Undone by the Ex-Con_A BWWM Romance

by Talia Hibbert

  Unscrewing the lid, Lizzie crossed the room slowly, basking in the relaxing sound of running water and the soothing natural soundtrack that played gently from hidden speakers. Her aching feet felt like putty against the smooth floor, and already she felt her worries slipping away—for now, at least. She’d give herself one night to relax; to forget all the bullshit she was dealing with. Mark’s twisted demands, her worries about Olu, the… the Isaac issue, could all wait until tomorrow. She was absolutely determined to relax. She would not fail.

  Taking a final sip of water, Lizzie opened the heavy door to the sauna and stepped inside, the heat hitting her like a brick wall. The hiss of water in the air told her that the sauna’s steam had just been refreshed; a fact she’d have known by the thick cloud obscuring her vision, anyway. Allowing herself to grow acclimatised to the temperature, Lizzie stood and waited for the steam to calm.

  She peered at the tiered benches around the perimeter of the room as her vision cleared, deciding where to sit—or rather, lie. Since she was alone, she’d happily spread out and hog all the space. There—she’d take the highest spot in the corner of the room, just because she liked the neatness of its angles. Her vision clearing, Lizzie moved forwards, ready to clamber up the wood-hewn benches to her right.

  But then, suddenly, she realised that the sauna wasn’t empty at all. A long, broad body lay across the lowest bench, its contours clearer now as her vision sharpened. It was a man. That much was obvious, even though a little towel was spread over his face. His shoulders were so wide, they didn’t fully fit on the bench. The rest of him wasn’t much smaller, either. She stared, oddly entranced by the golden hair covering his chest, a slim trail pointing the way to his—ah, lower body. Which was covered by another, scandalously small towel. It may hide the necessaries, but she could see far too much of his thickly muscled thighs to be decent. In fact, she almost imagined she could make out an outline of the bulge between his legs—at which point, she dragged her gaze back up to his chest. She was struck by a wave of heat as intense as it was unwelcome. Because this liquid fire wasn’t the sauna’s doing: it was desire.

  Lizzie stood as if hypnotised, her gaze skipping over his body like a pebble over smooth waters. She should leave. Right now. Salivating over a man who thought he was alone was unacceptable. She would turn around and give him his privacy. Immediately. This minute.

  She stared a moment longer at those muscular thighs, at the scrap of fabric protecting him from full exposure. Her lids lowered as indecent images rose like sauna steam in her mind.

  Wait! No! She was leaving. Now.

  Gritting her teeth, Lizzie grabbed hold of her senses and turned away, dragging a hand across her face. She was already sweating. The sauna was probably a bad idea, anyway. Dehydration was something she needed to avoid at all costs.

  Stiffening her spine, Lizzie opened the sauna door and stepped out, the main room’s air now seeming deliciously cool against her skin. She paused for a moment, her fingers wrapped around the door handle, savouring the contrast of the rooms’ warring atmospheres.

  Then, suddenly, a hand caught her forearm. A broad chest was pressed against her back. An arm wrapped itself around her waist. She stiffened.

  And then a low, gravelly voice said, “Lizzie.”

  “Isaac,” she breathed. Because of course it was him. Of course it would be. For Christ’s sake, was she tied to this man by some invisible cosmic leash?

  But her indignation faded as the weight of his touch sank into her bones. The molten heat in her core—the heat that had risen for him—sparked, catching fire. He tightened his arm around her, dragging her close until she felt the press of his hard cock against her back. Lizzie was jolted fully into her own body, conscious of herself in a way she hadn’t been for months. This was how she felt when she danced, hitting every beat, holding every position, riding the music and tearing out her own heart.

  Connected. Grounded. Herself.

  Isaac opened his palm against the soft skin of her belly, as though he needed to feel every inch of her—and this time, the touch didn't pull her out of the moment. In fact, it dragged her under. The rasp of his calloused hand sent a snap of desire through her, as sharp as the sudden lighting of a candle. One minute, she was waiting eagerly for the spark that would push her over the edge—and the next she was burning, burning, burning.

