Page 18

Chapter eighteen

Hunter’s Residence, London

Isabella

With Hunter’s strong fingers wrapped around mine, he leads me up the staircase toward the bedrooms. We walk along the corridor silently, our breathing slow and steady. As we pass my bedroom door, he hesitates. I wonder if he is waiting for me to suggest we go inside. When I don’t say anything, he tugs me toward his door.

We stop outside, and he turns to face me, taking both my hands in his. His thumbs run over my knuckles, his bright eyes flit to the door handle then back to me.

“Before we go in, Bella,” he says. “Promise me you’re okay to go through with this.” He lowers himself to his knees, still holding my hands. I pull on his fingers to encourage him to stand, uncomfortable with the gesture, but he stays where he is. “Bella, my love, I want to worship you like I should have all those years ago. Please be okay with this.”

My heart aches with his concern for my well-being, his unspoken inquiry about the situation with my endometriosis. The wary look in his eyes tells me this has been concerning him. The question has been the elephant in the room since it became obvious this was how tonight was going to end.

“I’m fine, Hunter,” I tell him firmly. “You won’t hurt me. The treatment worked. My pain is managed thanks to the doctor you hired. I’ve been living free of the bastard illness for years.”

He rises to his feet, a broad smile spreading over his lips. His face lights up with the good news. The next thing I know, he has scooped me into his arms, thrown open the door, and carried me into his bedroom.

Like years before, we stand in the center of the room. My eyes roam around his private space. It’s not as masculine as I expected it to be for the head of the Irish Mafia. The softness is a welcome surprise. It hints to a side of him that I wonder if anyone has seen since I knew him as a boy, a kindness he keeps well hidden.

Decorated in neutral tones with cream accents, it emits vibes of the outside being inside as light floods the room through large paned windows from the exterior lights. Various plants are scattered around, either on shelves or in pots on the floor. A large writing desk is on one side with a stack of pink envelopes in the corner. A matching sheet of paper laid out ready to write his next letter. I hope he planned to send it to me. Immediately, I speculate on what it could have said.

He puts me back on my feet, and I wander around the room, taking in all the small details that hint at the man he is. When I approach the stoic four-poster bed that demands center stage, I run my fingertips over the green satin bedspread. Ivy wrapped around each of the posts gives it a feel of The Garden of Eden. Above the large wooden headboard carved with flowers and fruit is a painting of young lovers in an amorous embrace. The whole place is insanely romantic.

“Beautiful room,” I say, almost to myself. Hunter watches me intently as I take it all in. “Very…calming.”

“Calm is something a man in my line of work appreciates. The moments are few and far between.”

That makes me laugh. I cover my lips with my hand, snorting a little. A picture of him meditating pops into my head—Hunter cross-legged on a beach chanting to himself.

“What’s so funny, Bella? Do you not believe a man such as myself could be calm?”

“I’ve heard plenty of stories that suggest otherwise,” I say, and he ambles over beside me, then wraps his arm around my waist to pull me close.

“Do tell me what gossip you’ve been listening to and where such information is found.”

I shrug, wriggling out of his grip and returning to my tour of the room. He strides up behind me as I reach the doors to a balcony matching the one in my room. His hands clasp my middle, and he spins me around to face him, flicking from soft and calm to strong and in charge in a beat.

“Mrs. Devane,” he says, my stomach flipping with his name attached to mine. It’s a name I haven’t heard for a long time, but it still sounds so fucking good. When our marriage fell apart on our wedding day, I never began using his name in life. It didn’t feel appropriate. “Do tell your husband of the nonsense you speak and where you came to get that information.”

“I don’t want to be responsible for another man’s death, Hunter.” I place my hands over his and push them downwards. He responds by grabbing my ass and pulling me closer. “I am well aware of how a man such as yourself settles scores.”

“I need a name,” he repeats. “I don’t like people telling stories to my wife.”

“It would be a local gossip at the country club or something. Your reputation precedes you, husband.” He grins manically at the word “husband.” “But as you well know, there tends to be a grain of truth in most gossip.”

“Who did I kill?” he asks, clearly intrigued that stories are running around social circles he wasn’t aware of or at least chose not to be. I wonder how he could think otherwise, but perhaps he isn’t fully aware of how interesting he really is.

“What does it matter?”

“Well,” he says with a smirk. “I need to know whether they got their facts right or not.”

“You admit to killing men?” I tease. He gathers me back up into his arms, lifting me up, then walking back over to the bed. After laying me down, he kneels and drops a kiss on my lips. One strong hand takes my two, and he squeezes gently.

“Bella, this hand has shed more blood than I wish to admit.” He kisses me again, this time deeper than the last. “And for you, I will slay every man in London if you so wish.”

“Perhaps this a discussion for over breakfast,” I suggest.

