Distrust Alexander Sullivan?
Yes, she had never fully trusted him.
He wasn't a good man, she knew that.
Yet she was absolutely certain of one thing: he would not harm her.
A man whose eyes were always on her. A man who would give her anything she asked for. A man who, in bed, if she said no, would endure his own raging desire, cover her up, and leave. A man who, if she demanded it, would exhaust every method to satisfy her.
She believed he truly loved her and would not hurt her.
But that photo, the one Julian Sullivan had sent her, would surely reveal something.
When that happened, her relationship with Alexander would change, wouldn't it?
They returned home. He urged her to take a shower. After she finished, he came over, having showered in another bathroom. He sat on the bed holding a hairdryer, waiting. Seeing her come out, he patted the spot beside him. "Come here."
Isabella Roscente walked over and sat down, turning her back to him.
He began to dry her hair.
The hairdryer hummed. His fingers gently moved through her long hair.
Daniel Grant. She rarely thought about him anymore. When she was with Daniel, her heart had been full of joy, hoping for a simple, stable life with him. Now, with Alexander, she found herself harboring a similar hope.
Perhaps she wasn't as emotionally detached from him as she had imagined.
Her hair gradually dried completely.
Alexander put away the hairdryer, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her forehead. "Sleep, Isabella."
Isabella grabbed his arm. "I want to."
She stated it simply and directly. She always asked him for things this way, just like when she said she wanted to reopen the café.
Assertive. As if it were her right.
Because she knew he would give her anything she wanted.
Alexander reached out and tucked the hair beside her cheek behind her ear, smiling. "Didn't you say you were tired?"
"Not anymore."
Alexander's lips curved. "Okay." He leaned in and kissed her lips. First, light pecks, his tongue tracing the lovely shape of her mouth. Then his tongue delved into her mouth, tangling with hers, greedily drinking her in.
Her bathrobe fell away easily. She was like a peeled egg, flawless, smooth, and pale.
He pushed her onto the bed. His kisses trailed down her neck. His large hands kneaded her breasts. He lowered his head and took one peaked nipple into his mouth.
"Mmm..." She held his head, wanting him to take more.
How could she tell him that just over an hour ago, with Julian, she hadn't had enough?
While showering, she had scooped out the semen Julian had shot inside her. Now, she was about to receive another man's.
Strangely, despite this depraved and absurd behavior, she felt little moral burden. Not towards Julian, nor towards Alexander.
Her life was already a mess. She was a victim too, wasn't she?
"Ah, ha..." The man had already parted her legs and was tending to her secret place. His tongue prodded. His lips sucked. He repeatedly teased the little pearl at the front. His fingers thrust into her flower sheath, stirring up a flood of nectar, which he then diligently licked clean.
He had tasted her countless times. He was skilled, knowing exactly how to make her desire bloom and her juices flow.
Her body felt so empty it was unbearable. She reached for him. "Alexander, mmm, enough... I want... inside..."
The man's handsome face was also filled with desire. He rose up, lifted one of her legs, and was about to enter her when Isabella, for some reason, pulled at him again. "Alexander—"
His eyes questioned her.
Isabella sat up. Her hand closed around his thick, sturdy cock. "I want to try tasting it today."
He went down on her often, almost every time they made love, he would bury his face between her legs, licking and sucking tirelessly. She, however, rarely reciprocated. She hadn't had the inclination, and he never forced her.
But this was something no man would dislike.
She lowered her head, opened her mouth, and took the almost duck-egg-sized glans into her mouth. She held it, her soft tongue gently soothing and sucking.
"Oh—" The man groaned in pleasure, his face redder than before. His originally deep eyes grew misty. He breathed heavily.
Her actively giving him a blowjob—from the beginning until now, this seemed to be the first time. For him, it wasn't just physical pleasure. It felt like an emotional surrender. Was she finally starting to care for him?
Isabella licked and sucked the head for a while, then lowered her head further, taking more of him in until the tip hit her throat. Suppressing her gag reflex, she began small, simulated thrusts with her mouth.
Alexander was so turned on his scalp tingled. His cock hardened even more. He felt he was about to explode in her mouth.
He quickly tried to push her away. "Isabella—" He was afraid she would dislike swallowing.
Isabella indeed did not like it. She released him, lay back on the bed, breathing lightly, waiting for him to fuck her.
Alexander moved over her. Missionary position. His cock pressed against her entrance. He sank his hips, entering her inch by inch.
Her hungry flesh sucked at the invading member. Her long, pale legs wrapped around his strong waist. She accepted him. "Mmm, ah..." The thick, long blade pushed deeper and deeper, as if to impale her. "So hard, so big..."
The man's lips curved. He kissed her lips. "You made it extra hard, extra big today with your mouth."
"Too deep—" The head was already touching her cervix, but a third of his length remained outside. She felt stretched to the limit. She pushed against his chest. "No more, it's so full..."
Alexander didn't brutally push further. Instead, he began gentle, slow thrusts. As he fucked her, he kissed her face, her neck, her collarbone. Only when she was dripping wet and unbearably itchy inside, begging him to go faster and deeper, did he spread her legs wider and pile-drive himself into her, burying his entire length, pulling out, plunging in, out, in...
She climaxed multiple times. Alexander came three times before their lovemaking ended.
After carrying her to the bathroom to clean up, they returned to bed, lying facing each other. Alexander saw she still hadn't closed her eyes to rest. He touched her face. "Still not sleepy? Why aren't you sleeping?"
"Alexander."
"Hmm?"
"Is there anything else you're hiding from me?"
His hand stilled. "Why do you ask? Of course not."
"Really?"
"Mmm, I'm not hiding anything from you." He ruffled her hair. "Sleep."
"Mmm." She seemed reassured and closed her eyes.
Alexander turned off the bedside lamp. Once his eyes adjusted to the dark, by the faint moonlight from the window, he stared at her sleeping face. His gaze was complex—filled with resolve, determination, but also a flicker of trepidation and unease.