Chapter 155: Breath.

Chapter 155

“Lucian… ah! Lucian, please…” The sound kept repeating like a broken record. Isabella moaned, her voice cracking as she sobbed his name into the hollow of his throat.

The single finger redefined everything Isabella thought she knew about her own body. It was thick, calloused, and unyielding, stretching her narrow entrance until the skin felt taut and buzzing.

Her hand, which had been pressed to the throbbing base of his cock, finally slipped away, her fingers curling into the silk sheets as she lost the ability to focus on anything but the heavy intrusion between her legs.

Lucian didn’t care that she’d stopped touching him. He was beyond the point of needing encouragement.

He moved his finger deeper, his knuckle dragging against her sensitized walls, making Isabella’s vision blur.

The sound of his name on her lips was like oil on a fire. He added a second finger, forcing her legs even wider apart until she was completely exposed.

“Lu…ain,” Isabella forced her eyes open, her chest heaving as she watched him. Lucian was looming over her, his two fingers gaining pace and scissoring inside her, curling upward to hit the spot that made her entire body convulse.

The wet, slapping sound of his friction filled the silent suite, marking the end of her innocence.

Her legs were shaking, her heels digging into the mattress as she tried to pull him closer, to swallow the sensation that was threatening to shatter her.

“That’s it,” Lucian whispered, his mouth finding the sensitive curve of her ear, his hot breath sending fresh shivers down her spine.

Isabella was a sobbing, gasping mess, her fingers clawing at his corded forearms as she felt the first wave of a massive, terrifying climax begin to build in the base of her spine.

“Ah… Lucain…I.. can’t… I’m about. Fuck!” She couldn’t hold back anymore. With a long, high-pitched scream of his name, Isabella’s core clamped down around his fingers in a series of contractions.

She arched her back so hard her heels left the bed, her entire world dissolving into a blinding white light of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Lucian watched her every second of it, his eyes glowing as he felt her internal muscles milking his fingers.

He held her through the tremors, his thumb never stopping its assault until she was limp and weeping beneath him, her skin flushed a deep, beautiful pink.

The silence that followed was heavy with the scent of sex and the looming reality of what was coming next.

Lucian withdrew his hand, his fingers glistening, and Isabella felt a sudden, hollow ache in his absence.

She looked up at him, her eyes glazed and pupils blown, and saw him shifting,

She looked up at him, her eyes glazed and pupils blown, and saw him shifting, the muscles of his powerful thighs bunching as he prepared to pull back.

Lucian’s chest was heaving, his dark-veined, massive length twitching with a need that looked physically painful, yet his gaze had softened with a sliver of concern.

He looked at her—flushed, trembling, and utterly spent from the force of her first climax—and he began to move as if to stand, to give her the air she seemed to be gasping for.

“Let’s get you clean up” he rasped, his voice thick with a hunger he was trying to cage. “Rest. We don’t have to—”

But he didn’t get to finish. Before he could retreat into that “legendary restraint,” Isabella’s hand shot out, her fingers locking around his corded forearm with a strength that surprised them both.

“No” she breathed, the word vibrating with a raw desperation that made Lucian freeze. She pulled, sliding her hand down his arm until she reached his hand—the one still glistening, wet and ivory-streaked with the evidence of her own undoing.

Lucian watched, his breath hitching in his chest, as Isabella brought his hand to her lips. Her eyes, glowing with a newfound carnal knowledge, locked onto his honest crimson ones.

She didn’t look away, No, with deliberate movement that was the height of provocation, she parted her lips and took his middle finger into her mouth.

Lucian let out a sound that was half-groan, half-growl, his entire body jerking as if she had plugged him into a live wire.

Isabella sucked, her tongue swirling around the knuckle, cleaning the creaminess of her own surrender from his skin while her gaze remained fixed on his.

She was showing him—not telling him—that she wasn’t just a “Saint” or a delicate glass doll. She was his, and she could handle the storm.

“Lucian,” she whispered against his damp skin, her voice dropping into a husky register that made the headboard rattle as his hips bucked instinctively.

“I want to feel all of you. Don’t stop now.” The sight of her—kneeling on the silk, his taste on her tongue and her own scent clinging to her lips—was the final blow to Lucian’s control.

The air in the suite thickened. Slowly, with a hand that shook from the sheer force of suppressed tremors, Lucian pulled his fingers from the wet heat of her mouth.

He looked at the hand—glistening and darkened by the moisture of her tongue and her own creaminess—and then his gaze snapped back to hers. “You have no idea,” he rasped, the words more a warning than a sentence.

Before she could respond, that same hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around the elegant column of her throat.

Holding her with firmly, the grip forced her chin up, exposing her pulsing throat to his gaze. He lunged forward, his mouth crashing onto hers in a kiss. His tongue swept into her mouth, Isabella let out a broken, high-pitched whimper, her body reacting instinctively to the sheer masculinity of his assault.

Her hands slid down the mountain of his chest, her palms grazing over his rock-hard abs and the corded wall of his abdomen.

She didn’t stop until her fingers found him. She gripped him, his skin so hot it felt like it might blister her palms.

Every time she tightened her grip, a low, guttural roar vibrated through his chest and into hers.

Lucian broke the kiss, his lips lingering just a hair’s breadth from hers, his breath scorching her skin.

He pulled his hand from her neck and brought it between their faces, his palm open and trembling.

“Spit on it,” The request was so raw, so blunt, that it sent a fresh wave of liquid heat crashing through Isabella’s lower belly.

Her mind had imagined many things, but the reality of this—of being his instrument, his source of relief—was more intoxicating than any fiction.

She looked deeply into his eyes, her gaze never wavering, and gathered the moisture in her mouth. Slowly, she let it fall onto the center of his palm.

Lucian’s eyes darkened until they were almost black, a pained groan escaping his throat as his hips bucked uncontrollably against her hand.

He didn’t wait. He took that moisture and reached down, his hand sliding over the heavy steel of his own length, coating himself with her essence.

The sound of it—the wet, sliding friction of his hand moving over his cock—was the most sexual thing Isabella had ever heard.

She let go of him only to reach up and wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him down, her legs falling wide open in an invitation that was as old as time.

Lucian shifted, his knees settling between her open thighs, and he reached down, his fingers guiding the blunt, burning head of his cock to the very entrance he had spent the last hour meticulously undoing.

When the first contact was made Isabella’s head snapped back against the pillows. Her eyes glazed over instantly, the pupils blowing wide until they were bottomless pools of black, and a long, fractured moan tore from her throat.

“Lucian…” Her fingers digging into the corded muscles of his shoulders as he began to push. Isabella felt her breath leave her body in one long, shaky exhale as her narrow entrance was forced to accommodate the thickness of him.

The stretch and friction of his wet skin against her tight walls brought immense pain but in-between that pain was an increasing sensation of pleasure.

Lucian’s jaw was locked, his neck muscles straining like iron cables as he fought to keep his pace measured.

He pushed deeper, a fraction of an inch at a time, watching her face with a starving intensity.

“Breath, Isabella,” he rasped, Isabella’s hips tilted upward instinctively, her body seeking to swallow the incredible weight of him even as her mind reeled from the sheer scale of the intrusion.

Every inch he gained, dragged heat that moved through her like molten lead. Lucian paused, his forehead dropping to hers, his ragged breath mingling with her own.

He waited for her, his body vibrating with a need that was physically punishing, until he felt her internal muscles begin to soften and pulse around him.

With one final, deliberate surge of his hips, he broke through. Isabella let out a high-pitched, muffled cry into his shoulder, her nails marking his skin as he buried himself to the hilt.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep