by Ashley Hall
Another sigh, louder this time. Gabe manages, “Is this it? Come on, Izzy. Don't you want to learn something special?”
“I do! I'm just nervous,” says Isabella, twisting her wrist. The pads of her fingers slide off the veined skin and slip up to press against the underside of his head. Gabe shifts forward on the couch to shove his pants and boxers down his hips. They bunch up around bent knees.
“Give me a hand getting those off?” Gabe grins at her, cock sure and full of himself.
Isabella rolls her eyes but agrees. Dainty hands help pull off his boots and socks. They tug down jeans and boxers, then rest neatly on Gabe's knees. “Like this?”
“I don't think that's what I have in mind,” says Gabe. He's about to protest even more, but the words come out as a low moan when Isabella takes hold of his dick again and shifts her grip, fingers brushing over his balls.
Isabella's smile is coy. “I'm nervous, Gabe. Help me some?”
“You need more than just a little bit of help.” Gabe threads his fingers through Isabella's hair again. It's fine and soft, such a pale gold that the bright light almost makes it seem white.
Isabella snorts but leans down to press a single kiss against Gabe's dripping tip. She looks up at him from under heavy lashes, and then she licks her lips.
The grip on her hair grows white-knuckled tight. Gabe snorts back at her, but his grin doesn't lessen, even a little bit. “Come on,” he urges. “Let's see how much better you've gotten.”
“You say that like I've gotten any practice.”
“Haven't you?”
Isabella huffs. “I told you, I didn't sleep with him. I went home when things started getting weird. I promise you that, Gabe. I would never cheat on you.”
Cheat on him.
The words resonate in Gabe's chest, heady and thick. They curl in his lungs like the best sort of smoke, like something that he's never going to be able to shake free from. It's a cage, but it's also something more. It's that bit of freedom and comfort that he's always been looking for. It's knowing that, even though the world is a mess, that's something nice waiting for him.
Gabe thought that's what he had with his ex, Renee. He thought that she was his light, his reason to stay out of the darker aspects of the world that often fell down upon the shoulders of a motorcycle club. Gun running and drug dealing, things of that nature—Gabe had ignored them in favor of Renee, trying to make sure that she never had to get that awful knock on the door.
After she left, things seemed dark. Things got closed in and hard to deal with. But Isabella makes things look a little bit easier. She makes life a little less dark. And that's a hard thing for a man like Gabe to understand.
He lets go of Isabella's hair in favor of brushing knuckles against her cheek. “Cheat on me?”
“Never,” insists Isabella.
Gabe's other hand settles on the nape of Isabella's neck. “We have to be together for you to cheat on me.”
“Aren't we together? I know that first night, it was just...it was just sex. I'm not stupid. I understand that, no matter how sheltered I might seem. But then you came back, and you came tonight, too. Doesn't that mean we're more than just a one-time fling?”
It does.
Gabe has a hard time answering her. The words are stilted and rough. “Do you want it to be more?”
“Desperately,” admits Isabella. “I would desperately like it to be more than just a one chance thing. And…it's okay, I suppose, if it's not. I love being around you, Gabe. If all you're interested in is this, these moments, I'm okay with that. I just don't want to miss seeing you.”
“You're not going to see me once you go back to England.”
“I don't want to go back to England.”
“You're getting married to that duke,” says Gabe. “And you're going to go back home to…where is it?”
Isabella gives a little laugh. “Davaria. It's a small country. Not very many Americans have heard of us.”
“And everyone's still lined up here to see you,” snorts Gabe. “Because that makes total fucking sense. If you aren't even a big shot, why the fuck does anyone care?”
“I don't know,” admits Isabella. “They just do. People like the glitz and glamor, I suppose. They like to pretend that they're on our level.”
Gabe snorts. He stands up, suddenly. His hands stay in Isabella's hair, keeping her from standing up, his dick inches from her face, red and straining. “Oh, sweet cheeks, I know that I'm not on your level.”
“That's not what I meant,” continues Gabe. “I mean that you're a bit of a whore. Going out looking to get fucked by some stranger at a bar, how much sluttier can you get?”
Isabella's cheeks go red. “It wasn't a one-person affair, Gabe. You were involved, too. You're the one that took me home!”
“You were practically begging me for it,” says Gabe dismissively. Emotions are hard for him to deal with. He'd much rather focus on something more physical, on showing Isabella that status doesn't matter to him, that things don't hinge on her status as princess.
“I was not,” huffs Isabella. Any other protest is cut off by Gabe pushing against the back of Isabella's head, forcing it forward. Her words are cut off by the sudden pressure of a thick dick in her mouth, forcing her jaw open and her tongue down.
