“Please,” I say in a small voice as his thrusts grow harder, deeper, and I find myself meeting them. “Please let me come.”
I slip one hand between my legs, and he grabs it, then the other and holds them at my lower back.
“No,” he says, leaning over me as he fucks me.
“Please. I’m sorry. Please.”
He grins, eyes dark. “Are you begging me, Isabelle?”
I nod. I don’t even care.
“Fine. After.”
After?
He straightens, keeps hold of my wrists and looks down at us, watches. When he thickens inside me, he lays his chest to my back. I feel the rumble of him, skin slick with sweat as he takes what he wants from me, uses me and fills me as his cock throbs his release.
“Fuck,” he manages hoarsely as he slowly straightens, draws out. “Don’t move.”
I watch as he takes a used napkin and wipes his cock before tucking himself back into his pants. He turns back to me, looks at me spread out for him. His come leaking out of me. I want to cover myself. To get up and run out of the room.
But then he nods.
“Your turn,” he says.
“What?”
“Do it. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? What you asked for?”
“What?”
“Make yourself come.”
I blink, feeling my face heat up.
“You heard me,” he says. He resumes his seat in the armchair and picks up his whiskey glass. I hadn’t even noticed it before. He sips. “Get yourself off while I watch. Now. And don’t look away from me when you do it.” He says that last part just as I am about to bury my face in the seat of the couch.
I keep my eyes on his as I slip my hand between my legs. He never shifts his gaze from mine as I begin to rub my clit, hearing myself pant as my breath comes in short bursts. I’m aroused. I’m so turned on. And feeling his seed slide over the cleft of my ass and down my thigh, I come. It’s not as hard as when he fucks me, but I come. When it’s over, he finishes the last of his whiskey, sets his glass down and claps his hands.
“That’s a show worth watching,” he says and stands. He moves behind me, bending to pick up my panties. He helps me step into them before pulling them up. “You’ll sleep with my come inside you just so you remember this punishment.” He flips my skirt down and helps me stand, then takes my face between his hands and kisses me hard on my mouth, leaving no doubt that I belong to him.
13
Isabelle
I don’t see Jericho until the next evening. It’s a strange week but this time of year is always hard. It’s almost the anniversary of Christian’s death and this may be the first year I don’t go to his grave on the day. I could ask Jericho to take me. I don’t know why I haven’t.
Saturday is the concert and although I’ve been asking about mail, I’ve been told there wasn’t anything for me. I wonder if Paul changed his mind about me coming because of Jericho. Not that I think Jericho will let me go or want to go himself.
Leontine, Angelique, and I are seated at the table when he walks in, taking off his suit jacket. He hands it and his tie to Catherine who comes around the corner at the same time.
“Evening,” he says. His eyes on me, making me flush, remembering last night.
“Daddy, guess what we did today,” Angelique starts as he rolls up his shirt sleeves—something I can’t seem to look away from. Something that makes my mouth water in anticipation of those hands on me, those eyes on me. Him inside me.
I shake my head. It must be the pregnancy hormones. That or there is something seriously wrong with me.
“Tell me everything,” he says, kissing her on top of her head and hugging her before kissing his mother on top of her head and then getting to me. “I’m famished,” he says when he does. He tilts my head and kisses me on the mouth. It’s not a deep kiss but it’s hungry. Erotic rather than sensual. Dirty. “Sleep well last night?” he asks.
“Fine,” I say, embarrassed. Feeling myself flush.
“Good,” he says and brings his mouth to my ear. “I can still see it you know. See you bent over— ”
I clear my throat, shake him off and busy myself with laying the napkin on my lap.
He grins, takes his seat at the head of the table. “Zeke still in Calgary?” he asks Leontine.
She nods. “He’ll be back in a few days.”
“Good.”
Catherine enters followed by one of her helpers to serve dinner. A roast for them and plain homemade pasta for me. I’ve been less nauseous and haven’t thrown up today. It’s something. But I’m also eating a pretty bland diet.