by Shandi Boyes
Mine.
I drive into her on repeat. The urge to have her shouting my name is responsible for my brutal speed. As the swing rocks back and forth, the hinges keeping everything in place squeak, and Isabelle tightens around me. She always gets super tight just before she comes, and knowing how close she is to climax has me fucking her even harder.
I pump and rock, pump and rock until she’s on the brink of orgasm, then I simmer it down a notch. I’m not teasing her as I have many times since we’ve been together. I want her to see how beautiful she looks when she comes, which means I need to adjust our position so she can see the mirror on the sidewall.
Watching me claim her in the frosty window of my cabin months ago was the incentive behind having a large mirror installed in this room. Other than the swing and the mirror, the space is bare. The furniture was removed to ensure not a single thing impeded the view of us fucking.
The quiver of Isabelle’s pulse is felt along my cock when she moans, “Oh, god. I can’t. It’s too much. Your body. Your cock. Ugh…”
She isn’t frustrated because I have her methodically bound to me. It’s because even if she weren’t tied to a sex swing, she’d still be at my complete mercy. She’s captivated by me, aware her actions are no longer her own. She hates feeling like a possession but is incapable of denying her body’s every want and desire. She is mine as much as I am hers, and the intimate way our bodies are conjoined is undeniable proof of this.
“Watch my cock, Isabelle. See the control you have over me.”
The vein in her neck thrums when she notices the frantic throb of the one feeding my cock. Just her watching me with lust-filled eyes has cum rocketing out of my knob. It shoots up her stomach, coating her lush tits that are swollen with need.
As my hand moves to smear my still-warm cum over her chest, I use the other to thrust the swing forward, reentering her with a cock hard enough it gives no indication it just reached its release.
Isabelle’s pleasurable moans echo throughout the almost barren room. She loves the hold she has over me, and how she’s the only woman who has ever unearthed the real Isaac Holt. If it were anyone but her laying before me, I would have left by now, leaving Catherine with the task of kicking them out.
My life is a stark contradiction now.
I didn’t just lift my game for Isabelle. I did it for Callie as well. They need me at my prime and have me more ruthless than I’ve ever been. My competitors are aware there’s no stone I won’t turn to keep both Isabelle and Callie safe. It has them the most feared they’ve ever been. My reputation has never been more impressive.
Isabella and Callie will never see that side of me, though. They’ll forever see a man who will go to the ends of the earth to keep them safe, one who’d become a killer before he’d ever let anyone hurt them.
I just hope I never have to turn the knife on myself to keep my promise.
3
Isaac
The best protection a woman
can have is courage.
* * *
“Are you sure it was him?” When I slouch deeper into my office chair, it gives out a squeak. “Perhaps it was someone who looks like him? Vladimir has many sons.”
Parker sighs, unappreciative of my underhanded comment that perhaps his eyesight isn’t as good as it once was. He has to understand my apprehension. Enrique, Isabelle’s brother who kidnapped and held her at ransom six months ago, was given a one-way ticket to Moscow. He should not be in Vegas, much less leaving postcards on windshields for Isabelle.
Frustration highlights my tone when I say, “I need assurance it’s him before I bring Henry in.”
“Why do you need to bring the Gottles in? I have everything under wraps.” Parker sounds more peeved now than he did when I hinted at his failing eyesight. “Furthermore, Enrique isn’t a threat to Isabelle—”
“Everyone is a threat to Isabelle!” I interrupt, my voice rising enough I may wake Isabelle who is sleeping two doors up. “Even herself.”
After fucking her as I wish I could have against my car yesterday, I fed her, then placed her into bed. Her shift started at six o’clock yesterday morning, so our marathon fuck zapped the last of her energy.
Busy commotion stops sounding through the line when Parker suggests, “Ask Isabelle for the note, then Hunter can run a handwriting analysis on it with a sample I have here. It will prove if the note was from Enrique or not.”