There's no moment of hesitation, no slow start. Gabe uses Isabella's hair as leverage and starts fucking into Isabella's mouth like it's a flashlight picked up cheap at a discount sex shop. Each buck and twist of his hips forces his cock further down her throat, leaving her gagging and gasping. It only takes a matter of moments before there are tears in the corner of her eyes, before her fingers are scrabbling at Gabe's hips.
She doesn't want to push him away, but Isabella doesn't want to hold him close, either. She just wants to touch him. Gabe keeps a firm grip on her hair; this is something different than before. It's not quick and senseless like their first night together, but it's not a slow thing like their second.
This is flesh and passion and endless desire. Gabe fucks her like he's come unhinged, until pleasure coils tight in his gut, until the sounds coming from his mouth are low, guttural, and spilling out like water from a sieve.
And then, when it's just about too much to bear and the whole world feels unsteady, he uses Isabella's hair to throw her backwards. The young princess hits the ground, hard. Gabe takes hold of his own cock, jacking himself off furiously. It only takes a few twists of his palm before he's cumming. Thick, white spurts land on the front of Isabella's dress, on her throat.
He groans, loud and low, more for her benefit that anything else. “Fuck, Izzy. Do you see what you do to me? Do you see how crazy you make me?”
Isabella's makeup is ruined. Dark smears lay under her eyes, and the lipstick has been scrubbed off her spit-swollen lips. She looks like someone that's just been thoroughly fucked, and Gabe loves it.
“You're so fucking innocent looking,” continues Gabe, crouching down to kneel over the princess. His knees press against the floor, and one hand steadies himself on her shoulder. “There's nothing better than watching you fall into something filthy.”
Isabella lets out a wanton moan. Her head falls back, thwacking against the floor. Her mouth is open, chest heaving as she gasps for breath.
“That's exactly what I mean,” says Gabe, only slightly out of breath himself. He's no stranger to sex, and he's no stranger to lasting longer than his partners. In fact, sometimes there's something utterly amazing about being the only one with any common sense about them.
Isabella’s not completely out of it, though. She's just tired and a touch overwhelmed. Her hands settle on Gabe's hips. “What do you mean?”
“You, right now. You look like a goddamn princess.”
“I am a princess.”
“You're a princess about to get fucked. How great is that? I'm about to get a bit of royal pussy. Do you know how many men would fight for something like this? But not me.” Gabe folds over Isabella, lets his
cum and spit-slicked cock rub over her chest. The fabric sends sparks of pleasure down his spine. “No, I don't have to fight for it at all. You're just content to give it to me. You're content to let me fuck you whenever I want. I bet you'd be content to let me fuck you however I want, too, huh?”
Isabella lets out another little moan. The words do something to her; her face is burning hot, fingers fluttering against the small of his back. “Yes,” she says, voice little more than air. “Yes, Gabe. Whatever you wanted—you can do whatever you want.”
“Good,” says Gabe, voice low and rough. “Because I wasn't asking for your permission.”
Chapter Nineteen
Isabella is telling the truth. She's never been with another man.
Slade had tried, that night. Oh, Slade had tried. He had flirted and talked up all manner of things. Isabella is too naïve—she thought that he was just kind, thought that he was just nice.
But she'd been wrong.
Slade had been looking for something. He had wanted a quick fling, a one night stand. When Isabella stuttered out a refusal, he grew incensed. His fingers had clamped tightly around her wrist.
Isabella felt sick then, and for a moment, she feels sick now, but not with fear nor with regret. She's sick with excitement, sick with lust and love and nerves. Her hands flutter over Gabe's back when he shifts, sliding his own down her body and hiking her skirt up.
The panties don't come back. Instead, Gabe brings his hand down, hard. The shock of the slap is only slightly muffled by Isabella's wet panties. There's nothing to muffle her yelp, however, loud and high-pitched. “Gabe!”
Gabe doesn't say anything. He brings his palm down again, this staccato sort of thing.
“Gabe,” squeals Isabella. “What are you doing?”
“Whatever I want,” answers Gabe. “That's what you said I could do, right? Whatever the fuck I want? Well, I want to hear you scream.”
“You always hear me scream,” pants Isabella. Lifting her head up is too much effort. Already, it feels like the blood has turned solid in her veins. “Always.”
“Not loud enough,” mutters Gabe. He brings his hand down one more time, then roughly rips her panties down. They stay tangled up around her knees. There's no way for him to settle between her legs, and that's clearly something that Gabe's not interested in.
His hands land on Isabella's breasts, roughly groping them through her dress. Fingers seek out the cloth-hidden nipples, doing their best to pinch at them, to press against them.
“I want to hear you howling,” says Gabe. “I want to hear you begging me to fuck you harder, better yet, let's hear you beg me to stop.”
Isabella shakes her head, just slightly. “I'd never.”
“You might. I'm not quiet like you, Izzy. I'm not into this gentle shit.”
“I don't want you to be gentle,” insists Isabella. “I want you to be you. I want…you said you were going to teach me something. You said you were going to show me something.”
