“Mmpfh!” Bella moans around my cock, her hips jerking as I find the stroke and pace that she likes best. Her knees spread some more, and in the orange light I find myself enchanted by the gleam of her pussy opening for me as she bucks into my fingers. It’s sexy as fuck in its obscenity, a woman taking the pleasure that she wants from me while her mouth and tongue please me back.
I rub my thumb between her lips as I play with her clit, getting it slick and ready before pushing it inside her, where her tight muscles immediately clutch me, almost sucking me in. She’s so tight, a slick vise on my thumb as I pump it in and out, guided by the sounds Bella’s making. Being inside her mouth and her pussy at the same time short-circuits my brain, and I can’t hold back anymore, can’t let her be solely in control. I lift my hips, slipping my cock deeper into her mouth, right on the edge of entering her throat.
She pulls back, using her spit and my pre-cum to fist my shaft. “Oh, God, Gabe . . . more,” Bella rasps, pushing her pussy back into me as she pumps my cock. “Stretch me so I can take you, and then fuck me.”
Growling, I pull my hand back before replacing my thumb with both of my fingers, thrusting them deep inside her and making Bella moan in pleasure. She bends forward, swallowing as much of my cock as she can while I pump in and out of her, fucking her with my hand as her juices run down my palm and onto the cut on my wrist. Distantly, I realize I lost the bandage somewhere along the way, but I can’t care right now.
The slight sting centers me, though, allowing me to focus just on Bella and not on the feeling of her velvety-soft lips wrapped around my shaft or the feeling of her tongue exploring the ridge around the head of my cock. She slurps on me happily as precum oozes out for her to feast on, her pussy gushing around my fingers.
“In my pocket, my wallet,” I tell her, not able to wait any longer, and I think she gets my meaning.
I feel her move, reaching for my jeans on the floor. She moans on me when she finds my condom, unwrapping it before pulling off, gasping, “I fucking love Boy Scouts.”
“Be prepared, they taught us,” I tease breathlessly, adding a third finger to her pussy. “How’s that feel?”
“Fucking amazing . . . maybe big enough to not have this kill me.” She whimpers as she rolls the condom down my cock. It’s tight, but the constricting rim of the condom helps hold back my orgasm as Bella gets me ready before pulling off my fingers and turning around to straddle me, rubbing the head of my cock between her dripping folds. “Are you ready?” I ask her.
I reach up, taking her waist in my hands and helping her as she lowers herself onto my cock, both of us moaning in a sexual harmony as her body wraps itself around my pulsing shaft. She’s so warm, her honey-coated walls taking me in and holding me in a perfect embrace. Bella’s chest hitches, her breasts shaking as she trembles, wanting more but needing to stop when I’m about halfway inside her.
“Take your time, Princess. I won’t hurt you.”
The words have so many layers of meaning, more than she could possibly know, and are as much a promise as I can give her right now.
She rides me slowly, my cock sliding deeper and deeper inside her with every rise and fall of her hips until I feel her hips press against mine, and she throws her head back in triumph.
“It feels like you’re splitting me in half, but I can’t stop,” she grunts as her hips take over. I encourage her, reaching up to stroke a stiff nipple, watching as her body bounces up and down on me.
It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, this beautiful woman getting all the pleasure she can just from me. For once in her life, she’s demanding and wanting something selfishly, and I want to give her everything I can, reward her for all the hard times she’s gone through, and insure that every day from here on out is better by my side.
I reach around, cupping her ass and helping her. “I have you, Bella . . . I have you,” I murmur, more to myself than her, making sure this is reality and not some dream I’ll wake up from. I thrust up into her as she comes down, meeting her body with my own as I marvel in the sight of her on top of me.
She’s a princess, a queen, and I vow in this moment that I will do what I can to be her knight in tarnished armor.
Bella’s hips plunge up and down on my cock, both of us rising together until she pitches forward, kissing me deeply. Her pussy clenches around my cock, and she moans her orgasm into my mouth, gifting me with her release.
