My hands grip Isabella's curves as I carry her up the stairs, each soft inch of her against my palms reminding me of Renaissance sculptures—perfectly formed, impossibly smooth. The weight of her in my arms feels right in a way I can't explain, like she was designed to fit against me.
Am I really doing this? Bringing a woman I've known less than a day to my bedroom while my daughters sleep down the hall?
Every rational part of me is screaming to stop, to slow down, to think about the consequences.
But those voices are drowned out by the thundering of my pulse and the soft sounds Isabella makes when I adjust my grip on her.
Four years of control, of putting my desires last, of focusing solely on my girls and my job… All of it dissolving under the touch of this woman who crashed into my life wearing a wedding dress and carrying nothing but determination.
There's a rightness to this that defies explanation. The immediate connection, the way she fits not just against my body but into my home, into my daughters' affections. I've dated, sure, but I've never felt this instant chemistry, this bone-deep recognition.
Too fast, too soon—I know this. But I can't bring myself to stop. Not when she's looking at me like I'm something precious, something desired. Not when my body is responding with an urgency I'd forgotten I was capable of feeling.
We reach the bedroom door, and I manage to turn the handle without dropping her, slipping inside and closing it behind us with a soft click.
The darkness envelops us, broken only by slivers of moonlight through the blinds.
I set Isabella down gently on the edge of my unmade bed, the reality of what we're doing suddenly crystal clear in the quiet sanctuary of my room.
"Jake," she whispers, her voice threading through the darkness like silk.
I kneel before her, hands trembling slightly as I find the hem of her t-shirt. She raises her arms, allowing me to pull it over her head, leaving her in just underwear that looks delicate and expensive against her pale skin.
"You're so beautiful," I murmur, hands skimming down her sides to her hips.
She shivers under my touch, and I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties, sliding them down her legs.
My breath catches at the sight of her—all soft curves and moonlit skin.
I run my hands up her calves, over her knees, to her thighs, marveling at the way she responds to each touch, how her skin pebbles beneath my fingertips.
I lean forward, pressing my lips to her knee, then higher, trailing kisses up the inside of her thigh. Her breathing quickens, hands fisting in the sheets as I move higher still, my destination clear. When I reach the juncture of her thighs, her back arches in anticipation.
"Wait," she gasps suddenly, her hand coming down to stop my progress. "Jake, wait."
I pull back immediately, concern flooding me. "What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"
She shakes her head, reaching for me, pulling me up to sit beside her on the bed. In the dim light, I can see the conflict in her eyes, the hesitation.
"There's something I need to tell you," she says, voice barely audible. "Something I should have said downstairs."
I take her hand, trying to calm the sudden anxiety rising in my chest. "You can tell me anything."
Isabella takes a deep breath, her fingers tightening around mine. "I've never... I haven't..." She closes her eyes briefly, then meets my gaze directly. "I'm a virgin."
"You... and Sebastian never...?"
She shakes her head. "We were waiting until marriage. Or rather, my family was insistent upon it. Old money, old values." A bitter smile crosses her lips. "The Rosewood bride must be pure for her wedding night."
"And that's why you ran?" I ask softly.
"One of the main reasons," she admits. "The thought of my first time being with him, someone I didn't truly love, someone I was only marrying to please my family..." She shudders. "I couldn't bear it. I would never have forgiven myself. Or them."
My heart aches for her—for the pressure she's been under, for the choices that were never really choices at all.
"Isabella," I say gently, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "We can stop right now. No expectations, no disappointment. We can just sleep."
"No," she says firmly, surprising me with her certainty.
"That's not what I want. I'm telling you this because I want you to know that this—" she gestures between us, "—is my choice.
My first real choice about my own body, my own desires.
" Her hand comes up to cup my cheek. "I want you, Jake. I've never been more sure of anything."
The weight of her trust, her vulnerability, nearly overwhelms me. "Are you certain?"
"Completely." She leans forward, pressing her lips to mine in a kiss that erases any remaining doubt.
I ease her back onto the bed, cradling her head as it meets the pillow. My hands shake slightly as I remove my own shirt, her half-lidded eyes following my movements, drinking in every detail. When I reach for my belt buckle, her hand stops me.