  Conscious thought disappeared as she turned, wrapping her arms around his neck. His high cheekbones were flushed, his skin glowing, and his eyes—his eyes were like twin mirrors, reflecting her own need. And fuck, did she need. Lizzie rose up, up, up onto her toes, and she thought he’d lean down to meet her. Instead, he made a rumbling nose deep in his chest and picked her up, his hands gripping her thighs. She wrapped her legs around him and ground her bikini-covered pussy against the thick column of his erection, and he groaned. She flicked her tongue over the throbbing pulse at the base of his throat, and he swore. She rocked against him again and again, each movement catching her clit just right, making her light headed—

  “Jesus Christ, Lizzie,” he rasped. He stepped back into the sauna, bringing her with him, letting the door swing slowly shut.

  He backed up until they hit the bench, and then he sat down, letting her straddle his lap. She reached between their bodies, searching for him, but he caught both her wrists in one hand, holding them tight.

  “Lizzie,” he murmured. “Look at me.”

  She dragged her gaze up from his lap—which somehow remained covered by the little towel he wore. Then she rolled in her lips, suddenly shy.

  It had all been fine. Great, actually. But then he had to go and say her name like that—soft as a secret. And now she felt that indescribable presentness fading, felt the worries and quibbles of her conscious mind popping up to take over.

  He put his fingers to her chin, pushing until she was forced to look up fully, to meet his gaze. And the gentleness she found there made things even worse.

  “Don’t,” she said. “Just—let’s just—”

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to do,” he interrupted, “but I like it. I just need one thing. Yeah?”

  She swallowed. “What?”

  “Look at me.” He slid his fingers from her chin along her jawline, cupping her cheek. “Say my name.”

  “I…" Suddenly, she felt self-conscious. She was barely-dressed. Her hair wasn't even done, for Christ's sake! She'd let it down in the shower earlier, and now it hung between her shoulder-blades, still dripping. She probably looked like a wet dog.

  He smiled slightly, making her foolish heart leap, and when he spoke again, his voice was rich with amusement. “I know you were looking at me before.”

  “Oh.” She felt herself flush. “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t know it was you. I mean, I didn’t realise that anyone was in here—”

  “It’s okay,” he whispered. His free hand came to rest against her hip, holding her as though she belonged to him. The touch, small as it was, had her shifting in his lap again, the ache between her legs reignited. And he gritted his teeth and thrust up to meet her, as though he couldn’t help himself.

  There. That was what she wanted.

  Lizzie did it again, settling into a languid rhythm. She rolled her hips, riding his thick cock through the barriers between them, holding his gaze since he wanted it so fucking badly—why not? She’d give him what he needed, and he’d do the same. An exchange. Fair enough. So she stared into his eyes as she chased her pleasure, using only her thigh muscles, since he still held her wrists in one hand. Didn’t matter; she was strong enough to keep this up all night.

  Usually, he was impossible to read—he might as well be made of stone—but all of sudden she could see his every emotion. And there were many. So many. His harsh features were raw, animalistic, a twist of passion and need that spurred her on just as much as the pressure of his cock against her clit. But soon, that dull, rough friction wouldn’t be enough. Soon, she’d need more. She wanted to know that he would give
it.

  “I'm sorry," she panted, the steaming air around them stealing her breath. "About yesterday."

  He replied through gritted teeth. “You want me?”

  “I think I’m making that obvious.”

  But he shook his head. His hand moved to the mass of her hair, and he wrapped its length around his fist, pulling her head back slightly. "Pretty," he murmured, almost to himself. "So pretty." He meant her hair, she realised with a jolt. He liked her hair. Then he leaned forward, and his lips brushed against her ear as he repeated, “You want me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Sure?”

  “Isaac. I'm not using you.” It should've been a lie, but in that moment, it was the truest thing she could say.

  He paused. And then, in the space of a second, she felt the air shift, as though something vital had just clicked into place.