Although his suggestion has merit, I’m apprehensive to do that. Isabelle has kept knowledge of the note’s existence from me, and I want to know why without demanding a straight-up explanation for it. I’m trying to rein in the jealousy issues I have when it comes to Isabelle. As you could see from last night, my skills are lacking.
Not needing words to understand my apprehension, Parker suggests, “What about the video footage from the nightclub? Are there any clues there?”
Even though he can’t see me, I shake my head. “He kept his head down, and the car’s tags were under a business entity Hunter is still trying to unearth. We traced him through the streets of Ravenshoe, but our endeavors were lost when he reached the outskirts of Hopeton.”
“Are you worried he’s the Russian attempting a revival on your side of the country?”
My lips quirk. Usually, Parker would say ‘our’ side of the country. Clearly, he’s been my operative contact in Las Vegas for so long he’s forgotten his roots. To anyone out of my inner circle, he’s the operations manager for my clubs on the West Coast. To me, he’s the man responsible for ensuring Isabelle’s true heritage remains unknown to those with the same blood as hers.
I’m certain Col Petretti blubbered about the origin of Isabelle’s angelic face the instant he uncovered it, but Vladimir appeared disinterested in his knowledge. I can’t help but wonder if his mindset will change when he discovers who has taken up Isabelle’s guardianship. Isabelle is worthless to him, but I have ties he’d love to sink his teeth into, Henry Gottle, Sr. being the most prominent.
As I consider how to answer Parker’s question, I slide my hand into my pocket. The damp lace material bracing my fingertips eases my hesitation. I’ve never had a fascination with collecting panties before. The ones left in my ‘fuck pad’ weren’t gathered and stored by me. The women I slept with long before I realized the hollowness I was attempting to fill couldn’t be done between the sheets left them.
I needed a reason to breathe. Isabelle is that reason, and she’s solely to blame for my constant need to collect her panties.
My apartment on Hyde was gutted over six months ago. It’s been refurnished, re-leased, and had its security reinstalled. Since I have no reason to visit the place Isabelle should have never been a part of, there’s no need for me to worry about the FBI tagging onto my security systems.
I never thought I’d say this, but I miss Alex being shrouded by my shadow. Not because seeing him waste hours of his day was a highlight of mine, but because if I were still under the FBI’s scrutiny, perhaps they would have captured the face of the man who placed the message on Isabelle’s assigned town car last week. Then, I wouldn’t be left double-guessing every theory.
Remembering Alex and his incessant need to do anything Regan asks, a brilliant idea pops into my head. I sit straight in my chair, my mood returning to what it was when Isabelle screamed my name in the midst of ecstasy last night.
“Have Hunter forward me the video footage from my club. He has access to the best facial recognition system money can buy, but I know of one that’s so invaluable, it doesn’t have a price tag attached to it.”
I hear Parker adjust his position before he murmurs, “All right.”
He sounds hesitant but knows best not to deny any command I make. He’s so eager to meet my demand, he disconnects our call without issuing a farewell. It’s for the best. The first syllable had only just left his mouth when my receptiveness of Isabelle activated.
I’ve always been able to sense her before seeing her. It’s a knack I’ve had since the
day she ran into me at the airport, and one of the reasons I bumped her ticket to business class when I noticed what town she was flying to. I needed to see if it was a one-off rarity or something I could hone and strengthen. The fact I felt her nearness a mere second before she stumbled over her feet was a good indication it wasn’t a once-off. It’s grown even more palpable since then.
The circumstances of how we met are quite comical when you think about it. I own a fleet of private aircraft. I’ve not flown commercially in over six years, but with Regan’s sister, Raquel, going into labor six weeks early, I requested my pilot, Scout, to take them back to Texas.
I could have had another aircraft from my fleet come to collect me, but with it adding a six-hour delay to my travel plans, I went the commercial route instead. Along with asking Isabelle to become my wife, that was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.