“Mrs. Devane, I believe that is an excellent idea. Now, where were we?” He lies down on the bed beside me, propping himself up on his elbow. One hand cups my cheek, his thumb running over the skin. “Yes, we were recreating our wedding night, but this time with a happy ending.”

Warm lips lock with mine as his hand begins to roam lower down my body. It skims over the lace of my dress until it comes to a stop on my midsection. His fingers splay across my stomach, and for a moment I’m acutely aware of the fact this region will be a bit larger than the last time he did this. Hunter doesn’t seem to care; he kisses me slowly as he explores my body over my clothes, greedy fingers touching anywhere that can be reached, kneading my flesh as they pass over as if ensuring I’m real.

As time passes and my excitement heightens, my body warms while we reconnect. My dress tightens as the blood rushes to the surface of my skin, every inch of me is hot and ready for him.

“Can you help me out of my dress?” I ask, needing the coolness of fresh air.

“I’d love to.”

We both shuffle from the bed. I wobble to my feet, and we stand facing each other once more. He places his fingertips on my shoulders then slowly runs them down my arms. Each cell pulses under his touch as they pass, craving a little more attention.

“Turn around,” he says, his tone authoritarian.

Without speaking, I turn in his arms to face away. His fingers immediately grasp the bow at the base of my spine, and I feel him untying the ribbon. As he works, my dress becomes looser, freeing my curves. Eventually, he lets it fall to the floor, discarded as unnecessary. “Now, Bella, walk three steps forward then turn to face me.”

I pause, taken aback by the instruction. My expectation was that he would grab hold of me, molding my body as he pleased.

“Why?” I stammer, suddenly nervous that his focus is purely on me.

His hands snake around my waist as he pulls me back against him. Strong fingers flex against my stomach, my softness giving way easily to his force. Pressed against each other, his cock pokes at the base of my spine, solid beneath the material. Warm lips touch my neck softly, and my pulse quickens with anticipation of what he has planned for us.

“Because before I make love to my wife,” he says seductively, “I want to admire the woman you have become. Walk forward, turn around, put those hands on those hips, and pose for me. I’ve won the fucking jackpot.”

The uncertainty that bit on his initial request evaporates with his explanation. My confidence soars. I push his hands down, then strut away from him, but I take five steps not three. On one foot, I glide around to face him, placing my hands on my hips but not before throwing a black curl off my shoulder. Hunter watches silently, and his mouth opens a fraction as his breathing deepens.

“I said three steps, wife,” he mocks in false anger, and I smile at him before walking away again. My route takes me in a circle around him. He stands in the center, close enough I can smell the familiar aftershave but far enough he can’t touch me. “Bella,” he growls. “Are you deliberately denying my request?” I stop and look him dead in the eye.

“Yes.”

“Stand still so I can admire you.”

“What if I don’t want to?” I tease. He takes a long step toward me, and I shimmy backwards in my heels, tottering a fraction out of his grasp. A playfulness begins as we pretend to dodge one another from side to side, him reaching for me but missing each time.

“Are you playing hard to get?” he asks with a sly smile.

“Very. Is that a problem?”

He shakes his head slowly, then leans against the nearest bedpost with his arms crossed.

“Not at all,” he says. “I do love a challenge. It makes winning all that much better.”

“So, now I’m a prize?” I whisper under my breath. The air thick with sex and hope as we play out our silly game.

“You always have been, Bella. The fucking top prize.” He looks at his watch, then back to me. “Run, wife, because I’m coming to catch you.”

Hunter lunges forward, and I squeal then take off as quick as possible in high heels. I dart around the other side of the bed. He follows, caging me in between the end of the bed and the wall. I look up over his shoulder, and his eyes follow my own. I take the opportunity of the short distraction to attempt to scramble over the bed. As I think I’ve evaded him, strong fingers wrap around my ankle, bringing me to a stop.

On my hands and knees, dressed only in barely-there lingerie, Hunter tugs at my leg, pulling me backward. When I don’t submit, he pulls harder. My knee gives way, and I fall face first onto the mattress in a fit of giggles.

“A wife shouldn’t run from her husband,” he says darkly. He grabs my second ankle and pulls again. My body slides over the sheets. As my ass reaches the edge, he flips me over so I’m left looking up at him with my legs open. “Don’t run from me, Bella. I am on my knees for you.”

“You told me to run!” I shriek, tickled by his idiocy.

“And will you always do as I tell you?” He raises his eyebrow and we both laugh. “Thought not. You are pure fire, Bella. And I fucking love it.”

Hungry eyes roam over my body as I lie below him, his pupils dilating in excitement like they would when presented with their favorite meal. Goosebumps scatter over my skin, each inch screaming to be touched by him. Calling for him to take hold.

“If at any time, Bella, you want me to stop.” I wave his words away, but he fixes me with a look. “I mean it. If we need to stop, you tell me.”