  He let go of her wrists and wrapped an arm around her waist, lowering her down on the long, wood bench. And then she watched with a slight frown as he stood, gazing down at her with an expression that might have seemed like anger, if she didn’t know better.

  This was how he looked when he wanted her—really wanted her. With a flick of his hand, he pushed away the towel that hung low on his lean hips. It fell to the floor, landing in a heap around his feet. And Lizzie was left to stare with satisfaction at the swollen column of his cock. It curved proudly up towards his tight abs, the head already shining with pre-cum. She hadn't let herself enjoy the sight yesterday, but today... Today, she'd bask in it.

  When he wrapped his fist around himself, stroking lazily, she thought she might bloody pass out.

  “You looked at me,” he said coming to kneel by the side of the bench. “I want to look at you.”

  She stiffened, waiting for the familiar tightening in her chest, the tempest of anxiety in her gut that always came with exposure, with scrutiny, with the act of being consumed.

  But it didn’t come. She felt nothing but frantic desire, desperate need at the sight of him on his knees, looking over her like she was dessert.

  He studied every inch of her, so slow and methodical that she could almost follow the path his eyes took. First, adorably, he looked at her face. And then he bent forward and kissed her cheek, her brow, her jaw.

  “Tiny ears,” he said, before biting gently down on one lobe.

  “I know. Everyone says that.”

  “Never—”

  “You never saw ears so small, yes, I know.” She let out a strangled laugh. She was on the edge of desperation and he was going on about her bloody ears. “Everyone says that.”

  He chuckled. But then humour faded as he pulled back and continued his exploration, tracing his gaze down to her chest. Still stroking himself slowly, he reached forward and tucked a finger beneath one of the cups of her bikini. His fingertip brushed against the stiff peak of her nipple, and she gasped. Isaac withdrew his finger, looking up at her face. “No?” He asked.

  “Yes,” she told him, biting her lip. Arching up beneath his hovering hand, straining for more. “Yes.”

  The corner of his mouth kicked up in a smirk so deliciously arrogant, she didn’t know if she wanted to smack him or kiss him. But then he hooked his finger beneath her bikini again and tugged the cup right down, exposing her breast, just like that. And now all she wanted was more of his touch, all of it, everything he had to give.

  As if he could hear her thoughts, he pushed away the other side of her bikini top, leaving her completely uncovered. He swirled his thumb around her right nipple, his touch deliciously rough. “Tell me,” he said gruffly, and for once she had no idea what he meant—until he bent his head and captured her other nipple, sucking it deep into his mouth, his hot tongue caressing her skin with each pull.

  “That,” she gasped, writhing helplessly beneath him. “Like that. Fuck—”

  He raised his head, setting her nipple free with a wet pop, and Lizzie almost screamed in frustration. But all he said was, “I still can't believe you swear.”

  “Of course I fucking swear,” she huffed. Then she grabbed the back of his head and pushed it down towards her breasts again. She heard a snatch of his chuckle before he returned to duty, torturing her sensitive nipple, then drawing as much of her into his mouth as he could, the sweet pressure driving her need ever-higher.

  Her head curiously light and simultaneously heavy, Lizzie bent her knees, placing the soles of her feet against the hot wood. She reached down with one hand, shoved her bikini bottoms aside, and slid a finger along the wet satin of her slit, adding to the delicious lust that Isaac’s lips and tongue ignited. With a sigh, she brushed her clit lightly, so lightly—

  Isaac rose up again, but this time he looked down her body, watching as she touched herself. And then, after a moment, his hand slid from her breast, over her belly, to ties that held her bikini bottoms together. He undid them with a few tugs and pulled away the bright material, exposing her completely to his gaze.

  Lizzie’s fingers stuttered, then halted completely. But he shook his head. “Don’t stop,” he ordered, and when he turned to look at her, she saw nothing but lust in his eyes. Breathless, Lizzie nodded. She stroked delicate circles around her sensitive clit, drawing out her own gasps, teasing out her own pleasure. And he watched her pussy with desperation, hunger written all over his face, his hand moving compulsively on his cock, faster and faster.

