She was rocking back and forth, picking up the pace, and riding me to a quick finish. Izzy continued to grind her mound against me creating the friction and stimulation to send her over the edge. Her rhythm was almost involuntary and I thrust up, driving into her and a scream out of her. She kept up the swirl as I repeatedly thrust up.
I was more than ready to explode and it was time to tip Izzy over the edge.
I dropped my hips and replaced the thrusts with matching rolls to her hips. She was visibly chilled when I trailed my fingertips up her skin, starting at her waist and up to shape her bouncing globes. With one final squeeze and a thrust, she was free-falling in the abyss that was her orgasm. The contracting squeezes of her core around my cock took me to the edge. When she lifted up and plunged back down, my restrain exploded inside her as she continued to swirl and bounce, squeezing me dry.
“Fuck, Diego,” she panted, just before she collapsed on my chest.
Some time passed before I rolled her to her back while I rested on my side. I could tell she was in a slightly altered time and place if the far-off look she had in her eyes was any indication. It was time to take this to the bedroom. I swooped her up off of the table and headed for the stairs. “Izzy, don’t sleep just yet, bella.” I could see her lids hanging lower. “We need to clean up what little I didn’t lick off of you.” Her eyebrows perked up a bit with that, but her lids remained heavy.
“Does that mean you’re going to bathe me?” she asked sleepily.
“Why don’t we save bath time for when you’re not about to pass out? Would you settle for a sponge bath?” I asked once we’re in her bathroom. She subtly nodded and pointed to the cabinet behind me.
I grabbed a couple of washcloths and a couple of towels. I let the water get warm while I placed a towel on the bed and went back to get Izzy. I soaked the washcloths in the steamy hot water before I returned to the naked Izzy, spread out and looking perfect, her olive skin a soft contrast to the bright white towel she rested on.
I took my time cleaning her up and making small talk. I monopolized on the fact that just-fucked Izzy was very honest. “Hey, Izzy,” my voice dripped with sweetness, “remember our first date and the phone call afterward?”
“Mm hmmm,” she answered almost absently.
“I wanted to know your number, you never answered.”
“Hmmmm,” she hummed. I wasn’t sure if she remembered or if she was almost in dreamland.
“I just want you to know, it doesn’t matter what your number is.”
“Oh, yeah? You sure about that?”
A smile played out across my face. She remembered.
“Honestly?” I asked. “I think, unless you say your number is zero before me, I don’t want you to confirm that another man has had what’s mine.”
“You’re cute,” she looked at me dreamily.
I tossed the used towels and cloths to the floor, pulling out the one from underneath Izzy next.
“Seriously, bella,” I tried to get a little more of her attention. “I don’t care what your number is just let me be your last. Promise me, I’ll be your last.”
“Okay, Diego,” she mumbled. “You can be my last.”
“Earth to Diego,” Baz snaps his fingers in front of my face. “I’d ask you where you went, but the tent you’re pitching tells me it was two miles south of here and warm and wet.”
“Fuck,” I adjust my junk and scrub my hands over my face. “What was I saying?”
“When you realized you wanted to be Izzy’s last.”
“Oh, right.” Instinctively, I reach for my dick at the thought. Hell if that’s not a sign. “After dinner and dessert,” this time I resist the urge to adjust, “in our post orgasm bliss, I asked Izzy to promise that I would be her last.”
“And?”
“And? Well, she agreed, but I’m pretty sure she never really registered that part. And it wasn’t until I stood there with two broads that would certainly not be my last did I realize that I meant it. I want to be Izzy’s last and her mine. I want the chance to tell her all of this…again.”
It’s well past sunset when we empty our shoes of the sand and grab the ball to jog the two and a half mile trek back to my dorm. Better that it was a jog, because even if it weren’t for the strenuous workout I finished earlier, my dick is still mostly hard since I took a trip down memory lane to Chocolate Brownies a la Izzy and anything more than jog would be painful right now
Chapter Fifteen: Mr. Brightside (Part 8)
January 2007
Still the best damn brownies I’ve ever had. After that, I asked for that dessert every chance I got.
I flip past the half-naked pic of Izzy with a bowl of brownie mix.
The sigh that escapes me fills the silence of the room and echoes an eerie taunt. The sound of loneliness, it’s not a foreign sound, but one I’d thought I’d never suffer through again.
Things with Izzy didn’t get better anytime soon. She continued to decline my phone calls, ignored my presence outside her classes.
I was a mess. Then…
She needed me.
Chapter Sixteen: A Girl Like You
May 1999
I race around my room picking up and tossing back down shirt after shirt after shorts after shorts. I’m frantic. Eager. Eager to get dressed and the fuck out of here.
Izzy finally called.
The cab is probably already waiting for me. My phone rings and I answer. It’s the cab company wanting to make sure I still need the cab. I throw on the Ramones t-shirt Izzy gave me and rush through the dorm and out to the waiting cab.
Hopping into the cab, I tell the driver, “Get me to La Jolla Shore in less than fifteen minutes and this twenty,” I hold up the bill, “is your minimum tip.” He turns into Izzy’s driveway in thirteen. I toss him the fare, the twenty I promised and a few extra because I didn’t want to wait for change. I spring from the back of the cab and head to the downstairs patio. I trek down the outdoor stairs and around the side of the house. “I’ll be in the downstairs patio,” Izzy had said.
“Bella?” the patio is unusually dark. Off in the furthest corner, I see the flicker of a flame as I hear the match scrape against the striking surface of its box. The flicker becomes a full flame and in less than a moment, the downstairs patio is cast with the moving shadows from the lantern Izzy lit. Shocked by the sudden brightness of the patio, I fail to see Izzy laying on the couch or whatever you call that thing that looks like a couch and a lounge chair were spliced together.
“Bella?” I call to her again, this time looking at her when I ask the question. She’s beautiful. She’s bare naked and beautiful. The glow of the lantern plays across her skin as it revolves the shadowy patterns across the walls and into the night. My focus is on her. “Bella.” This time her name is more like a plea. She has to say something. Anything.
But she remains silent and I, motionless.
She stalks toward me as if I’m her prey caught in her trap. I can’t argue that. She’s a step from me and I can’t bring myself to close the gap. When she reaches me, my breath catches in my throat. She slides her hands up my chest and around my neck. She pulls me down making my eyes level with hers. It takes every ounce of my control to not look at her perfect tits. She leans into me placing her lips right next to my ear, angling my face to be within licking distance. “I miss you, Diego.”
With those few words, my arms are scooping Izzy up and kissing her senseless. Her lips pull me in, her tongue matches mine swipe for swipe. She moans into my mouth, I’m taking her back to the couch she was just on. Our lip-lock holds as I lower us onto the couch.
Izzy is fumbling with the hem of my t-shirt when she switches to the waist of my shorts. She’s untying the drawstring with a swift tug and her hand dives into my boxer
briefs.
“Ahhh,” I break the kiss as she grabs my hard as fuck cock. She starts pumping with her hand and I catch myself as I’m about to lose my balance above her. “Slow down, Izzy,” I settle her hand from the outside of my shorts with my free one.
“I need you,” she begs. “Please, Diego.”
I leap up from my place on the couch to undress. Back in place above her, I look into her eyes and she looks sad and—
“Please,” she begs again.
Just as desperate to be buried in her, I don’t hesitate. I plunge into her, the pull of flesh against flesh stings a little, but I bottom out into a pool of warm and wet. I slowly pump in and out, spreading her arousal. Once my cock is fully lubricated with her juices I thrust into her hard and fast.
“Yes, Diego. Yesss,” she cries out into the night. And my name from her lips is a dream come true. Calling out my name because I’m cock-deep in her is my own personal utopia.
This is going to be fast and hard for both of us. I can already feel Izzy reaching her climax. Her walls are pulsating around my cock and I fuse our mouths together. I match the pace of my tongue licking into her mouth with the thrust of my hips. Alternating between thrust and swirl, Izzy is frantically clawing at my back. Drawing me into her more, she sucks in my bottom lip and bites into it. “Ahhh,” the pain turns to pleasure, I taste the copper from my blood as she swipes the inside of my lip and twirls her tongue around mine.
My balls tighten and my cock twitches. One more thrust and Izzy has peaked, tumbling over the edge. Her body shakes with the orgasm rippling from her core to her arched back and back again. She thrusts up and the squeeze that comes with it is my undoing. I tighten my grip on the couch and pump into her, draining myself into her.
“Fuck, Izzy,” I pant over her. “What was that?”
“Shhhh,” she whispers. “Just hold me.”
Something about her voice told me not to push it, and I’d give anything to hold her. I don’t want to let her go. I settle next to her, wrapping her in my arms, she trembles. I pull the blanket from the back of the couch over us, tucking her into me.
I have slept like shit since that night. I have had the worst sleep because I haven’t been able to do this. I relax a little more, quickly succumbing to sleep.
The morning brings sore muscles and a smile as I feel my morning wood poking Izzy in the back. The sore muscles were from the two times in the middle of the night Izzy woke me up for another round. It must be late morning it’s getting warm. Izzy twitches in her sleep and a scowl mars her forehead. I rub her back, hoping to soothe her.
It’s an hour or so later when I wake up again. With the morning lumber softened, I peel my arm out from under Izzy to use the restroom. On my way back, I decide to start a pot of coffee for Izzy. The rustling around coming from the patio catches my attention.
Rounding the corner of the separating slide door, I discover a fully-dressed Izzy. “Hey, love.” I wrap my arms around her from behind. “I started coffee for you.”
Izzy shrugs out of my hold and thanks me. All the while, she’s avoiding making eye contact with me. “Izzy.” She keeps moving about as if I’m not here. “Izzy,” I hear the frustration building in my voice. “What’s going on?” I demand.
She flits around the room straightening up what doesn’t need to be straightened up. She doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t answer my question. What the fuck?
“Izabella,” I plead. “Look at me. Answer me,” I sound like a desperate fool, but I have this sinking feeling. I look around the patio. Last night has effectively been erased. The couch is straightened up with pillows in place, the blanket folded and hanging across the back. My Ramones t-shirt is folded on the coffee table.
Izzy’s shuffling past me when I reach out and grab her wrist. “Izzy, we need to talk.” I use my other hand to tip her chin to make her eyes meet mine. When they do, she shifts her gaze away and the subtle movement is a kick in the nuts.
I let her go, my hands fall lax hanging at my sides. I stare at the ground recalling last night. Did I read things wrong? The images of us a tangle of flesh and bones, Izzy’s skin cast in a golden hue from the rotating lantern. I whip my head up to locate the lantern. It’s not where it was. When I can’t find it anywhere, I look back to Izzy still standing where I let go of her.
The confusion backs me up into the outdoor table. I don’t look away from Izzy as I slide out a chair from behind me. “Izzy,” my voice is uncharacteristically void; I feel the panic in my gut. “IZABELLA!” I shout from my spot at the table. I see her jump with my outburst.
“Diego,” she whispers. I’m trying to read her face, but she’s giving nothing away.
“Don’t Diego me. What the fuck is going?” She startles at my harsh inquiry. “Tell me,” I demand through gritted teeth.
Her face flashes with something I can’t read replaced with a look of determination. She stalks toward me. Grabs my neck on both sides with each of her hands. The connection feels broken. She slides her hands down my neck and across my shoulders. I’m searching her eyes for the answers to the questions I’ve asked, but they give nothing away. Her fingers continue to trail down my arms, drawing figure eights and circles on her way back up and across my chest. She glides her pointer finger down the center of my chest towards the waistband of my shorts. The sensation causes my dick to stir to life.
