Page 11

11

Isaac

I was fucked.

Completely and utterly fucked.

I thought I could keep my shit together with Tovah in my space, even with the smell of lemon and sugar goddamn everywhere. Sharp and sweet, just like her. I was only getting the sharpness from her right now. She was pissed I was taking over her life, and I didn’t blame her, but it didn’t matter. I needed to, to keep myself, my team, and my family safe. And my cock didn’t hate the idea of her having to bend to my every whim, either.

Even when she said that everyone would think I was pussy whipped, and I worried she was right. But could I be whipped by a pussy I’d never seen, touched, tasted?

She’d warned that people would think I was in love with her. I didn’t explain that there was no way—I could and would never be in love with anyone. It was easier to insult her.

I continued delivering big, heavy, hard spanks to her denim-clad ass, just so I could feel in control again. It wasn’t enough. I craved the feeling of her hot skin under my hand, and who was going to stop me? There was no one here but Tovah, me, and my currently quiet and watchful conscience, waiting to see what I’d do next.

Taking her jeans off was the biggest mistake I’d ever made in my life—and the greatest discovery. Not only because the feeling of her bare ass under my hand shattered any notion that I was in control of anything right now. But because when I’d given into my need to feel the pussy I was apparently going to be whipped by, I’d felt how wet she was.

Sloppy wet. It spread over her pussy, her lips, her inner thighs, bathing my hand in her. I bet if I licked my hand, I’d taste the same sharp sweetness I could smell everywhere.

I tried to keep a handle on my actions, taking deep breaths to rein myself in. But how the fuck was that possible when she was getting off on the pain I was delivering to her? How the hell was I supposed to be Isaac Jones, Good Guy, when I finally had the girl who’d been driving me fucking insane in my home, under lock and key—and in goddamned hand? I’d blown so far past the good guy version of myself, he was probably little more than ash, miles back.

And, more importantly, why would I rein myself in when I didn’t have to? She was here now. Mine now, for however long I wanted her. I could do whatever the fuck I goddamn wanted?—

— don’t do something you’ll regret , my conscience warned.

I told it to shut the fuck up. The monster was hungry, and I was finally going to unlock his cage and let him loose.

Starting with licking Tovah’s wetness off my fingers. If I was wrong, if it was nothing more than normal girl pussy juice, I’d regain control and she’d lose the power over me. But I knew better.

“You smell like lemon and sugar,” I grunted at her. “Let’s see if you taste the same.”

“Isaac—” she gasped, but I’d already stuck my wet fingers in my mouth and licked.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Sharp. Sweet. And raw. Tovah tasted like every fear I’d ever had, and every desire I’d ever ignored. She tasted the way the sun must taste on your skin, when you know it’s going to burn you painfully but you want it to bathe you in its rays anyway.

She tasted like mine.

Making a novel sound low in my throat, I gripped her thighs and lifted them as I bent my head down, biting her bare ass cheek hard in reprimand for making me feel so out of control.

And then I got my face between her thighs, buried my nose in her pussy, and, well, I don’t know how else to describe it.

I ate.

It was a slaughter and my last meal, all in one. I hunted for her taste, licking it off her mound, her lips, biting into her thighs as if it might be there, searching deep inside her with my tongue for every last drop. And when it seemed like I’d run out, I made sure there was more, using my fingers to draw circles over her clit, thrusting them inside her and teasing her G-spot until she convulsed and with a low, throaty, satisfying-as-fuck moan, came all over my face.

Just like I’d wanted.

Her orgasm wasn’t for her. It was for me. I’d discovered the best fucking tasting thing I’d ever gotten on my tongue, and I wasn’t giving it up for anything. I licked up her cum, without finesse or gentility. This wasn’t a wine tasting. This wasn’t even chugging a beer. This was a bloodbath. I didn’t know what would be left or if either of us would survive after I was done with Tovah’s cunt, or if I’d ever be done with Tovah’s cunt.

The girl in question was struggling against me. Maybe. I couldn’t tell if she was trying to get away or get closer, and I didn’t really fucking care either way. The Isaac Jones who gave a shit over concepts like consent didn’t exist anymore. Isaac Silver, on the other hand, didn’t give a fuck about anything but figuring out how to permanently attach Tovah Lewis’s pussy to his lips so he could drink down her cum and taste the essence of her sassy strength whenever he goddamned wanted. Oh, and maybe getting a recording of Tovah’s wild screams as she came multiple times, her thighs clamped around my head like my own personal pair of X-rated ear guards.

“Isaac, stop, please, I need?—”

I bit her thigh to shut her up.

“Don’t fucking interrupt me when I’m eating,” I growled like a fucking madman.

“It’s too much!” she cried.

“Sounds fake,” I said, before diving back into her cunt, in case there was a complexity to her flavor I’d missed the first time.

Finally, after a few minutes or a whole hockey season, I stopped. I hadn’t nearly had my fill, but sanity was slowly returning to me, reminding me that the woman attached to the pussy I was eating might need a break, based on her gasps and trembling thighs. The moment I released her, she slithered onto the counter in a heap like a rag doll.

“No more,” she cried brokenly against the counter. “Please, Isaac, no more. I can’t—it’s too much. It hurts.”

It’s not too much.

It’ll never be enough.

When it comes to you, I’ll always need more.

I swallowed down the words. What the fuck had gotten into me? The plan had been to keep Tovah from fucking up my life, not turn her into my new favorite meal. How many orgasms had I given her in my momentary lapse of sanity?

How had I lost control?

I stood back, crossing my arms over my chest to stop myself from reaching forward and helping her as she climbed down from the kitchen island. Standing on shaky legs, she turned around to look at me. Her face was flushed, her hair a sweaty, tangled mess.

I’d made her that way. The monster inside me practically snarled with triumph.

Instead, I sneered at her. “Go take a shower. You’re a fucking mess.”

Tovah stared at me like I’d grown two heads—and she’d happily decapitate them both.

“I’m sorry,” she said slowly. “You just made me come four times without my permission , without listening to me when I told you to stop, and I’m the one who’s a,” she made air quotes, “fucking mess?”

I ignored her—the point she made, the validity of it, the guilt it stirred up in my gut.

“Bedroom’s on the second floor—first door to the right of the stairs. It has an en-suite. It should have everything you need for now but make a list of what you want and I’ll order it for you tomorrow. Or we can just go pick it up from your apartment.”

I didn’t mention that I knew where her apartment was or that her ever setting foot back in that unsafe building made me want to break something. I’d shown enough of my hand tonight. God forbid she figure out she had any control over me, even just her pussy. She would think I was whipped. And I couldn’t prove otherwise.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” she said, stomping out of the kitchen and down the hallway.

As soon as I heard the squeak of her sneakers on the wooden staircase, I slumped over, burying my head against the once-cool marble countertop that had been warmed by her body. I could still smell her here, and god knew I’d never be able to make myself food in this house again without seeing her plastered against it, crying out as I tried to turn her inside out with my tongue. I could still taste her, too, and I knew that lemon and sugar flavor would haunt me for the rest of my life, even after she’d finally gone.

“Fuck!” I yelled, slapping my hand down on the marble, relishing the sting in my hand from the hard slap.

I’d never felt this unhinged before.

And the worst part?

I didn’t hate it.

Not when it meant that Tovah Lewis was upstairs, naked in my bathroom, water pouring over her as she cleaned herself with my soap, knowing she’d end up smelling like me.

Sighing, I leaned back against the fridge, preparing myself for what I knew was about to be the next fight of the night.

A fight I was also determined to win.