“You won’t hurt me, Hunter,” I repeat. “But I do have a question before we…” My sentence fades away, a heat coating my cheeks as I form the words I want to ask in my mouth. It perhaps isn’t the right time, but I want to know before I sleep with the man I promised myself I wouldn’t. The man I was betrothed to, but never truly had.

“Anything, I’ll tell you anything.” The words hold so much truth, it's breathtaking. He looks at me with clear, honest eyes. “I will do anything you say, Bella. Just ask.”

“You said there was no other women.” A wariness flits over his face. The topic was obviously not what he expected. “That can’t be true.”

“That isn’t a question. That’s a statement,” he chides. “But indeed, it is.”

“You expect me to believe you haven’t had sex since our wedding night?” He laughs out loud, and my heart sinks that I misunderstood. All his unspoken promises of me being the only one he ever wanted from that day vanishing in an instant. How could I be that stupid?

“I’ve had plenty of sex, Bella,” he says, and my mood plummets. There is an exaggerated pause, then his eyes narrow dangerously. “But that sex has only been with my own hand, and dreams of you.”

Caught in the pain of imagining him with someone else, I miss his explanation the first time. He watches me, unspeaking, waiting for my response.

“What did you say?”

“I said…” He speaks slowly, deliberately, so each word is clear. “The only sex I have had since our wedding has been solo and dreaming of you. Now, please close those pretty lips and let me fuck my wife. As you said, we can talk over breakfast.”

He drops to his knees between my legs, and I lie back, staring at the ceiling. His confirmation, that I refused to believe before, swirls in my mind. There has been no one else. All the tabloids and sham relationships were only that, a smokescreen hiding his broken heart. They disguised the fact that one of the city’s most powerful men was alone by choice.

The thong I’m wearing is dragged down my legs. It catches on my ankle, and I kick it to the side. Hunter’s hands slide under my thighs. He lifts my legs onto his shoulders before nuzzling at my bare crotch. He breathes deep, and a sound that can only be described as animalistic comes from him.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this, Bella? Waited to taste my wife.” I swallow as my pussy clenches with each word. “You are the exotic dish I’ve craved but never truly tasted. Tonight, that devastation will be rectified.”

He grabs my ass, pulling me closer to him, angling my body upward. His face disappears between my thighs, and his tongue begins to explore my pussy. Gently at first but as his confidence increases, so do the strokes. His tongue finds my clit, flicking the spot relentlessly.

There is no mistaking my body preparing itself for him as his tongue works. My wetness is audible. He grabs a pillow from one side, encouraging me to lift my hips and sliding it beneath me. He pushes my knees wide to allow himself better access, teasing and sucking continuously. When he looks up, a shimmer on his lips glints in the low light. He grins at me like a schoolboy caught with ice cream but enjoying it immensely.

My own hands move lower, my pussy screaming to be touched. Hunter bats my fingers away as they explore, sliding inside for a moment then retracting.

“Is my wife impatient?” he asks with a chuckle.

“Always,” I mutter. “I want to…”

He rises to his feet, and I reopen my eyes.

“What do you want?”

“You inside me,” I gasp out, my fingers returning to my clit, massaging the sweet spot as my body buzzes with excitement of what’s to come. “Now, we can do the other stuff later, but now, I want…”

He wraps his fingers around mine, pulling them away from my pussy then replacing them with his own. One thick finger slides inside followed by a second. He pumps slowly, my body opening for him more with each stroke. The distinctive sound of flesh on flesh amplifies as he works, molding my pussy ready for his cock. Our focus never leaves each other, me half-dressed and him still in his tuxedo preparing his wife to take him—for what is for both of us our real first time.

“Does my wife want her husband’s cock deep inside her?” he rasps as he removes his shirt. I stare up him as each item of clothing is discarded on the floor.

“Yes.”

“Does my wife want to lie back and have the man who has dreamed of her for decades finally take what’s his?”

“Yes.”

He unfastens his belt and drops it to the floor. My stomach flips as the moment I want so badly comes closer. He steps out of his shoes, then unbuttons his fly but doesn’t remove his suit pants. His cock strains against the containment, impatient. It takes all my willpower not to reach up and lower the zipper.

He leans down, then reappears holding a knife that must have been concealed somewhere. He offers me his free hand and pulls me up to sit. We stare at one another again, unspeaking. In one hand he holds my own, in the other the knife. For a moment, I remember the exact man I am in bed with. A dangerous man, the deadliest in London if some were to be believed.

“Before I do,” he says. “I want you to know I’m yours.” He passes me the knife, then sits down beside me. “Whatever happens from this day on Bella, I’m yours. I always have been. But I want to wear the honor for all to see.”

“What do you mean?” I stammer, unsettled to be holding a blade. He taps his chest over his heart.

“Brand me with your initials, Wife. Claim me as yours, then I will make you one hundred percent mine.”