Page 66 of My Infatuation with Isabella

“No.” He grips the belt of my bathrobe and yanks me back to him. “I’m very...verysober.”

His gaze drops, and he watches as his hand slowly tugs the end of the belt to undo the knot. I’m like a gift he’s taking pleasure in unwrapping.

The knot comes undone, and my robe falls open. I’m naked underneath, so I quickly grab both sides to keep myself covered. “You need to leave,” I say.

“No, what Ineed...is right here in this room.”

I take another step back and a slight jolt of panic runs through me when I feel the wall behind me. I have no more space to move and that’s confirmed when he closes the gap between us and sandwiches me between him and the wall. Every rock-solid inch of him presses against me. A small moan escapes when I feel the hard ridge of his cock. The heat radiating from his body engulfs me, making me feel a little light-headed.

I press both hands against his chest to keep him at a distance. It’s a very small distance, but I’m trying. “Dylan...I’ve been celibate for a while now because I’m waiting for?”

“Mr. Right?” He sneers. “What makes you think I give a fuck about you saving yourself for another guy?” His tone is acerbic, letting me know just how close to the surface his anger lies. “You’re mine. That’s how it was always supposed to be.”

With just those few words, my animosity spills over, and now I’m as angry as he is. They say time heals all wounds, but in our case, time has only made us more resentful of each other.

“Those are big claims, De Lorenzo, especially from a man who was never really mine. You can keep your bold declarations. I’m saving myself for a man who loves me this time.”

“I do love you,” he whispers hoarsely, his breath warm on my lips. “So much...I just hate you more.”

That was a declaration I was not prepared for, and it knocks the wind out of me. I don’t know what to think, what to feel, how to react. I’m shocked and confused. I’m hurt and flustered. But mostly, I’m so tired of the mixed messages.

“Leave,” I say unsteadily.

“No.” He threads his fingers into my hair and pulls my head back for me to look up at him. Amusement dances in his eyes because he knows my body, and he knows that the slight tremor he’s feeling is silent anticipation. He lightly runs his thumb over my lips, moistening them, readying them. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

“I’ll scream.”

A devilish grin curves on his lips. “I want you to.”

His mouth crashes down on mine, and my resistance evaporates that very second. One kiss and two years of celibacy go up in flames. The heat between us disintegrates our past, and the hurt we’ve caused each other turns to ashes. I forget about the pain and lose myself in his burning need for me. I don’t fight. I don’t protest. His tongue pushes past my lips into my mouth and I let him kiss me. His hand slides down, palming my breasts, and I let him touch me. He rips the material from my hands and my robe falls open. His breaths become labored as he takes in the sight of me. The wanton hunger in his eyes sets my skin on fire as they travel over every inch of me.

He takes a step back, sliding both hands into his hair. “Fuck me,” he mutters.

He turns away from me, exhaling slow, heavy breaths as if he’s struggling to stay in control. His hands are shaking when he turns to face me again, and I watch the rhythmic way he clenches and unclenches his fists. “I have never...and I meannever...been this turned on before.”

“Show me.”

He’s on me the next second, stripping my robe off before he slams me against the wall. Heated skin covers my bare breasts. Harsh breaths fan my face when his mouth takes possession of mine. He lifts my leg with one hand, the other impatiently undoing his belt. I hear the slight cling of his metal buckle, then the hasty whisper of his zipper sliding down. A loud gasp bursts out of me when I feel the pressure of his tip already penetrating my entrance. I’m slick, so wet for him, but nowhere near ready.

“Dylan...”

My body stiffens, outright rejecting the thickness trying to fill me. I recoil, trying to shift my hips away. It’s been two years. I need more time to adjust, to prepare for such an intrusion, but this motherfucker does not care. Firm hands grip my hips, pinning me to the wall until I stop squirming, and then he pushes in deeper.

The first thrust stretches my skin, and I bite my lip trying to absorb the sensations that come with it. The pain. The pleasure. Staggered breaths hot and heavy on my skin – he’s driven solely by his impatience.

My nails sink into his shoulder, and he hisses when I drag them down the rigid muscles of his back. I just want to transfer some of my discomfort to him, but he’s undeterred. I forgot how much damage that girth could inflict, and I wish the reminder were a tad gentler. This guy has no regard for the size of his dick, none whatsoever. The force he uses to shove himself deeper inside me – yeah, that kind of ferocity should be reserved for small dick guys.

The feeling of having him inside me again is too much because when he lifts my other leg off the ground and his pelvis slams against me, the breath is squeezed out of me in a choked gasp.

“Dylan...” I cry out.

He’s not interested in complaints or objections and shuts me up by kissing me. It’s brutal, ravenous, matching the urgency of every thrust. He reclaims my mouth and body at the same time. He told me earlier that he was going to take back every part of me that’s supposed to be his. And he does. He kisses me as if he’s trying to drain every drop of succulence from my mouth, as if he’s trying to make sure no other man will ever know the true taste of me. He utterly ravages me, but it’s not enough. I still beg for more.

“Fuck me harder,” I whisper.

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