Gabe laughs. The sound is low and rough. “Damn right. You really want me to?”
“Please?”
“Alright, fine. I'd love to fuck you raw, sweet cheeks. I'd love to just take you right here and now. But why don't we take a few moments and get into the bedroom? You're probably going to like this better with something extra.”
Isabella stares up at him with heavy lidded eyes. Then, in a motion that she hopes she won't forget, she gives an uncaring shrug.
# # #
They end up in the bedroom. Their clothing is scattered about the floor, a messy trail of their affections tonight. That's how Isabella thinks of things, after all. This isn't just sex, and it's not just a one-off deal.
Gabe wouldn't be so tender if it was. Isabella is certain that the girls he's slept with in the past—the ones that don't mean anything—didn't get treated like this. The blanket is soft under her bare skin. She's laying on her stomach, face resting on her folded arms.
There's no one else in the room.
“Stay here,” Gabe had said. “Stay here.”
Then he left the room, vanishing into the adjacent bathroom. Time passes at an agonizingly slow rate. Isabella closes her eyes and focuses on trying to breathe.
And then, suddenly, the bed gives under Gabe's knees. Something cold and slick is squeezed out of a bottle; lube drips down onto the small of Isabella's bare back, onto her hips, her ass. It drips down the crack between her cheeks, making her gasp at the strange sensation.
She asks, “Gabe?”
“Just focus on breathing,” says Gabe light-heartedly. “You wanted to learn, right? You wanted me to fuck you however I want.”
Isabella says, “Yes,” just because she's not sure what else he wants to hear. The word seems strange. It seems like far too little.
This moment, it seems huge. It seems massive.
Gabe drags a hand down her back. A single finger slips between Isabella's cheeks, pressing against her anus. It's a tight thing, something that's never been touched before. It makes her stomach twist, makes her heart skip a beat.
“Gabe?”
“It's fine. Just breathe.”
He pushes, hard. The lube makes the entrance easy enough, but the feeling is strange. It doesn't hurt, but it's not the same instant pleasure that comes from having a finger in her pussy, either. It's more cold than anything else, even when Gabe crooks his fingers and starts trying to delve even deeper into Isabella's tight and unyielding passage.
The second finger comes a few moments too soon. Gabe isn't a patient man. It was a failing with Renee, he knows, who never wanted to try anything new. That one hurts, but just for a moment, just a little bit. It's a spark on her spine; it's a tightness in Isabella's chest.
She bites her bottom lip, hard.
“Breathe,” reminds Gabe. He puts his free hand on Isabella's hip. It's both for comfort and for leverage because he starts moving his hand a moment later, pumping those two lube covered fingers into Isabella's tight ass. “You just have to remember to breathe, baby. Everything else is on me. I've got this.”
“You've got this,” echoes Isabella distantly. She screws her face up and tries to do as she's told. It's a feat that becomes immensely difficult when a third finger starts trying to breach her tight, pink opening.
Isabella moans. She presses her face against her arms, not sure whether to balk away from the sensation or buck up towards it. Maybe both, as her body jerks and jumps in all directions.
The hand on her hip suddenly makes sense. Gabe leans against his nude princess, drinking in the curve of her spine and the breadth of her shoulders.
“Easy,” he says, and then there are three fingers in her ass, and everything goes horribly still.
It hurts.
It hurts in a way that Isabella doesn't understand.
It hurts like having her cunt slapped, like having her nipples pinched.
It hurts in a good way.
“Gabe,” begs Isabella. “Gabe!”
Gabe hums. He spends a few more moments trying to stretch out Isabella's ass, but the passage is unyielding. Every twitch makes it curl tighter, makes the anticipation that much greater. Then, finally, he pulls his hand out of her ass and lubes her up a second time.
“This is going to hurt like a bitch,” warns Gabe.
“That's okay,” pants Isabella. “I don't mind.”
Gabe laughs. The sound is more air than anything else. “Good,” he says. “I wasn't really asking. You already told me to do whatever the fuck I wanted, right? Well, right now, I'm really just interested in fucking this pretty ass of yours. Bet you've never even touched it before, have you?”
Isabella shakes her head.
“Ever let someone else touch it?”
Isabella shakes her head harder. “You're the only one I've ever been with!”
“Got plans on letting someone else back here?”
“No! Gabe, I'm only interested in you! I swear, there's no one else.” Isabella chokes on her wo
rds when Gabe curls over her back and hilts himself in her tight ass with a single buck of his hips. It's burning fire. It feels like her flesh is ripping, like there is no lube at all. It's enough to wrench a shout from her throat, to make her claw at the bedsheets under her.
“Fuck,” groans Gabe. He only lingers for a moment, trying to get used to the intense heat and gripping muscles. When he starts really fucking her, Isabella's still trying to figure out what's happening. The world is two-fold—sensations and sound.