Page 43 of Filthy Elites

“Oh no. There’s no do-it-yourself here, honey.”

I sit up and push him back. In his debilitated state, he collapses on the mattress, and I can easily straddle him.

His eyebrows arch. “What is this? Are you going to force me? Is that it?”

I wince at his words and lose my bravado.

“No. I’d never do that.” I begin to slide off him, but he stops me.

“Don’t you dare.” His eyes seem to burn.

I hold his stare and silently lower his boxers. I play with his length first before guiding it to my entrance. I’m so wet that he slides in effortlessly. His fingers dig into my hips as I begin to move, slowly at first. But I can’t keep up this snail’s pace when I was already on the verge of orgasming. I brace my palms against his chest and ride him hard.

“Say my name,” he grits out, barely able to utter those words.

“Oh my God, Jason. Yes, yes,yes!”

“Fuck, Isabelle,” he groans, pumping his hips up and down as he spills his seed inside of me.

My legs are shaking, and I can barely catch my breath. This was more cardio than I should have done while recovering from a cold. I try to get off Jason, but he keeps me in place.

“Don’t go yet.”

“The longer we stay in this position, the messier it will get.”

“I don’t care.” He closes his eyes. “I like that my jizz is all over your pussy.”

“I’m sure you do.”

He opens one eye. “You don’t mind that we haven’t used protection?”

My heart constricts painfully. I drop my gaze to the hollow of his throat. “I should, but I don’t.”

“You’re not trying to trap me with a child, are you?”

Pain flares in my chest, and this time, I do get off him.

“Hey, I was joking.” He leans on his elbow.

I keep walking until I’m in his bathroom with the door closed. Even when he doesn’t mean to, he manages to find my weak spots.

ChapterNineteen

Nicola/Isabelle

It takesme a while to recover from the post-sex conversation with Jason. That subject isn’t something I let myself dwell on, like, ever. I use his shower, not caring about the significance of it when I’m stuck in my own personal hell.

I smell like him now, and that makes me feel funny—kind of giddy. Butterflies are flying freely in my belly. I shake my head. No. I’m not catching feelings for Jason. The only thing he deserves from me is animosity.

When I return to his room, he’s sleeping on his stomach. One of his arms is up, hiding part of his face. He’s still naked, as far as I can tell. The sheets are covering his ass. My gaze zeroes in on the painkillers on his nightstand. I assume he finally took some.

I’m developing a headache, and I feel a little woozy. I touch my forehead, finding it warm. Maybe I’m getting a fever again.

I walk around the bed and grab a couple of pills from the bottle, choosing to swallow them dry because Jason drank all the water in the glass. He sighs, and I stare at him for a moment. He looks like an angel when he’s not doing horrible things and saying hateful words. My heart does a backflip.

Shit. I need to get the hell out of here. I bend over to grab my bag and violin case.

“Where are you going?” he asks in a sleepy voice.

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