  Then he reached out and slipped a hand beneath her bent leg, his fingers going directly to her pussy. Lizzie’s breath hitched as he eased his thumb inside her, just an inch, barely stretching her. Somehow, it was enough to make her head spin.

  "I told you," he said, "that I wanted to lick your cunt." The harsh words send a shudder through her, but he continued calmly, his thumb still teasing her entrance. "Do you want that?"

  "Yes. Please—"

  Before she could finish her sentence, he grabbed her leg and slung it over his shoulder, angling her towards him. He kissed her thigh, his tongue tracing the lightning-bolt stretch marks that decorated her skin. Moving slowly, he dragged his lips lower and lower, his gaze pinned to hers. All her life, Lizzie had been something to stare at—because of her family name, or because she was often standing under a spotlight, demanding attention. She’d gotten it, too: attention, and adoration, and admiration.

  But no-one had ever looked at her like this.

  Isaac finally reached his destination, and she felt his tongue—hot and wet and firm and fuck—brush against her clit, stroking the aching nub. He forced his broad shoulders between her legs, spreading them wider, and then the teasing pressure of his thumb at her pussy was replaced by his thick fingers. Isaac eased into her as steadily as he lapped at her clit, hitting the rhythm she needed. Her body beyond her control, Lizzie's hips jerked against him—but he pressed a palm to her belly, pinning her down. Holding her still while he tortured her with lips and tongue and long, long fingers.

  The wave of desire in her core shattered, sending sprays of pleasure through her. She cried out, unable to silence herself—or perhaps, with him, she was simply unwilling. Lizzie slumped against the wood as her climax faded, aftershocks rippling through her.

  She felt Isaac’s fingers slide from her slickness; felt him kiss the corner of her mouth softly. But the sensations were distant, as if she were on the edge of sleep. Christ, that had been intense; she was ready to pass out.

  And then she heard him say, “Lizzie? Are you okay?” But his voice was all muffled. Remote…

  Oh, fuck. She was going to pass out.

  Jolted towards consciousness by the realisation, Lizzie dragged herself up. Isaac wrapped his arms around her and stood, and she barely noticed her bikini bottoms slipping onto the floor, or the fact that he was completely naked and she wasn’t far from the same state.

  “Out,” she gasped. “Water.” And predictably, he had no trouble deciphering that fragmented speech. Swearing furiously, he yanked open the sauna door with one hand and strode out into the main room,
carrying her in his arms like a rag-doll bride. The cool air soothed her feverish skin and brought her brain closer to working order, slicing through the fugue that had settled over her. She wanted to ask where he was taking her—because they were still moving, though all she could see was the ceiling and his hard-set jaw. But she didn’t think her tongue was working properly.

  In the end, she didn’t have to try. Within seconds, he was opening another door and carrying her into another cool room, one thick with soothing mist. A gentle shower, like summer rain, fell from the ceiling, gliding over her skin. He lay her on a raised stone dais, one designed just like the wooden version they’d defiled minutes ago. And then he pressed his palm to her head and looked down at her with frantic concern in his eyes.

  “What’s wrong?” He demanded.

  “Dehydrated,” she managed.

  He cursed, stood, then paused, as if he wasn’t sure he should leave. But she waved him away—because she felt fine now, really, or at least in control. So he strode off out of the room, and she stared up into the falling mist, blinking when it gathered along her lashes.

  Almost immediately, he returned, with several of the red water bottles that the hotel handed out like sweets. He unscrewed the cap of the first, then raised her up in his arms like she was an invalid.

  “Stop that,” Lizzie muttered, batting him away. Rolling her eyes, she sat up properly and took the water, downing the lot. She felt better already. “Next,” she said, holding out her hand for more.

  He unscrewed another bottle and passed it to her. “You should’ve had a drink before you came in,” he said.

  She guzzled down the rest of the bottle before answering. “I did. Actually, I think I dropped the bottle back in the sauna. Oops.”