“Good girl.”
His breath tickled my ear before his lips trailed down my neck, kissing and licking.
I mewled, wanting him, wanting more, but not sure how much more I could take. He moved closer, his hard chest brushing against my br**sts. I loved the way he felt against me--so safe, so warm. So right.
He reached down, and I felt the tip of him pressing into me, urging me open. I moaned as he sheathed himself inside of me, stretching me; filling me in a way that made my toes curl inside of my heels. I was spread wide for him, vulnerable and ready, and he pushed deeper, making me gasp.
“Is this what you want, Mrs. Drake?” He grabbed my waist, pulling out in one achingly slow motion, before slamming home once again. “Is this what you want from me?”
“Yes,” I moaned. “Yes, Sir!”
He leaned in, capturing my mouth in a long, sensual kiss, his tongue mimicking the movement of his h*ps as he thrust into me again, pulled out, then thrust back even harder. I groaned at the feel of him, each long stroke of his c**k inside of me making my sensitive body rejoice. When he broke away, he bit my earlobe, making me cry out.
“You’re mine, Isabeau. All mine,” he said, grunting as he drove into me.
“Yes,” I breathed. “God, yes, Mr. Drake.”
He picked up his pace, and I could tell he was at the edge of his control--that he wanted me just as badly as I wanted him, and this time couldn’t restrain himself, couldn’t take his sweet time torturing me, drawing it out. The thought made my heat sear through me, the intensity of his lovemaking, his lust, making me burn for him. He reached down, and suddenly, the plug buzzed to life again, making me scream, the pressure rubbing against the friction of his shaft inside of me.
“And I’m yours, Isa. All yours. For as long as I live...”
Tears rolled down my cheeks again, but not just from the pleasure threatening to overwhelm my every sense. I was his, and he was mine. Husband and wife. For the rest of our lives...
He drove into me, kissing my tears away as he f**ked me ravenously, drawing out, then driving home again and again, over and over. I strained against the ropes, wanting to cry out, but unable to speak, as I exploded against the hard wood of the cross.
He groaned and kissed me, locking us together as he came along with me, our bodies convulsing as one, intertwined, locked together in passion. In love.
When we finally stilled, he held my face in his hands, the look in his eyes echoing everything welling up inside my own heart. When he said, “I love you, Isabeau,” I nodded. It wasn’t necessary. I was Mrs. Drake, his and only his, and I knew I was loved.
And in that moment, I knew I was home as well.
***
The End