“Izzy, what are you doing?” I ask with a clenched jaw.
“Shhh,” she presses the pointer finger from her other hand to my lips. “Let’s not talk,” she whispers.
What the fuck? Not talk? Anger flashes through me and I collect her wrists in my hands. “No,” I say keeping the rage from escaping.
She shakes free of my grasp. “Why not, Diego?” she asks while untying the wrap-style dress and revealing her bare skin beneath. “Don’t you want me?” She drops the thin fabric to the floor. If I reach out, I could touch her, but I don’t.
“Bella,” I implore. “We need to talk.”
“Less talking, more fucking,” she says as I study her face. That’s when I notice it. There’s a crack in her facade and the little vein in her temple is ticking.
“No fucking, Izzy.” Disappointment and anger flash across her schooled features. “We need to talk first,” I’m practically begging. She turns her back to me picking up the fallen dress.
“What should we talk about, Diego? Hm?” she challenges me. “Is it the fact that it’s not like you did something wrong because we were broken up? And for fuck’s sake, you sure had me believing that your claustrophobia wasn’t your need for more tail. So, imagine me finding you with two new tails.” Her rant is both justified and warranted. This is what I deserved. “I’m fucking pissed…fuck! That doesn’t even begin to cover it. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t seek love out, but it fucking found me, and it did exactly what I feared it would do. It’s left me bitter and fucking broken. You can’t see it but there’s a hole,” she pounds her right hand to heart,” right here. But I feel it,” she gasps and my heart twists. “And it feels like fate is playing a cruel game and my life is both the pawn and the bet.”
“Izzy.” This time her name is an apology.
“So, it’s fucking or nothing.” She stands there, her dress slightly open, exposing the inside curve of her tits down to her belly button.
I’ll take her as I can get her. I find myself eager to accept her terms, but a revealing thought chases away the notion. I don’t just want sex with Izzy. I want to be her last. My last. “I can’t do that, Izzy,” I force the words from my mouth. Hearing them out loud gives me an almost outer body experience. “I don’t want to be your fuck buddy. I want to be your last.”
She whips her eyes from the ground to find mine. I hate that she has. Her eyes are shooting daggers and I don’t understand. “My last?” she scoffs with a shake of h
er head. “Fucking or nothing. I’ll be upstairs. Otherwise, you know your way out.”
“Izzy, pleeease,” I breakdown and beg, “Why won’t you talk to me?”
“It’s simple really,” she declares. “I still have needs that you can meet.” She turns to leave but pauses just inside the sliding door. “Like I said, fucking or nothing,” and she walks away.
Chapter Seventeen: Mr. Brightside (Part 9)
January 2007
“Hijo,” he implores. His voice rattling in my head. I think I’m still slightly drunk from last night.
This morning. Whatever.
“Que fregado has hecho?” What the hell did I do? He tosses the room key I instructed the front desk to give him when he insisted at six o’clock this morning on coming over this afternoon.
“Lito...” his names comes out slightly slurred.
Yeah. Still a little drunk. It’s been maybe four hours since my last drink, but I haven’t slept yet. I just keep flipping through the photos of memory lane. It’s only been a few days since the picture came out, but life without Izzy is fucking miserable. If there’s anything this trip down memory lane has taught me, it’s just that.
When he finds me in the dining room, my head is buried under my hands and arms and the slideshow is playing in the background. “Hijo,” this time when he addresses me it’s to soothe me. “Dígame que paso.” He takes the seat to left of me.
Tell him what happened? How the fuck do I do that when I’m not sure myself?
“Sasha fucking Stafford happened, Lito!” I lift my buried head from the dining table. I may have just gone from drunk to hungover with that single action. I try to shake off the pain before I continue. “That fucking bitch is gonna pay!”
Love Needs Another Chance (Truth About Love #3) Page 9