After pushing back from my desk, ensuring there’s enough room for Isabelle to slot between it and my lap, I raise my eyes to the door. Isabelle has her shoulder propped against the doorjamb. She’s wearing one of the shirts I usually go running in. It swims on her, but for what it lacks in curve-hugging capabilities, it makes up for in length. It’s short enough inches upon inches of her luscious thighs are exposed, making me reasonably confident she isn’t wearing panties. Her hair is a mess from both the sex swing and sleep, and her face is free of makeup, yet she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
I jerk up my chin, demanding her to my side with no words spoken. My cock thickens when she immediately jumps to my command. Isabelle is a strong, powerful woman until she’s under my control. Here, she’s my soon-to-be wife, my lover, and my best friend. She completes me in a way I never comprehended but crave more than anything. I’m an extremely wealthy man, but I would give away every penny I have if it were the only way I could keep her in my life.
Could you imagine having a love so strong, you wouldn’t hesitate to give everything away to keep it? Isabelle stood by my side while ugly truth after ugly truth was unearthed about my life, yet she still looked at me with as much love and devotion as her eyes are holding now. Even believing I sided with the devil she once called her father didn’t dampen the intensity her eyes hold anytime they lock with mine. She trusted I’d never betray her, and every day since, I’ve strived to do precisely that.
A growl rumbles in my chest when Isabelle sidesteps the hand I’m holding out in offering, choosing instead to prop her backside on my desk. It isn’t all bad. Confirmation that she isn’t wearing any panties has occurred, and my cock is braced against my zipper, aware it’s moments away from being surrounded by her heat again—the first of many times today.
My jaw tightens when she murmurs, “I have a confession to make, and I’m reasonably sure you won’t like it, so I think it’s best I sit here.” Her thighs tremble, her body incapable of denying how horny it gets when I’m being a dominant, aggressive asshole. “Let me finish before you get all worked up. It might not be as bad as you’re thinking.”
“When it comes to you, Isabelle, every scenario is bad.” Her lips curve into a smile instead of dropping into a frown. If it were anyone but her, I’d call her a foolish bastard. “Does your confession involve anyone touching you in any meaning of the word? A handshake, a kiss, a sneaky cuddle when a nightmare clings to your skin.”
I didn’t mean to say my comment as aggressively as I did, but I just can’t help it. Even knowing Hugo is getting married this month hasn’t lowered my anger about the kiss he shared with Isabelle on New Year’s Eve. I know why he did it and understand his reasoning, but not a day has gone by that I haven’t watched the surveillance footage of their kiss, seeking any signs their closeness is more than friendship based.
Isabelle proved it without a doubt when Hugo returned to Ravenshoe months ago at my request, but there’s a snippet of hesitation in my mind. It probably has more to do with the fact Hugo and his family are moving to Ravenshoe next month than an inability to trust. If I can trust Hugo with my life, why wouldn’t I trust him with my soon-to-be wife?
I guess referral guilt buckles even the most assertive men’s knees. I’m keeping secrets, so until I’m willing to share them, I can’t expect others to be upfront.
Thankfully, Isabelle takes my somewhat frustrating personality in her stride. After cupping my cheeks and lowering her forehead to mine, she whispers, “It’s just you and me, Isaac. Together forever. There will never be anyone else.”
The coolness of the band wrapped around her ring finger adds to the assurance of her words, much less the lowering of her lips to mine. She kisses me like she’s starved of my taste as if we don’t kiss like this every night before we go to sleep and every morning when we wake.
Once she’s resuscitated the air in my lungs as only she can, she inches back. She doesn’t go far, just enough I can see the honesty in her eyes when she confesses, “Enrique reached out to me last week.” She feels my shoulders bunch but continues talking before she loses the chance. “I didn’t tell you about it as I wanted solid proof it was him before pestering you with it. Ryan helped me achieve that yesterday. The handwriting on the postcard was confirmed as a match to the paperwork Enrique filled in when he gave a statement to Ryan last year.”
The quiver of my jaw is heard in my words. “You showed Ryan Enrique’s note before me?”
“You know about his note? How?” She stills as reality dawns. “You’re watching me.” She huffs before folding her arms under her chest, hoisting her fantastic tits higher. “I should have known. You’re always watching me.”