It pushes me over the edge, and I hold her tight, thrusting two more times until I explode, filling the condom with hot cum. My body shakes as we fall apart together, her lips grounding me as I hold her safe. And that feels like exactly what I want . . . for her to give me the foundation I haven’t had since Jeremy died, and in return, I’ll make sure she’s happy and secure. In this moment and every other.
We lie together, the sweat cooling on our bodies until she shivers, and I wiggle around to pull at the blankets. I arrange them over us until we’re wrapped up like a twin burrito, not perfect but still warm. I grab her single pillow and tuck it underneath my head, pulling her to nestle against my chest with my arm wrapped around her shoulders. “Comfy?”
“Mmm-hmm,” she says sleepily. Moments later, she’s snoring softly, her body exhausted by all that she’s done today. I hold her carefully, close enough to feel her body without waking her while my mind works overtime.
I wasn’t kidding about being a Boy Scout, and in my line of work, preparation is key to successful contracts. But I’m unprepared for my current situation and I need to rectify that. I think over what I know.
Blackwell said he wanted Bella killed to send a message to someone else, so she’s not the player here but merely a pawn. Perhaps there’s a way I can leverage that, offer an alternative path to his endgame?
But from what I know of Blackwell, and that’s a significant amount of intel because I don’t take contracts lightly, he is not the type to allow an outsider to have input into his chosen strategy. I’m merely a tool for him to use, a resource for a skillset he doesn’t wish to employ himself.
So he’s not going to let this go, of that I’m reasonably certain. I can put him off for another couple of days, but with the degree of suspicion and impatience he’s already fostering, I wouldn’t put it past him to line up another hit. And include me in the target roster.
I consider reversing the game. I’m a skilled hitman. Perhaps I should flip the script and take out the threat to Bella . . . Blackwell himself. That’d solve the problem, but it’d be beyond difficult. He’s aware of my presence, so the element of surprise is nonexistent. And he’s well-protected with enough security that it’d be nearly impossible to get close to him unless I called for a meeting, and doing that would make for a messy exit.
The answer that makes the most sense is to run. Take her with me and leave Roseboro forever. We could do it, start fresh somewhere no one has ever heard of Blackwell. But even as I dream of laying Bella on a sandy beach somewhere exotic where it’s just the two of us, I know she won’t go. Not even if I tell her the truth, which I need to do regardless. But I know her. If she thinks Blackwell is using her for some reason, my girl is going to put her face to the storm and rage back to protect whoever Blackwell is trying to get at.
Which puts me back at square one. My mind continues to turn, but slowly, the warmth of Bella’s body seeps into me, and I drift off. No answers, but all I need is in my arms.
Early in the morning hours, I wake and watch her sleeping. My fitful slumber contrasts with her peaceful exhaustion, and I marvel at the rest of the truly innocent. It’s something I can never again have but something I want to protect now. Tracing her back and teasing her to wakefulness, I slip into her once again. It feels like . . . heaven.
Chapter 14
Isabella
I feel the soft touch of something on my neck and ear, making me giggle lightly as it nudges me from sleep. Something warm and hairy rubs against my cheek, and I wiggle, wondering how Gabe got so fuzzy overnight.
/> “Really? I’ve got morning breath,” I say, turning my head away, but a smile takes over my face.
Meow.
My eyes flutter open to see Vash curled up next to me, her head tilted to the side quizzically like she’s asking me just what I mean. Stretching, I reach over and realize I’m in bed alone, at least human-wise.
For a moment, I think maybe I dreamed the whole thing, conjured it up out of my desire to do something crazy, be irresponsible for once, and to feel Gabe’s body against my own. But as fast as I think I made the whole thing up, my body lets me know that last night was real. Very real, and very large.
I stretch out my muscles, loving the way they feel used in different way. This isn’t the typical sore-feet and tired calves I wake up to, but rather a whole-body feeling of Jell-O.
Meow!
“Vash . . . off!” I grumble, nudging her away. Instead of scrambling, Vash tosses her head and jumps down, confident that she’s woken her human up properly and that we’re about to get on with the day.
Dammit.
