by Ashley Hall
It doesn't. It just makes her cry that much harder.
“It's not like I want to marry him,” she says viciously. Just like when she's arguing with her mother, the words end up sliding out of her mouth, falling into existence against her own regards. “I don't! I've never even met him! But this…I left that night because my mother wanted me to wed a stranger, and I ended up just pushing myself farther into that own fate. I'm never going to be able to be myself. I'm never going to be able to be with someone like you!”
The silence that follows is strangely heavy. Isabella's chest is tight. Her skin is crawling. Ghost fingers stroke against her jaw, run down her bare arms.
Gabe's eyes are wide. His mouth opens and closes, but the words don't come out right away. Finally, he asks, “You would want to be in a relationship with me?”
Isabella pauses. She rolls the words around in her mind. Then, finally, she gives a small nod.
Chapter Thirteen
Gabe takes a step forward, then another. He reaches out a hand, resting it against the side of Isabella's neck, his thumb pressing lightly against her windpipe. “Say that again. Look me right in the eyes, and say that again.”
Isabella gulps. She's not sure whether to lean into the touch or away from it. “I would be with someone like you, if I could.”
“That's the freedom you were looking for.”
“Yes. I want to be myself. I can see myself with someone like you, Gabe. You're rough, but you're nice, too. And I think that I really like you.” Isabella gives him a wane smile. She rests a hand on Gabe's wrist, fingers curling around it. “But my mother would never allow it.”
“You're a princess. Just do what you want!”
“I cannot. That's not how this works.”
Gabe demands, “Then how does it work?”
“I'm a princess. In time, I will be the Queen of Davaria. When that time comes, I need to be an example to my people, the perfect child that's grown up into the perfect ruler.” Isabella finds that she cannot meet Gabe's eyes. They're too dark, too intense. She stares at the, slightly peeling, patch on the front of his jacket, instead.
This is the conversation that she's always wanted to avoid. Her mother is one thing, but to try and say it to someone else? To try and say it to Gabe?
That's far harder than anything else.
The words get stuck in her throat. She tries to spit them out but ends up sniffing instead. “I will be the daughter my mother wants because that's the only choice I have. Just because I'm a princess doesn't mean I can do anything I want, like date you. In fact, it means that I cannot do anything at all.”
“That doesn't seem right,” says Gabe with a shake of his head. “You wouldn't want to date me.”
“That's what you took from what I said?” Isabella chokes again, but this time it's on her laughter. “All of that and you're hung up on whether I would willingly date you or not?”
“You wouldn't,” says Gabe. “You might not want to marry this duke, but that doesn't mean you wouldn't date him, if you had the chance.”
“It does,” insists Isabella. “I would never want to be with someone like the Duke. My father is a good man and a kind man, but he's still the sort of man that was willing to commit himself to a loveless marriage. That's the sort of man the Duke is. The thought of marrying him—of marrying anyone like him—makes me sick.”
Gabe's hand shifts around to the back of Isabella's neck. He presses on it until she steps forward, until he can crash their lips together in something resembling an actual, tender kiss. It's soft and sweet, tastes like nicotine and peppermint gum.
Isabella's heart stops for a moment. When it starts back up, it feels like the thing has gone into overdrive. She rests a hand on Gabe's hips. Her painted fingers curl lightly against the wet denim of his jeans.
When they part, their eyes meet, and Isabella knows.
“If I could,” she says softly. “I would be with you for real. The child—”
“I know. I fucking know,” says Gabe, and then he catches her mouth again, but this time it's more tooth and tongue than anything else. He steps forward, and she steps back in this horrible pattern that's repeated until Isabella's legs bump against the black leather couch and she goes tumbling down.
Gabe goes down next to her. His hands on her hips, and then she's up, straddling his hips, hands tangled in his hair. It's wild as she's ever felt, as free as she's ever been. This is the sort of moment that Isabella will never forget, even though she knows, in her heart, that it will be the last one.
“And I know how much of a little slut you are, too. Come here, doll.” Gabe's hands slide over her hips, one going to rest on her ass and the other sliding up between the blades of her shoulders. Teeth sink into the side of Isabella's shoulder, over onto the front of her chest. They cling and nip at her collarbone, only just hidden beneath that slip of pale skin.
She shows off bruises beautifully. It's like a drug for him, watching them bloom over her skin. Before, the last time they were together, it was a rushed and frenzied affair. But now? Gabe fully plans on taking his time and ravishing the wonderful woman before him.
Isabella shudders beneath his touch. Her small hands explore his chest, running over the wet fabric. They slip under the edges of his jacket, pushing it back and over his shoulders.
Gabe chuckles, and the sound is absolutely sinful. “You're in a rush, aren't you?”
“My mother and father will be home soon,” says Isabella softly. “They cannot catch us. You don't understand what would happen if they do.”
“That's not my problem,” chuckles Gabe, but the words are light, and it's clear he doesn't mean them. His hands slip down, grabbing the bottom of her nightgown and pulling it up. He rolls it up, showing off inch after inch of pale skin.
There's no bra. Of course there isn't. Gabe knows that because this is a nightgown, but it's still a thrilling discovery. Her breasts are large but not unduly so. Her tits are already hard from rubbing against the satin fabric, from the cold air in the hotel room.
He tosses the nightgown onto the floor and then gives one breast an almost vicious squeeze. “We were in a hurry last time. But now? I'm going to make you really beg for it. You're going to regret lying to me, you sullen little minx.”
“I didn't lie—”
“Shut up. You think pretending to be someone completely different was telling the truth? Taking off like that, before we could even talk in the morning? You're acting like I didn't already get under your skin,” interrupts Gabe, voice vicious and sharp. “You lied to me, and now you're going to fix that.”
Isabella's stomach rolls at the words. “Fix that? Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “Okay, I can do that. I can do that.”
She slides down his body like she's suddenly turned spineless. Her hands explore his still-clothed form, and she glances up at Gabe from under heavy lashes. Gabe takes a handful of her golden hair, fingers running through it once—twice—three times and then twisting the strands around his fingers so tightly that it actually hurts.
“No, I don't think so. That's not what I'm looking for,” says Gabe. “Try a little harder.”
“How? If you tell me what you want, I'll do it. I just...”
Gabe tugs her hair again. “Figure it out. You know how to put on a show, right?”
“A show?”
“That's what I said. Repeating it's only going to make the chances of being walked in on higher.”
“That's…can you not just tell me?”
“I just did,” says Gabe. “Put on a show.”
A show. Isabella rolls the word around in her mind. A show.
And then it clicks, like a light being turned on. Isabella stands up, and Gabe lets her. The grip on her hair vanishes, and Isabella replaces it with her own fingers. She runs her hands through her hair, messing it up just like it had been when she got off the motorcycle all those nights ago.
Small palms run down her body, stroking at her own stomach, moving to
toy with her own tits. Fingers pinch and pull at the tender flesh, and Isabella bites her bottom lip hard enough that she can taste copper.
Aside from breakfast, the table is empty. Isabella sits down on the edge of it. The wood is cold against the back of her thighs. She spreads her legs, showing off her silver panties. There's a damp patch at the center.
Isabella puts on her most coy voice and asks, “Is this what you mean?”
Gabe spreads his own legs, displaying the large tent in his jeans. He pops open the button and pulls down the zipper with one hand. A shift of his hips and the denim is pushed down around his knees.
He's not wearing any boxers; he prefers not to.
“Yeah,” says Gabe. “That's sort of what I'm talking about.”
Isabella tries to smile. She feels like her whole face has been lit on fire. Her blush spreads across the bridge of her nose and over her cheeks, stretching down her neck and across her shoulders. “I'm not even half as good at this as you make it seem.”
“Trust me,” assures Gabe. “Just looking at you is enough to make me hard. I don't think I've ever met someone as beautiful as you.”
The words just make her blush deeper. Slowly, Isabella hooks the waistband of her panties and slides them down. She pushes them off one leg first, then uses her other leg to flick them at Gabe. They miss by a good five inches, but she feels like it's the thought that counts.
Isabella's palms slide across her thighs. It's strange, doing this in public. Up until now, Isabella has only ever touched herself in the privacy of her own room, when the lights were off, when the sheets are pulled up over her hips and her breasts, halfway up to her shoulders.
She presses a palm against her crotch, covered with fine trimmed hair. Isabella rubs at her own clit, seeking out the sensitive nub she knows is hidden under the hood. She moves farther down, seeking out that hot, wet hole that she loves so much.
One finger gets pushed in and then another. Isabella is lost, not in the sensation, but in the way Gabe is watching her. It's a startling, heavy thing, having those eyes on her. It looks, in that moment, like she is Gabe's entire world. It feels, in that moment, like there's nothing else she would rather be doing.
“Fuck,” groans Gabe, shifting about again. He shoves his boxers down, too, and takes a loose hold of himself with one hand. It's not the first time that Isabella's seen him, not by far, but it's still a startling sort of thing.
Bravely, Isabella asks, “Do you want to?”
Gabe's only answer is a large, toothy grin.
Chapter Fourteen
They end up in the bedroom, a miracle against miracles. Gabe's jacket, vest, and shirt hit the floor along the way. His skin is just slightly damp, but it's enough to make Isabella feel chilled.
They stumble through the doorway. Isabella's back hits the bed. It's large—a king size captain's bed with a black headboard and a robe thrown over the edge.
She laughs because this seems ridiculously familiar yet feels impossibly new. “I cannot believe you came out here.”
