat burned. My lungs begged.
But I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t.
I held onto his thighs like they were my last anchor and closed my eyes as he spilled his essence down my throat. His pleasure. His power. His claim.
I was lost in the wild, and there was no escape—not from him, not from myself.
If anyone passed by, they’d stop in horror, in lust, in confusion. They’d hear the filth, the feral hunger, and still, they wouldn’t be able to look away.
Because this wasn’t just sex.
This was surrender.
This was me, on my knees, offering every truth I hadn’t dared speak.
My head throbbed, stretched to its limit as he thrust again—deeper, harder—like he was trying to bury the memory of every other man inside me. As if he wanted to scrape out every lie I’d told. As if he was digging the truth out of my throat.
He had complete control now.
Of my mouth.
Of my silence.
Of everything I was hiding.
And I wanted this game to last all night. Because when tomorrow comes… we may never see each other again.
Thinking of this, I opened my mouth wider.
Letting him in.
Until tears blurred my vision and my lungs screamed for air.
And still—he didn’t stop.
He saw it. The wreck of me. The way I trembled. The way I held on tighter, even though I should’ve begged for mercy.
It wasn’t cruelty.
It was ownership.
And I loved it.
Loved the weight of him. Loved the salt on my tongue. Loved the way his legs shook as I took every inch of him and still asked for more.
“Oh God—you’re killing me,” he groaned, his hands tightening in my hair.
That was enough.
Enough to make my heart stutter and my skin tighten.
Enough to almost send me over the edge with nothing more than sound and power and worship.
Still, he didn’t stop. Not until the moment I felt myself begin to slip—really slip—into that soft, sweet panic where thought disappeared and instinct ruled.
Then, finally, he pulled back.
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