“Just like that, baby,” he whispers in my ear. “You’re doing so good, opening your legs and letting me fuck whatever hole I want.”
I tense, a sharp thrill running down my back when his finger glides through my arousal, teasing my ass.
“Easy,” he warns, the message wrapped in a growl. “Let me have it, Iz baby.”
My muscles relax as much as they can, my body falling slightly into the sofa. I’m pounded from behind, his fingers working the tight ring.
“Oh, God,” I cry, making him laugh.
“Want to try that again?”
My fingers dig into the velvet fabric of the sofa.
“Say. My. Fucking. Name.” He slams his hips into me.
“Tristan!”
He grabs my hair again, pulling me up until my back arches. “Are you on the pill?”
I slap his hand away in a panic. He grabs onto my shoulder instead, pinning me in place as his hips surge at an unstoppable pace.
“Are you on the pill?”
“Yes!”
He shoves me back down, my breasts smushed against the sofa.
“Good, because I’m coming inside you.”
The declaration heats my skin, fire engulfing me as stars flash behind my eyes. I’m crying at the euphoria, the overstimulating experience draining me.
Hot cum spurts inside me. Lips falling apart and face screwed up, I’m glad I can hide against the sofa as shivers ripple down my spine.
CHAPTER 10
Isolde
How is one supposed to act after fucking their bodyguard?
This thought has haunted me the past four hours, because that’s all the time that’s elapsed since Tristan’s cock tore into my cunt. Since he came inside me.
Just the mere memory heats my skin.
For a full minute, our ragged breaths filled the living room. Still bent over the couch, his cock still inside me, it was like we didn’t know which of us would be the first to move.
When I slipped away, his cock dislodging, I think he tried to grab my shoulder, but I motioned him away. The bathroom lights were bright in comparison to the dark living room.
“Isolde?” Tristan knocked on the door before opening it.
He found me covered in body wash, the steam curling the hairs around my face.
I have this thing where I immediately have to shower after a sexual encounter. It’s not a slight against the man or anything. I’m not saying he’s dirty or I am, but the need to be fresh and clean rather than a sweaty, sticky mess always forces me to act quickly.
“I’m okay,” I told him. “Go to bed.”
He opened his mouth, ready to debate, before changing his mind. “You want me to bring you a new shirt?”
I almost dropped the soap. “Uh, yes, please.”