Page 67 of My Infatuation with Isabella

And he does. Gritting his teeth, he plunges into me again and again. My back slides up and down the wall, my shoulder knocking off a picture frame. Glass shatters as it hits the floor, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he pulls away slightly, running his tongue over my lower lip.

“I thought you were going to scream,” he taunts with a playful grin that makes me melt inside.

“Make me.”

It takes one second for him to respond to the challenge. With my legs around his waist, he spins around, my back smacking the table when he drops me on top of it. I hear more glass shatter when the vase of roses crashes to the floor. The bowl of strawberries goes next. His broad body comes over me, pressing me into the cool wood. One hand goes above my head, gripping onto the edge of the table, and he uses it to drive into me with more force. Clamping my thigh down with his other hand, his nails bite into my flesh as he holds me open for the assault. He told me he hates me, and I feel it when his teeth scrape against my neck, I feel it in his rapacious kiss, in every unforgiving thrust. It hurts. It hurts so good.

Fervent and hungry, he possesses every part of me. His movements are rough, so deliciously raw that I sink my teeth into his lip because my body can’t handle the intensity. He jerks his head away a moment later. The taste of copper fills my mouth, and I realize he’s bleeding. He tongues the small wound before running his thumb along the inside of his mouth.

“Sorry,” I murmur.

“Fuck it.”

After briefly checking the redness that coats his thumb, he goes right back to kissing me. This time his kiss is more relentless, demanding, and I match him in ardency. I’ve been deprived of him for so long. I’m insatiable now. My moans get louder, but I don’t quite scream because my voice is trapped in my throat. Damp with sweat, his chest glides against my nipples as his pelvis slams against mine again and again.

He groans into my mouth, a low, guttural sound that becomes more desperate the faster he pumps into me. “Cum for me,” he rasps.

Harder and faster and deeper until the bubble of ecstasy bursts inside me and spreads right through to the tips of my fingers and toes. My thighs tighten around him as I feel myself begin to unravel. The waves pass over me and my body is completely spent at the end of it. Dylan stills on top of me, carefully withdrawing. He lightly kisses my mouth then my neck then my collar bone. Slowly, he moves down my body, his tongue swirling around my peaked nipple. He’s decided thatnowis the time for gentle foreplay. Lower he goes, and his damp hair tickles my inner thighs. I shut my eyes when he licks my swollen clit. I’m sore and tender, just...limp. It feels like his mouth is apologizing for the savagery his dick just put me through.

I cover my eyes with my forearm and lose myself in the sweet exquisiteness of his mouth. My breaths turn into needy pants as he takes me up to another climax. The next orgasm pushes me to the verge of weeping, and it’s not because of the physical pleasure. It’s the intimacy of the moment because it wouldn’t be Dylan if he didn’t make it intimate somehow. He kisses his way up my body, then stops, staring at me like he can’t believe this is actually happening. Twisting the chain around my finger, I tug him toward me until he kisses me again. Capturing my mouth, he enters me again. I breathe through the sting, loving the subtle way his cock pulses inside me.

He told me he loves me, and I feel that, too. I feel it in the tenderness of his touch, in the way his lips skim over mine as if he could spend eternity kissing me. I feel it in the way he makes love to my entire being. I think I orgasm again, but my body is so numb and sated that I can’t be sure. Despite his slow, languid pace, his breathing elevates, and with a raspy groan, he comes inside me.

It takes a long while before he finally finds the will to move again. He lifts me up, and I only notice by his awkward steps that his pants are still around his ankles. Once he gets past the broken glass, he kicks off his shoes and sits on the edge of the bed. Taking my arms, he loops them around his neck and drops his head between the valley of my breasts.

“Just hold me,” he whispers, lightly kissing my skin. “I’ve been aching to have you in my arms for so long...” His fingers press into my back as he grips me tighter. “Just hold me.”

I hold on to him like he’s my only lifeline. We crossed some lines, overstepped some boundaries. While I don’t regret what just happened, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t wary. I’ve just tangled myself into a very complicated situation. I don’t understand the weird mood he was in today. I don’t know what he wants from me. And I have no idea how he intends to tackle the consequences that are going to come tomorrow. But that’s tomorrow. Right now, I just hold him...because I never want to let him go.

11. Dylan

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