Black Surrender
Page 9
Michael stroked her with an icy glare. “No.” One word, hard-edged. No room for discussion.
Isabelle stood up and faced him. “I had time to think about this while you were entertaining that ape in the living room. His world, your world, Jack’s world. All the same. I’m not going to lie to you, Michael. There’s something about you that steals my breath. But I can’t sink back into that world.”
“How did you acquire all those beautiful things in your apartment, Isabelle?” Michael took a step towards her. “I can’t imagine that you just went out and bought that Ming Vase, not with the money you make from whatever fucking job you have.”
Isabelle jutted out her chin stubbornly, refusing to answer.
“You’re a thief, Isabelle. You’ve always been a thief. You want the pretty things, you find them, steal them, and keep them.” He was beside her now, staring down at her.
“So what?” Isabelle snapped. “That’s irrelevant to this conversation.”
“It’s not irrelevant! You’re a hypocrite. This shady world of mine suits you when you want it to.”
Isabelle dropped her eyes to her fingers. “Fuck off Michael,” she said without conviction.
Michael pulled her out of her chair abruptly and gave her a little shake, his hands firmly circling her upper arms. “No, Isabelle. I don’t know what’s going through that insane little head of yours, but I won’t fuck off. I am going to be your fucking knight in shiny armour whether either of us wants it. Because I have a stake in this too.”
“What the fuck’s your stake?” She had her hands wrapped around his wrists, not to push him away. She needed an anchor.
“You,” he growled, and then brought his mouth to hers and kissed her hard, running his tongue over her silky lips. Tasting her.
Isabelle turned her head to the side. “Stop Michael!”
“Make me, Isabelle.” Michael dropped his lips to her neck and trailed hard kisses along the nape of it, licking and nibbling. She shivered and brought her hands to his hard, bare chest. He moved his hands from her arms to her waist drawing her in closer, embracing her tightly. The heat from her body flooded his. His cock jerked up and pressed against her thigh.
Isabelle moaned. She wasn’t stopping him. Wasn’t trying to make him stop. He grabbed the front of her blouse and ripped it open without care to the fabric or buttons. She shrieked to his satisfaction. She made him furious, lustful, crazy. Made him want to shred her clothes. See her naked in all her glory. Fuck her until she screamed his name.
“Stop destroying my clothes!” Isabelle mumbled as Michael swallowed her words with a solid kiss to her mouth.
“No,” Michael said as he came up for air. He ripped the shirt from her arms and threw it to the floor. Her plunging bra was red with a black lacy overlay and in a few seconds, lying on the floor next her shirt. “I want you naked Isabelle.” He breathed as he stepped back from her, his pupils dilating as they drank in her breasts. “Now, Isabelle!” He ordered as she hesitated. “Make yourself naked.” His voice was hard and demanding. He wanted her vulnerable in front of him. He wanted his hands on her breasts, his lips on her pussy. He wanted everything about her. He was maddened by his wanting.
Her breasts jutted out at him, her nipples stiff and inviting as she reached back and opened her skirt, letting it fall to the floor. Michael’s eyes swept her. Fuck. Red satin bikini panties trimmed in black lace covered her pussy and hugged her curvy ass. The lacy tops of her black stockings were held in place by a sexy black lace garter belt. He almost came then and there. “Do you always wear a garter?” he asked gruffly as he ran his fingers down her waist and snagged the top of the belt.
“Yes.” Isabelle’s voice was breathy as she unhitched her nylons. The tops of them were lacy and stayed snug to her thighs, the garter a formality.
“Keep on the nylons and shoes.” Michael grabbed her hand and placed it on his cock, through the fabric of his pajama bottoms. Isabelle stroked him and then hooked her nails into his waistband and pulled his pants down, freeing him. Her eyes darkened at his hardness, then shifted to his face, searching his eyes.
He kicked his pajamas to the side, then dropped to his knees and slowly pulled down her panties, past a small strip of pubic hair, over her knees, to her sexy stiletto adorned feet. He pushed her back against the table she’d been sitting at, lifted her up by the waist and set her ass on the table top. He swept her panties over her feet then forced her thighs open to him, catching a glimpse of her brightly painted fingernails as she grabbed the edges of the table with her hands. Desire raged through him as he imagined those nails digging into his back as he fucked her. But not yet.
He ran a hand down her leg, down her stockings to her calf, relishing it. Then the other, running his tongue over the silky nylon, biting her flesh just above the top of the stocking. He forced her thighs further open, forced her to lean back on her elbows to steady herself. He burrowed his face into her pussy, breathing her in, savouring her. His mouth watered for her and there was no denying himself as he ran his tongue through her folds, lingering at her swollen clit, then moving to her vagina, seeking her sweetness.
She cried out as he settled his tongue back on her clit, raking it softly at first and then as her ass squirmed, more aggressively. He bit her gently, on the clit, on the labia, on the inner thigh. He grinned with satisfaction as she cried out his name, bringing a stiletto to his shoulder to steady herself. He wrapped his hand around her calf, stroking the shoe, and kissed her on the ankle. Blood flooded his cock as he stared at her. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Did she know that? Should he tell her?
“Michael,” her breathy voice drew his attention. “Don’t stop.”
“Never, Isabelle.” He dropped another kiss on her ankle, then brought his fingers to her pussy, sliding one, then two into her wet vagina, hooking his fingers as they plunged into her depths, petting her sweet spot and forcing loud cries from her lips. Lady has her moan on, Michael thought wickedly as he stroked inside her, caressing her, teasing her, raking her. Her body was bucking, and he thought he might explode from the sheer eroticism of it. He pulled his fingers from her and climbed up her body, keeping her leg hooked over his arm. He wanted her open to him.
His cock pressed against her pussy and he took it between his fingers and rubbed it over her clit. It was all he could do not to plunge inside her. He leaned into her and crushed his lips to her, his tongue seeking hers out as his cock stroked her. Her ass was thrusting, her breathing hard and her hands moved from the table to his shoulders, pulling him closer, digging her fingernails into his flesh. A wave of lust roared through him and his knees almost buckled.
“Inside me, Michael. Please,” she gasped frantically.
But he stayed steady with his cock to her clit, sliding it back and forth up her folds. Her grip tightened on his shoulders and she wrapped her other leg around his waist, gripping him with her strong thighs. His name ripped from her lips as she jerked, and he watched her face as her orgasm tore through her, felt her pussy pulse against his cock. Hard, fast spasms that faded to intervals. He pressed his cock on her clit, milking it, watching her shudder as he wrung her dry.
He stilled as she did and waited until she opened her eyes, until her vision cleared, and she could see him clearly. Then he drew her other leg around him, so both her strong thighs embraced him, pulling him closer to him. He mashed his lips to hers, their tongues locked in a passionate tango. “Isabelle,” he groaned as he pulled back.
“What’s wrong?” Isabelle asked, her words wispy as she inhaled.
“We’d make terrible parents.”
Isabelle leaned back, her eyes wide, “You don’t have a condom?”
“I don’t,” Michael said, lowering her forehead to his, staring down to the curves of her breasts. He dropped his hands to one of them, squeezing it, flicking his thumb across the nipple, watching as it grew harder, then lowered his lips to it, sucking it into his mouth, tonguing it, raking it with hi
s teeth.
“How can you not have a condom?” she gasped as he gently pinched her other nipple.
He brought his lips back to her lips, rubbing his penis across her folds, his breathing heavy. “It wasn’t at the forefront of my thoughts when we were packing our bags.”
“I thought sex was always on the forefront of men’s thoughts.” She took his hard cock in her hand and stroked it, the same way he had stroked her nipple. Gentle, thumbing it across the head, massaging the pre-cum over the top of it, then tightening her hold, jerking it harder, faster, making him gasp, making his knees weak. He picked her up, her legs still wrapped around his ass, her hand still wrapped around his cock and dropped her on the bed underneath him, his body falling on hers carefully, so he didn’t crush her with his weight.
“Sex is always on the forefront, Isabelle, but not always the forethought.”
She drew her ass up and guided him inside her. “You don’t need a condom,” she moaned as his full length and width sank into her hot wet sheathe. He would have asked her what she meant if he had the presence of mind and the breath to do so. But all he felt, all he could focus on was her under him, drawing him in deeper as she tightened her thighs around him. Her hands stroking his back, her breathy cries, her neck exposed to his lips as she flung her head back.
Then he lost sight of her pleasure as his took over, the heat in his belly, the tightness in his balls, cramping in his thighs and his blood thundering in his ears. His breath seemed distant and hoarse, but louder as he thrust harder and faster, Isabelle matching him, mews of pleasure escaping her. And then the eruption, speeding through him, setting off a chain reaction, his body and mind losing all sense of time and place as he exploded deep inside her.
And Isabelle crying out, her nails raking his back, her thighs tightening around him. Her body, driving against him repeatedly and then smaller, weaker thrusts as her pleasure subsided.
Chapter Ten
Isabelle lay against Michael, his arms wrapped around her, holding her to him. A softness worked its way through her bones – it floated within her. Something almost unrecognizable – peace, she thought. She shifted slightly to peer into his face, to see if he was feeling it too. Michael’s arms tightened around her and a thrill traveled her spine. He wasn’t yet willing to let her go. His eyes were closed, the edges of his face gentled by their love-making.
“Michael,” she murmured as she ran her fingers along the hard contours of his chest and stomach. Michael’s eyes slid open and as he saw her looking at him, he smiled tenderly. Her heart skipped a beat.
“Hmmm?” he said, his body relaxed, his face unguarded. She’d never seen him like this before – so content.
“Would you ever kill me?”
Michael furrowed his forehead and she felt his muscles tighten beneath her hands. So much for the mood. He said as much. “What a thing to ask, Isabelle.”
But he’d skirted the topic she noted with dismay. “That’s not really an answer to my question.”
“Would you ever kill me?” Michael rolled out of her embrace and sat up, lowering his feet to the carpet.
Isabelle propped herself up on her elbow and flattened her hand against his warm back, tracing his spine with her fingertips, probing the muscles that carved his shoulders. “Maybe,” she murmured.
Michael turned to her, his eyes quizzical, then amused. He chuckled as he brought his lips to hers and kissed her softly. “Maybe, hey?”
Isabelle grinned as he stood up in his full glory. He was breathtaking. She wished she could stay this way forever. “Yes. I would have to kill you if you tried to kill me.”
Michael gazed at her with dark, impenetrable eyes. She briefly wondered what he was looking for as she gazed back at him. “That would be a sad day, wouldn’t it?”
“Sadness doesn’t seem like an emotion you have.”
Michael shrugged as he walked into the bathroom. “I suppose you’re right. I’ve never had anything to be sad about.”
He closed the door, leaving Isabelle to ponder this. She flipped onto her back and stretched, arching slowly, pressing her chest upward toward the ceiling, curling her hands toward the headboard. Had she ever been sad? Did she know that emotion? She didn’t miss her family, not even her mother. She didn’t miss any of the men she’d ever been with, especially her ex-husband. She didn’t yearn for friendships, or pets or even romance. Maybe life had kicked the shit out of her emotions – she’d known only anger and fear for most of her life. Then when she escaped Jack, when enough time had passed that she stopped looking over her shoulder, both emotions subsided. Not replaced by recklessness or happiness, just relief.
Now she felt foreign emotions bubbling up in her. And this brought on a different kind of fear. Fear of abandonment, fear of the future, fear of rejection. Was it love? How could that be? Why did it have to be? She knew Michael was intrigued by her, protective of her, but love? Like sadness, she doubted he ever felt love. What was this then? What if she did love him? She felt a little thrill as her heart beat a little faster. That would be so crazy. She frowned then. It couldn’t be happily ever after, but then that was the last thing she’d ever contemplated anyway. Love for now. She tried that on for size and found she liked it.
