Before, when she seduced him, she would indulge his desires.
For example, after Alexander Sullivan left for work, she would let him slip into her bed and hold her for an afternoon nap. Sometimes they actually slept, other times they had sex.
There was also that night when Alexander didn't come home, and they spent most of it tangled together in passion.
She used the excuse that she was helpless, that she had no other way to see her son, to allow herself and him to sink into the sea of desire, dragging Julian Sullivan down with her.
Now that he was acting this way, was it karma coming full circle?
She twisted her body, resisting him. Julian simply picked her up and carried her towards the small break room inside the shop.
Pressing her down, he made her lean over the back of the couch. He pushed up her uniform skirt and pulled down her black tights along with her panties. Her pale, tender buttocks and alluring flesh were exposed before him, a sight that made his eyes burn, his heart race, and his blood run hot.
Restrained, Isabella Roscente kept shouting, trying to stop him. "Julian Sullivan, let me go! Do you hear me? Don't do this to me! No!—"
"You're wet," Julian murmured, leaning close behind her.
Isabella: "I—"
She didn't know how to defend herself.
Whether in the past or now, she had never disliked him. She was the one who had tainted him. She understood his grievances and anger. Seeing the sorrow and loneliness in his eyes stirred feelings of pity and reluctance in her heart.
She couldn't bring herself to dislike him.
Even her refusal, even shouting "Julian Sullivan, you can't do this to me!" felt insincere.
Why shouldn't he be able to do this to you?
How did you treat him back then?
Her arm, twisted by him, ached sharply. Tears streamed down her face. She could pretend they were tears of pain, tears of sadness from being forced into sex—but that wasn't the truth.
He stood up, pressing close against her, leaning over her. His hard, burning member pressed against her wet entrance, rubbing against it a few times before the head pushed past her folds, plunging deep inside.
"Mmm—" Her tears weren't from sadness. They were from frustration. Why did her relationships with men have to become so twisted? What kind of woman had she become?
He thrust into her fiercely from behind, making her tears and slickness flow down continuously. He couldn't see her tears until he decided to change positions, turning her over. Only then did he see her face streaked with tears.
His heart softened instantly.
He pulled out his cock, picked her up, and sat on the couch. Holding her, he let her head rest on his shoulder, cradling her like a child. He patted her back, soothing her. "Don't cry…"
She leaned against his shoulder, sobbing for a while, then lifted her head to look at him. "You mentioned two times. Was it also you who sent me that photo half a month ago?"
Julian glanced down at their entangled position. "I'll tell you after we finish. This is too uncomfortable for me."
Isabella sniffled, looking at him. She didn't ponder for long. Lifting her hips, she guided his large cock to her entrance and slowly lowered herself onto him.
"Mmm…" "Hss…" They both let out strained moans simultaneously.
There wasn't much time. She needed to hurry.
This position allowed him to penetrate deeply. She could clench around him tightly. With her neck nestled against his, she didn't have to face him directly. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, moving up and down, panting with her mouth open. "Ha…"
"Isabella, kiss me," he demanded again.
Isabella slowly raised her head to face him. Her eyes held desire, sorrow, guilt, and conflict.
Julian watched her quietly, waiting for her kiss.
Isabella cupped his face and brought her lips to his. First, their lips met, then her tongue ventured into his mouth, tangling with his in a deep, passionate kiss.
He held her hips, helping her move up and down while he thrust upward forcefully, fucking her fiercely. He also knew time was short; they needed to finish quickly.
Their shared climax arrived swiftly. Isabella buried her face in the crook of his neck, holding him tightly as she tried to suppress the involuntary tremors and convulsions of her body. Julian cursed under his breath, "Fuck!", thrusting upward wildly several dozen times before roaring out his release.
They clung to each other.
After a moment, Julian picked her up and carried her to the break room's restroom. The restroom was tiny, with only a squat toilet. He held her as he squatted down, letting her feet barely touch the ground before slowly pulling out his cock. With the blockage removed, his semen flowed out from her, dripping into the squat toilet.
He used tissue to clean her lower body.
Then he carried her back to the break room couch.
Isabella's limbs regained some strength. She urged him, "Tell me."
What was the deal with that photo? What did it have to do with Jacob?
Julian glanced at his wristwatch. "I sent you the photo, but I don't have concrete evidence yet, so I can't tell you anything." He gripped her shoulders. "Are you going to Sanya with him? Don't go there. Find an excuse to change the location. Go to Denver. You might find something there. I'll be waiting for you."
He stood up. "I have to go now."
Before Isabella could say anything more, he had already slipped out of the break room and left.
Given the current situation, what exactly had he discovered? Or was he just making things up to have sex with her? What did he mean by showing her a photo of a child that wasn't even Jacob's?
When Alexander picked her up, he noticed she looked weary and asked why she seemed so tired. She said she had gotten tired waiting for him and had dozed off in the break room, that she was sleeping when he called.
A half-truth.
The reason she was tired was from her exertion with Julian. Right after Julian left, just as she was about to close her eyes and sleep, Alexander had called.
The man pulled her into his embrace, dotingly saying, "I should have come earlier. Lean on me and sleep for a bit. You can rest properly once we're home."
"Mm."
Connor Evans was driving in the front. The car was heading home.
She leaned against him wearily, her nose filled with the familiar scent of his cologne.
Over these past two years—whether it was the year she saw him as an enemy or the year she no longer did—he had been extremely good to her. He considered her feelings in all matters, big and small, spent money on her, tried to please her, and made her happy. From initial resistance and disgust, she had now grown accustomed to his kindness.
Perhaps it was human instinct to seek advantage and avoid harm. Her life was stable now, requiring no effort from her. She only needed to enjoy it. A selfish thought emerged from the depths of her heart: she wished everything could just stay as it was, with no further changes.
"Alexander, let's not go to Sanya. Let's go to Denver instead?" she finally suggested as the car neared home.
Alexander was taken aback, surprised. "Why there all of a sudden?"
"I heard the ice sculpture festival in Denver is really fun. I'd like to see it."
Alexander smiled. "Alright. Anywhere you want to go, I'll go with you."