Chapter 287
“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Do you know what that does to me? Knowing how much you want me, how much you
need me?”
She moaned, her hands clutching at the sheets as he continued to touch her, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles. “Graham,” she whispered, her
voice trembling, “please…”
Isla had come to realize, over the course of those feverish, clandestine nights, that Graham had a side to him in bed that was as unyielding as it was intoxicating. He was not the kind of lover who coddled or soothed; he was demanding, relentless, and at times, almost merciless in his pursuit of her pleasure–and his own. It was a side of him that both thrilled and terrified her, a side that left her trembling, breathless, and utterly at his mercy.
Each night, after the house had fallen silent and the guests were tucked away in their rooms, Graham would slip into her bedroom, his presence a dark, commanding force that filled the space with an electric tension. He would close the door softly behind him, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her heart race. And then, without a word, he would cross the room to her bed, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey.
He would sit on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face, his touch deceptively gentle. But there was nothing gentle about what came next. His kisses were hungry, possessive, his hands roaming her body with a confidence that left her gasping. He would push her down into the mattress, his body pressing hers into the sheets, his lips trailing a path of fire down her neck, her chest, her stomach, until she was trembling beneath him, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
But it was when his hands–or his mouth–found the most sensitive part of her that the real torment began. He would touch her with a skill that left her writhing, his fingers or tongue working her with a precision that drove her to the edge of pleasure and then held her there, teetering on the brink, refusing
to let her fall.
“Graham,” she would whimper, her voice trembling with need, her hands clutching at the sheets as she twisted beneath him. “Please… please, I can’t…”
But he would only smirk, his eyes dark with desire as he looked up at her. “You can,” he would murmur, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down her spine. “And you will. You’ll take everything I give you, Isla. You’re mine, and I’ll decide when you come.”
His words were a command, not a request, and they left her trembling with a mix of fear and arousal. She would cry out, her body arching as he continued to touch her, the pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. She would beg, her voice breaking as she pleaded for release, but he would only shake his head, his touch relentless, his gaze locked on hers.
“Not yet,” he would say, his voice firm, his fingers or tongue never stopping. “You’ll come when I say you can. Not a moment sooner.”
And so she would twist and writhe, her body caught in a torturous limbo between pleasure and pain, her cries growing more desperate with each passing moment. She would beg, her voice trembling as she pleaded with him, but he would only smile, his touch never faltering, his control absolute.
Finally, when he decided she had had enough, when he was satisfied that she had been pushed to her limit, he would relent. His touch would change, becoming more insistent, more deliberate, and she would feel the tension inside her snap, the pleasure crashing over her in waves that left her gasping and trembling, her body convulsing as she came undone beneath his hands.
And then, just as quickly as it had begun, it would be over. He would lean down, pressing a soft, almost chaste kiss to her lips, his touch gentle now, almost reverent. “Good girl,” he would murmur, his voice warm with satisfaction. “You did so well.”
The End Of a Marriage
Chapter 288
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
