Page 107 of Destined for the Devil
I kneeled behind her and yanked her hips up, knowing that she would obey without question. Reaching into her bedside drawer, I grabbed the lube and the anal plug she askedfor. The fact that she proposed it made the prospect so much sweeter. Soon. Soon, I would have that part of her too.
Never stingy on lube, I applied a generous amount before working it in with slow, firm pressure, watching all the sensations flicker across her face. Her jaw fell open in a silent scream, and she looked perfect like that—all mine, ready to be fucked.
Giving her no time to adjust, I shoved my cock back inside her, her face buried in the bed, muffling her cries. "I need to stretch out that tightlittle asshole, baby," I growled, panting as I fucked her. "You're going to let Daddy take everything he wants, won't you, baby?"
"Yes..." Isla braced herself on her hands, her body rocking with every thrust. "Yes, Daddy. I will do anything you ask." Her angelic voice reassured me.
"Next week, baby. Next week I’ll take everything.” I worked the plug in and out of her tight hole, watching her squirm, barely able to stay up on her knees.
"Daddy..." she whined, and I pushed the plug in harder. "Oh my fucking God, do it again!" She begged, and I did, pumping the plug in and out as my dick plunged into her pussy without pause.
I was on the verge; thoughts of spilling into her were overtaking me, images of my cum oozing out of her pussy spreading a warmth through my body.
I fuckinglovedto come inside her. It was a dark pleasure, one that I didn’t want to fully admit. My cum—coating her walls,inside her, slowly escaping her pussy…the thoughts set my mind on fire.
And when Isla screamed for me as she came apart, I spilled inside her, pushing in deeper and holding her tight. Holding her so she couldn’t move. Holding her…to make sure not a drop escaped.
We stayed on the bed, breathless and spent, and I wondered…
What the fuck had I been doing in my life? Why didn’t I meet her earlier? If I had looked into Dave Barrington’s family, it would’ve been over the moment I saw her. Dave and I would have combined our businesses, and she would have become my bride years ago.
It would’ve been the union of the century. No war, no death.
Just us.
Just her.
Forever.
49
Natasha’s Memorial
Roman
Iwasontopof the world. The love of my life was in my arms every night, her innocent eyes looked into mine with admiration, and her joyous laughter was just for me. And soon, she would become mywife.
Me. Having a wife. I was certain that when anyone heard that, they’d think it was the biggest lie in the world. But there was nothing truer in my entire thirty-six years on this planet—I was hopelessly in love with an amazing woman who made me complete.
Who made me a better person. A woman who was the whole universe.
I did have moments when I was sure I hallucinated it all. That I would wake up one day and realize it was all a dream. For the first timeever,my reality was sweeter than any dream my mind could conjure.
She was in front of me—a diamond, the most precious possession in the whole world. All mine. Her ring sparkled so brightly, and I loved how it overpowered her dainty little hand.
But while my life with Isla was perfect, the rest of it was a dark pit. Claudio doubled down, pressuring me for those contracts. At this point, I had to make a decision—take him out or give up a part of my business and show weakness. I had no desire to do either one.
And the darkest part was, of course, Natasha's memorial and Sergei. Isla and I arrived in L.A. for the somber event, and she had an important job to do—charm Lena enough that she would spill any details about that night.
Mysecretary organized it all, fielding hundreds of calls from those who wanted to attend and pay their respects. Everyone loved Natasha. I limited it to fifty of the closest people to us.
As much as this gruesome anniversary ate away at me, like Isla, I also had a goal that day: get Sergei to confess something—anything—that could indicate he had something to do with her death.
Dressed in black, both Isla and I headed to the cemetery before the memorial dinner. My skin crawled the closer we approached. For four years after Natasha died, I went religiously—once a week, sometimes more. But this past year I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stomach seeing her name carved into stone. Couldn’t bear thinking about her body lying six feet underground.
"Is your mom buried here too?" Isla looked out the window of the car once we pulled up, her voice timid and small.
This was awful. This was a terrible detail that I forbade myself to think about.
