*Isabella's POV*
Need I say more? He claimed my lips once more, but this kiss was different. It was still possessive, still dominating, but fuck, it had a lot of emotion in it. It wasn't just a claim; it was a confession. A raw, unfiltered promise that I could feel all the way down to my fucking soul.
He wrapped his hands tighter around my waist, a secure, steady hold, and picked me up. I gasped as he stepped out of the hot tub, the sudden, cool night air a shocking contrast to the hot, bubbling water we'd just been in. He carried me through the cabin, my wet body dripping onto the floor, but he didn't seem to care. His eyes were fixed on mine, dark and intense, and I felt like I was the only person in his world.
He placed me down gently on the bed, the soft, cool sheets a welcome sensation against my heated skin. He stood over me for a moment, just looking, his eyes dark and burning with an intensity that was almost too much to bear. Then, with a low groan, he reached down and ripped off my bikini. The flimsy black fabric tore away like it was paper, leaving me completely bare to him.
He pulled off his own shorts in one smooth motion, his hard cock springing free. He reached into a bedside drawer, pulling out a condom and rolling it on with a practiced ease that was both ridiculously efficient and fucking hot.
He moved over me, his body covering mine, and took both my wrists in one of his large, strong hands, pinning them above my head against the headboard. He positioned himself at my entrance, and then he thrust into me. It wasn't a brutal, punishing intrusion; it was a slow, deliberate, deep thrust that stole the air from my lungs and made me moan out loud. He filled me completely, a perfect, aching fullness.
He started to move, his hips setting a rhythm of deep, powerful strokes that were designed to drive me absolutely insane. He kept his eyes locked on mine, a dark, possessive gaze that saw every flicker of emotion, every gasp of pleasure.
"Isabella... look at me," he growled, his voice a low, possessive rumble that vibrated through my entire being. I couldn't have looked away even if I'd wanted to.
He leaned down, his mouth claiming one of my nipples, sucking it into a hard, aching peak. The dual sensations of his deep thrusts and his hot mouth on my breast were almost too much. The pressure was already building, a tight, coiling heat in pussy.
Just when I thought I was right on the edge, he pulled out. In one fluid, powerful motion, he flipped me over, so I was suddenly on my hands and knees. He entered me again from behind, a sharp, deep thrust that made me cry out. This new angle was devastating, hitting my G-spot with every deep, deliberate thrust.
He wrapped a hand in my hair, pulling my head back gently, forcing me to arch my spine. "You feel so fucking good," he groaned, his voice a raw, husky sound against my ear. "So tight and wet for me."
He reached around with his other hand, his fingers finding my clit, rubbing it in tight, demanding circles that matched the rhythm of his thrusts. The pleasure was a tidal wave, and I was quickly losing myself in it.
"Cum for me, Isabella," he commanded, his voice a low, guttural sound. "Cum with me."
The words were my final undoing. An orgasm, more intense and shattering than any before, ripped through me. A blinding, white-hot wave that washed over both of us. I cried out his name, my body convulsing as my pussy clenched around his cock. He groaned my name, his own release triggered by mine, his body tensing as he pulsed inside me.
He stayed there for a moment, his body a heavy, comforting weight on mine, our ragged breaths the only sound in the room. Then he pulled out, carefully disposing of the condom. He slid back into bed, pulling me into his arms. My back was against his chest, his strong arms wrapped around my waist, his leg thrown over mine as I drifted off to sleep in his arms, a boneless, sated mess, feeling safer and more cherished than I ever had in my entire fucking life.
The next morning I woke up with a fucking ache between my legs, a deep, satisfying reminder of exactly how I'd spent my night. I turned my head, and there he was. Damien. Sleeping. He looked... peaceful. Almost harmless. Which was a fucking lie, but for a moment after last night, in the soft morning light filtering through the cabin windows, I could almost pretend.
And then my brain decided to replay my own personal highlight reel from last night. Did I really ask him that? "Make love to me." By all means, I've never said anything so cringey in my whole fucking life. It was something from a bad romance movie, not my life. Why the hell was he so into me? What was I even doing?
Because last night... last night was different. It wasn't just the usual Damien, the rough, possessive bastard who fucked me like he was trying to claim my soul. Last night was slower. He looked at me... really looked at me, like he was seeing something more than just a body to fuck. He stroked my lip, his movements deliberate, full of an emotion that scared me more than his anger ever could. It was almost like last night was a dream.
I just hope things don't get fucking awkward today.
Suddenly he woke up, yawning, a big, ungraceful stretch that made me smile for a second before I remembered who I was with and where I was.
"Morning, Damien," I greeted him, my voice a little too bright.
"Morning, Isabella," he mumbled in response, his voice still thick with sleep.
"I've seen you in the morning since our first night," I said, a little bit of a tease. It was true, though. I'd woken up next to him that first time, but this felt... different.