She was grinning when Michael opened the bathroom door. Caught. She felt heat flood her as he searched her face. She pulled herself up to her knees, threw him one of her contrived smiles, then grinned again, she couldn’t help herself. Michael smiled back, a loopy grin that warmed her heart.
“We should shower.” He stretched his hand to her and she slipped out of the bed and took it. Pulling her to him, he circled her with his arms and pressed his lips against hers. His mouth slid to her neck and he settled his face into the crook of her shoulder, his hot breath warming her. She wrapped her arms around his waist but just held him, savouring him as he traced the nape of her neck with his tongue, his hands exploring her back, rubbing it with the palm of his hand, sending little shivers through her with each stroke. It was so intimate, so loving. A moment to treasure. No one had ever held her like this. She was not just a vessel, not a trophy, not a possession. She was a woman and Michael made her feel cherished.
Her throat tightened, and a few fat tears rolled from her eyes, dropping onto Michael’s chest. He pulled back from her, arms tightening, face solemn. “Isabelle, what’s wrong?” Gentle edges to his words, a softness that embraced her. But she needed to stop. This was getting maudlin. She needed to be on her game today. She needed Michael, but more importantly she needed her strength, her feistiness, everything she believed about herself. She pulled out of Michael’s embrace, and touched her fingers to his cheek.
“Nothing, Michael. That’s the problem. The other problem is we’ve ruined my makeup. So, you’re right, we should shower.” She didn’t wait for his response. Her heart was thudding in her chest as she kicked off her shoes and stepped past him. Her rein on her emotions was too fragile. She needed to toughen up. As if to reinforce this thought, she turned back to him and grabbed his cock with both hands. Holding it tight, she savoured the surprise and immediate lust that flickered over Michael’s face. Maybe he didn’t like his women so bold. Well, too bad. He’d better get used to it. He swelled in her hands.
“You are a bad girl, Isabelle.” His voice smooth and playful.
She tightened her grip on his cock and pulled him into the bathroom. “How bad, Michael?”
He grinned wickedly as he grabbed her hands from his cock. He dropped to his knees in front of her and kissed her pussy as he pulled her stockings down her legs and over her feet. He wrapped his hands around the back of her thighs and pulled them further apart. His tongue raked her pussy, kissing it, stroking it. His fingers dug into ass cheeks.
“Michael,” Isabelle moaned and missed him instantly as he got to his feet. He kissed her hard on the lips as he held her wrists and pulled her into the shower. He pushed her to the floor pulling her mouth to his cock. “Show me how bad, Isabelle.”
Then he pulled out of her mouth, and she popped her eyes open to see him looking down at her, his brow furrowed, a small frown playing at his lips. Somehow, he knew she wasn’t giving him this with pleasure. Her belly knotted and she dropped her eyes to her hands – fear, shame, self-loathing whipped its way through her, causing her eyes to water. Men liked their blowjobs. And she’d gotten good at them – blowjobs kept her off the streets.
Michael pulled her up and kissed her mouth, a little roughly, a little possessively. He slid his tongue past her lips aggressively, his hand dropping to her pussy, running his fingers through her folds, caressing, exploring, branding her with his touch. She gasped as he found her clit and pinched it, causing a cascade of small quakes to rip through her. He pushed her against the shower wall, his teeth on her nipple as his hand continued to pleasure her, fondling her clit, then her pussy, storming her defenses from above and below. She was unsteady, her legs quivering under her, then Michael grabbed her ass, picking her up. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist drawing him tight to her as he guided his penis into her, filling her. He fucked her then, his dark eyes boring into hers, looking for answers. His breath was unsteady, hot against her shoulder as he pounded into her. She responded wildly, biting his shoulder, digging her nails into his back, tightening her thighs. Then as she felt the beginning of her orgasm sweep through her, she closed her eyes to him, to everything but the pleasure that flooded her as he thrust.