Her eye roll stops halfway when I mutter, “Because it’s my job to protect you, Isabelle. Nothing is below me when it comes to keeping you safe.”
“I don’t need protection from Enrique, Isaac. He’s my brother.” Before I can retaliate that he also kidnapped, drugged, and held her against her will, she pushes her finger to my lips, stopping me. “You evoked your last favor with Henry to help Enrique. You wouldn’t have done that unless you thought he was a good person, so why aren’t you trusting your instincts? They’ve never led you astray before, Isaac. They won’t this time either.”
Although frustrated, she hands me the postcard I saw her grab off the windshield of one of my town cars last week when she exited my nightclub. It’s a basic message handwritten in a foreign language.
“What does it say?”
Isabelle appears more frustrated now than she was when she discovered I track her every move on the many cameras I have set up around Ravenshoe. I’ve added even more the past six months to ensure the routes to Callie’s preschool are under constant surveillance.
With her annoyance gone and her grin smug, Isabelle replies, “He is your protector. He is a good man.”
My heart rate climbs. “That’s what he said to you before he was detained by Henry’s men, wasn’t it?” I sound confused. Rightfully so. Isabelle’s Russian is poor, but after some pushing, she deciphered every word Enrique spoke to her the morning after her court hearing.
Not even a second later, it’s as if a bolt of lightning passes through my weary brain. Isabelle’s eyes track me as I race across the room, seeking the sale paperwork Callie arrived with.
The Popov entity is one of the most ruthless mob strongholds I’ve come across the past seven years, but everything, including the sale of children with the monarch’s blood is documented down to the wire. Vladimir is either a stupid man or he’s so confident he’ll never face prosecution, he doesn’t yield to the same precautions as those in his industry.
My heart beats double time when I find the document I’m after. It’s the price tag of the little bunny Callie clutched every night her first week here. Although it’s a matted mess no amount of laundering will fix, she loves it with every fiber of her being. Now I understand why.
“Look.” Isabelle gasps when I spin the price tag around to show her the handwritten inscription on the back. “On vash zaschitnik. On khoroshiy chelovek.”
&n
bsp; “He is your protector. He is a good man.” She peers up at me with her big chocolate eyes out in full force. “I told you Enrique was a good man. Second only to you, his enigmatic personality is horrendously misunderstood. He’s neither a monster nor a myth. He’s merely a man. A brilliant one. Just like you.”
Accepting praise isn’t a strong point of mine in general, but it’s even harder when it’s coming from Isabelle.
“Enrique trusts you, Isaac. Now you need to do the same.” She nudges her head to the screen of my laptop displaying Parker forwarded the footage I requested. It shows Enrique slipping into the back of a town car that’s reflecting the profile of an unknown blonde.
In shock, my eyes lock with Isabelle’s. “You’re not the least bit interested in discovering who she is?”
I take a step back when she says, “I already know who she is.”
A ghost of a smile cracks onto her lips. She’s loving my stumped composure. If I weren’t seeking questions to answers only she appears capable of giving, I’d give in to the temptation gripping every inch of me. I’ve always loved Isabelle’s lips, but when they’re carved into a smile, they make me a mere boy instead of a man.
She hits me with a wicked wink. “I’m not the daft wallflower you seem to think I am, Isaac.”
Teasingly, she rakes her nails across my torso before making her way to my laptop. After a few taps on the keyboard, she brings up an email dated an hour before she arrived home last night. It’s from Alex Rogers, her ex-supervisor.
“You spoke with Alex?” The shock in my voice reverberates through Isabelle.
She screws up her nose, somewhat baffled. “Not exactly. I called Regan. It’s practically the same thing.”
When I throw my head back and laugh, she squirms. I’m still cautious that the FBI’s investigation into me only ceased because of Regan. Alex is almost as alpha as me, but Regan is a perfect match. Since there can only be one hierarchy per relationship, you can guess who my money is on. Regan. So did Alex stop investigating me because he believes my hands are truly clean? Or was he willing to do anything to be a part of Regan’s life? My thoughts border precariously between both theories.