“Of course I did,” grumbles Gabe, right before he sinks his teeth into the juncture in Isabella's neck. She squeals in response. “Why wouldn't I come back for this lovely ass? I don't think I've ever been with someone as tight as you.”
“Such a charmer,” says Isabella with a laugh. “That mouth of yours ever get you in trouble?”
Gabe settles down between her legs, resting on his knees. “More than you could know, baby. But it's good for a few things.”
“Oh?”
“Sure,” laughs Gabe. “But I don't think it's really time for that. We're in a hurry, right?”
A thought hits her, like she's been slapped. Isabella pushes herself up onto her elbows. “Did you close the door?”
“No,” says Gabe, with a shrug. “Like I said, we should probably make this sort of quick. But if things go right, I assure you, this isn't going to be the last time we meet up.”
Isabella's heart flutters. She lays back down, slowly, and smiles up at him. “Do you mean that?”
“Hell yes,” says Gabe. “You think I drove all the way up here just to turn tail and leave? No, baby, you're mine now.”
The words send a shudder down Isabella's spine. Her skin feels like it's on fire. She hooks an arm around Gabe's neck, runs her fingers through his messy hair. “My mother will hate it.”
“Does she need to know?”
“She plans on having me married to the Duke.”
“Tell her no.” Gabe hooks a hand under Isabella's left thigh, pushing her leg up towards her chest. “She cannot control what comes out of your mouth.”
“No, but...” Isabella trails off, words bleeding into a soft sigh when Gabe bends down and runs the flat of his tongue up the center of her chest, between her breasts. “You haven't met her before. You don't understand the power she holds.”
“I don't think you get exactly what I can do, either.”
“Against a queen?”
“Against anyone,” says Gabe seriously. “Now, you'd best take a deep breath and hold on tight.”
That's all the warning that Isabella gets before Gabe's making the plunge. His cock is large and thick, especially compared to her slender fingers. They did nothing to erase the tightness in her loins, but the pain is almost reminiscent of their first rendezvous.
It's a delicious thing, feeling the man slip inside of her. There's nothing rushed about it, but it's not slow, either. It's something completely different—powerful, the way he moves at his own pace as if this is only about him, about how great it feels on his end.
Strange as it seems, Isabella loves that. She loves the way he curls over her, the way that he's hitting completely different spots from before. Isabella's breath vanishes in a drawn-out moan when Gabe fully hilts himself inside her wet cunt; they should have used lube, but the sparks of pain are hot and intoxicating.
Isabella wraps both arms around Gabe's neck and curls up towards him best that she can. It's hard because his arms are caging her in. He's draped over Isabella like he's trying to devour her.
Their mouths clash together, teeth clatter, and tongues run over each other. It's a fiery thing, and when they part, thick strands of spittle keep them connected. Gabe is the sort of man to take what he wants and make it a physical, visceral thing.
Each buck of his hips drives Isabella harder against the mattress. The only thing she can hear is her own heart beating. It drowns out the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, of heavy panting. Isabella rakes her nails down Gabe's back, these ragged streaks of red.
Each swipe just seems to fuel the animal in Gabe. He sucks and bites at the side of her neck. Their hips snap together so hard that it actually hurts.
“Fuck,” groans Gabe, and a litany of foul comments follow suit. It's almost charming the way that there's no filter between his brain and mouth, the way that he says what he thinks, that he takes what he wants.
Isabella feels small in all of the best ways. The coil that runs through her limbs is tight and getting tighter. It's like there are wires wrapped through her veins and each one is about to snap.
And then it's snapping, and Isabella's entire world seems to freeze. Everything goes dark from the outside in, goes white from the inside out. It's blurring color and rushing blood and a euphoria the likes of which she has never felt before, that she doubts she will ever feel again.
“Yes, yes, yes!” The words fall out of Isabella's mouth like molten silver, like something she's never said before. “Just like that! Just…just…Gabe.”
The last word is more of a whine than anything else. It's enough to send Gabe over the edge; he slams inside of her, hips rolling even as he finds his own release, shooting hot cum into her gaping pussy.
Their foreheads slap together. Hot breath rolls over Isabella's face. It feels like her limbs have all turned to jelly, like she is nothing but a boneless husk of what she had once been.
And it's great.
Wonderful, even.
Isabella rakes her fingers through his messy, sweat dampened hair. A wave of exhaustion hits her. It's suddenly hard to keep her eyes open. “Stay with me?”
“What about your mom?” The words are sluggish and rough, like Gabe feels the same way. He shifts, slipping out of Isabella and flopping onto the mattress next to her. Cum dribbles out from between her legs, leaving a damning stain on the sheets.
The smart thing to do would be to send him away.
But then, it would have been smarter to avoid getting into this situation, altogether.