Chapter 164
LEVI
I had seen Isabella naked before. I had held her, tasted her. And yet this—this felt different. Like I hadn’t had enough of her, like I never could. I wanted to devour her, savor her in a way that would make even the fiercest beasts bow their heads in shame. Make them seem tame. Yet I forced myself to hold back, to rein in the hunger clawing through me, to control my goddamn aching cock.
Her gaze locked with mine as she reached behind her back. My heart raced so fast I could hear it in my ears. She was teasing me, testing me. A better man would have turned away, would have given her the privacy she deserved after what had happened, even if she asked that I stay. A gentleman would have walked out, knowing how hard it would be to stop once this line was crossed. But I couldn’t. I was rooted to the floor, trapped by her eyes, by the slow, deliberate motion of her hands.
The clasp gave way. The straps loosened. Her bra slid down her arms before finally falling, a whisper of fabric that seemed to echo louder than thunder during a storm. Her breasts were revealed to me—full, supple, glorious, huge. My mouth went dry, my cock straining as every rational thought bled out of me. Even if my eyes were torn from their sockets, they would have found a way to crawl back just to stare at the perfect peaks of her nipples. I swallowed hard, throat desert-dry, desperate to wet it.
Fuck.
She was every temptation I had ever encountered bound into flesh and bone. Sweet, maddening temptation. Every breath I dragged in was filled with her scent. Every thought drowned in the aching need to touch her, to claim her, to worship her with everything I was.
“You certain you don’t want me to leave?” I asked, my voice thick. My eyes slid from the soft hollow of her throat, down the valley of her cleavage, then back to her face, searching, needing her answer.
Right now I wouldn’t leave for anything—even if this room burned to hell; I wanted her, reassurance still.
She shook her head. “Yeah.” Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips, and I nearly lost my fucking mind.
Slowly, deliberately, she bent forward. My chest tightened as her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her red panties. With agonizing slowness, teasing, she slid them down her thighs, peeling the last barrier from her skin. My pulse thundered like it wanted to break through bone. She straightened, rising to her full height, and stood completely bare before me.
This time was different. That night before, shadows had hidden her, cloaked her in mystery. But here—here, under the soft glow of the chandelier—there was no veil, no darkness to hide her. She was bare. She was mine to see. And I would.
My eyes devoured her, tracing every imperfect perfection carved into her body.
The delicate lightning-strike stretch marks on her breasts, faint but undeniable, etched themselves into me like memories burned into my heart, like I knew them by heart. The hardness of her nipples, flushed and peaked, begged to be taken into my mouth. The gentle curve of her lower belly, so real, so unbearably beautiful, pulled at me harder than any fantasy could. My gaze drifted lower, to the dip of her hips flowing into the soft round swell of her ass, the lush thickness of her thighs—thighs made to cradle a man’s head, thighs made for a man’s hands, a man’s mouth.
Her skin was a landscape of desire, a map I ached to trace with tongue and teeth, interrupted only by the cruel reminders of her suffering tonight. The dark, angry bruises staining her hand. The purpling mark on her thigh where Julian had dared—fucking dared—to touch her. Rage roared inside me, rising hot, ready to explode. But the fury was swallowed, overtaken by something deeper, something fiercer: the need to erase every mark of pain, to cover them with my own touch, my own claim.
She didn’t move. She stood there frozen, as though carved from something too delicate to touch, letting me look at her, letting me drink her in until the wires in my head sparked, flared, and then seemed to shut down entirely.
The silence between us pulsed with hunger. It wasn’t empty—it thrummed, thick and alive, as if the room itself held its breath. The air was so tightly strung that I swore it would ignite if either of us dared breathe too hard.
“Would you mind…” she whispered, her voice like the soft crack of glass under pressure, her eyes never once leaving mine. “Joining me in the bath?”
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