Disappointment floods me as I realize Gabe really has left, and I panic a little, worrying at how stupid I’ve been.
“Hit it and quit it,” I whisper.
I told myself I was going to go with it and have fun, and I did. I don’t regret that, but I can’t help but have a twinge of something sharp in my belly. More than disappointment, maybe disenchantment? I guess I hoped Gabe was different.
A flash of white on the floor next to my panties catches my attention, and I sit up, realizing that all my clothes are neatly folded, and my bag, which I left in Gabe’s SUV, is sitting next to the pile. The white is a piece of cardstock, one I’m familiar with since it’s the same cardboard that The Gravy Train uses for their take-home container tops.
This one’s been folded in half, though, tented, and has a large Bella written on it. Reaching out, I open it.
Princess,
I’m sorry I didn’t wake you, but you looked so peaceful and I know you need sleep with your busy schedule. I had to go to work, but trust me, there is nothing I would’ve rather done than to hold you all morning.
I know I promised you a ride to the diner to get your scooter, and I’m sorry I couldn’t do that before I leave. But I left you a little something on the kitchen counter to make up for it and make your day a bit easier.
I’ll see you tonight, nine o’clock sharp, but I’ll be thinking about you all day.
It’s signed with a scratchy capital G that I trace with my fingertip. Okay, so he left, but he didn’t bail on me. That’s a good sign, right?
Touched, curious, and desperately needing to pee, I get out of bed and slip into the bathroom, where I take care of biz quickly before walking into the kitchen. I am floored by what I find.
It’s a bag . . . a big bag, and while the red and yellow ‘M’ on the side might not be my favorite restaurant in town, the smell of pancakes, syrup, sausage, and cheese inside has my mouth already watering. I haven’t had a real breakfast in too long, and I can’t believe he’d do this for me.
More surprising is what I find inside the thoughtfully folded shut bag. In addition to three sandwiches, there’s a small carton of milk with Vash written on it. It’s so sweet of him to think of her, especially considering she wasn’t particularly welcoming last night. It’s then I see the cup of coffee, bottle of orange juice . . . and a Range Rover key fob. Shocked, I look up through the front window, and it’s still there, candy-apple red and gleaming in the morning light.
I press the key against my chest, everything feeling like I’m being broken apart again. It’s such a kind gesture, the type of thing I’m not used to people offering. And if I’m honest, the sort of charitable generosity I’d refuse if Mia or Charlotte tried to foist it on me. But from Gabe, it feels different. Like he’s taking care of me because he wants to, not because he thinks I’m failing at doing it myself. That’s probably fodder for a therapist, or at least a wine-fueled girls’ night in, but right now, I’m not examining it too much.
Take life as it comes, Izzy. And enjoy.
My body hums happily in soreness from last night, my eyes itchy with tears that I don’t want to let fall, and my stomach grumbles for the smorgasbord of food before me. This could be the start of an awesome day.
Meow.
I look down to see Vashy rubbing against my legs piteously, and I’m sure she’s hungry. Grabbing the milk, I open it and pour a saucer for her. I’ll get her food out before I leave.
“Okay, Vashy . . . ten minutes’ vacation before we get back to the grind, okay?”
Vash meows again, looking at the bag, and I chuckle.
No wonder Gabe included three sandwiches.
“Uh-oh. Char, I think we have a problem.”
My two besties lean against each other, whispering and giggling loud enough for me to hear them as I walk into the cafeteria at Goldstone Inc.
Mia had begged for us to do our weekly lunch on her home turf this time instead of our usual Gravy Train break. She said something about a big project and data this, trends that, and at that point, I’d just agreed to get her to stop talking analytical statistics. I swear, half the reason I went into graphic design was so that I never had to delve as deep into numbers as Mia does. But she loves it, thankfully. Better her than me, I suppose.
“What?” I ask, checking my shirt for stains and that the fly of my black skinny jeans hasn’t slipped down. There’s nothing out of place, I think as I slip my dark hair behind my ear. So why are they still smirking at me? “What?” I repeat.