"Let me," she whispers, fingers fumbling slightly with the leather strap.
I guide her gently, helping her unfasten the belt, unbutton my jeans. When she tugs them down my hips, I kick them off the rest of the way, leaving me in just my boxers. Her eyes widen slightly at the visible evidence of my desire, and a flush spreads across her cheeks.
"We'll go slow," I promise, lowering myself beside her. "And we can stop anytime. Just say the word."
She nods, then surprises me by taking my hand and placing it on her breast.
"Teach me," she says simply.
The request sends a surge of heat through me. I bend to kiss her, keeping it gentle, exploratory, as my hand caresses the soft weight of her breast. When my thumb brushes across her nipple, she gasps into my mouth, arching into the touch.
I trail kisses down her throat, across her collarbone, taking my time, learning the landscape of her body. When my mouth replaces my hand on her breast, she bites her lip to stifle a moan, her fingers threading through my hair.
"Is this okay?" I murmur against her skin.
"More than okay," she breathes.
Encouraged, I continue my path downward, pausing to press kisses to the soft curve of her stomach, the jut of her hipbone. When I settle between her thighs again, I glance up, seeking final permission.
She nods, eyes heavy-lidded with desire.
I start slowly, pressing gentle kisses to her inner thighs, gradually working my way inward. When I finally taste her, her hips lift off the bed in surprise and pleasure. I place a steadying hand on her stomach, holding her in place as I explore her with my tongue.
Isabella's hands fly to her mouth, stifling the sounds she's making. I glance up to see her eyes squeezed shut, both palms pressed against her lips. The sight sends a fresh wave of desire through me—her trying so desperately to be quiet, to not wake my daughters down the hall.
I double my efforts, circling her most sensitive spot with my tongue before drawing it between my lips. Her thighs tremble on either side of my head, her breathing growing more ragged by the second. When I slide a finger inside her, she gasps against her hands, her body clenching around it.
"Okay?" I whisper.
She nods, hips moving against my hand as I establish a rhythm, adding a second finger when her body relaxes enough to accept it. The combination of my mouth and hand soon has her writhing beneath me, her efforts to stay quiet growing more desperate as she approaches the edge.
I curl my fingers, finding the spot that makes her back arch off the bed, and focus my attention there. Her free hand grips my hair almost painfully, holding me exactly where she needs me. The sharp tug sends a jolt of pleasure-pain through me, my hard cock straining against my boxers.
When she comes, it's with a muffled cry against her palm, her body pulsing around my fingers, thighs clamping around my head. I work her through it gently, easing off as the aftershocks subside.
"Jake," she gasps when she can speak again. "That was... I never knew..."
I press a final kiss to her inner thigh before moving up to lie beside her. Her face is flushed, eyes bright, hair a tangled mess against my pillow. She's never looked more beautiful.
"We can stop here," I tell her, meaning it despite the almost painful state of my arousal. "That can be enough for tonight."
She reaches for me, pulling me down for a kiss. When she tastes herself on my lips, she makes a small sound of surprise that quickly turns to renewed desire.
"I want more," she whispers against my mouth. "I want all of you."
I reach for the nightstand drawer, fumbling for the box of condoms I keep there—remnants of an optimism I'd long since abandoned.
"Let me help," Isabella says, taking the packet from my trembling fingers. She opens it, then looks at me with a mixture of determination and vulnerability. "Show me how."
I guide her hands as she rolls the condom onto me, her touch sending sparks of pleasure up my spine. When she's finished, I ease her back onto the pillows, positioning myself above her.
"This might hurt," I warn, brushing hair from her face. "We'll go slow, and you tell me if you need to stop."
She nods, wrapping her arms around my neck, drawing me down for another kiss. As our lips meet, I position myself at her entrance, slowly pressing forward. The heat of her tight pussy nearly undoes me immediately, and I have to pause, fighting for control.
Isabella tenses at the first thrust. I freeze, giving her time to adjust.
"Breathe," I whisper, pressing kisses to her eyelids, her cheeks, the corner of her mouth. "Just breathe."
She exhales shakily, then nods. "Keep going."
I push forward another inch, watching her face for signs of discomfort. When I meet resistance, I pause again. "This is the part that might hurt," I tell her. "Ready?"