Mia breaks first, drawling out, “Hey, cowgirl, been riding that pony long?”
I finally get the joke they’re telling on my behalf and shove at Mia, a sporting laugh popping free even though I try to hold it back. Mia devolves into giggles and even Char looks damn amused at the tease. “I’m not walking funny,” I argue good-naturedly, then pause a minute before asking more seriously, “Am I?”
Char rolls her eyes, turning her nose up. “I am not talking about sex when I’m not getting any. You two can take your hot dicks and keep them to yourselves.” She sounds half serious, half joking, and Mia’s eyes catch mine.
Before we can communicate via eyebrows, though, Mia smiles widely. “You said ‘hot dicks’. I’m thinking you’re trying to speak it into existence, girl.” She nods sagely, and Char huffs, striding off toward the line of people waiting to get lunch.
We follow, silently agreeing to change the subject because Char seems more than a little touchy. I wonder if she had another bad date? But when we get in line, she’s perked up, talking to the lady who just brought out a big tray of rolls.
“You have a Hobart mixer that handles the dough with no problem? I splurged and got a KitchenAid a few months ago, but I would give my left arm to play with a commercial setup.”
I have no idea what Charlotte’s talking about, and I realize that maybe I haven’t been the best of friends with her the way I should be. I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve been a bit caught up in my own mess to push her to share, especially when she’s tight-lipped. But I try to draw her out now. “You turning Chef Ramsey on us? I’m up for any taste tests you want to schedule.”
She grins a bit, telling the roll lady thanks before answering me, “I’ve been playing with some recipes and learning a lot. I really love baking. Cakes, pies, cookies, rolls, breads. All of it. It’s a bit magical, adding all these basic ingredients in precise measurements, mixing it properly, all just so. But then you bake it, and instead of some boring result, it’s beautiful melt-in-your-mouth goodness.”
Mia grabs one of the yeasty, golden rolls and plops it on Charlotte’s plate, then does the same to mine and her own. “I’ll take some melty, yummy goodies too. Hey! You should do that as a job. It’s not like you’re happy at Blackwell’s, so why not? Ditch your job and chase the yellow biscuit road to a bakery gig. Or open your own!” Mia claps like she’s solved the biggest problem in the world, which honestly, if it were a math
problem, she could likely do.
But Charlotte dips her chin, uncertain. “I don’t know. It’s more of a hobby right now, my sanity saver. Maybe one day.” She sounds wistful and dreamy, but a little lost too. I know she struggles with her current job and the overall pall that is the culture at Blackwell’s. Bland, dark, heavy with stressful responsibilities, and definitely not worth the amount of work she puts into her role as receptionist and screener.
But I get why she’s doing it. If anyone would, it’d be me. It’s not like I dreamed of being a waitress one day, but I’m doing what I need to so that the future is a bit brighter. Char’s doing the same.
We sit down and each take several bites of our food. It’s not as good as Henry’s, but I’m mostly happy just to eat a full meal at one sitting, including, wait for it . . . a salad. An actual salad loaded with fresh, crunchy veggies. I could inhale it. But I savor each bite, thinking I should suggest to Henry that we include a salad option on the menu at the diner. It’d likely sell, and if it didn’t, I could take the almost-stale lettuce and carrots home with me. Win-win.
Charlotte returns us to the previous conversation, even though she’s the one who said she didn’t want to talk about it. “Okay, so give us the Beefy McSmiles update. Just hold back on telling us about the magnificence of his hot dick, ’kay?”
Mia grins, pointing with a carrot stick. “You said ‘hot dick’ again. Preach it, girl, drop to your knees and send that message to the universe.”
I save Mia from Charlotte’s friendly backhand smack by answering, “He stayed over last night.”
Both their eyes jump to me, locking me in place. I want to tell them everything, but at the same time, I want to hold it all tight to my chest. The memory is like a trembling soap bubble, perfect and swirling but so fragile that even a whisper could pop it, letting the magic fly out. So I stick to the bareboned basics.
Not So Prince Charming: A Dirty Fairy Tale Page 12