Chapter Four
Dorian and Isabelle ate breakfast together in his room. She sat in his lap, naked as God intended women to be. Her ass was soft and warm, much like the bread roll he was devouring. Wasn’t that the ultimate punishment at the Fall of Man? God had planned that every day of a man’s life was to be filled with the lovely nakedness of women. On further consideration, perhaps it had been a conspiracy all along. Women didn’t want to be naked all day long and the apple tree was conveniently nearby.
She sliced a piece of ham and stabbed her fork into the meat before holding it up to his mouth—all subservient sexuality this morning. In between bites of food, they nibbled on each other.
He had never had a mistress that didn’t chat incessantly. Isabelle seemed to know that talk wasn’t always necessary.
He had the odd need to smile at her from time to time. She seemed not to notice his doltish behavior.
After they had their fill of ham, rolls, cheese, hard-boiled eggs and dried fruit, Dorian plucked up the wooden honey spoon and dribbled it over Isabelle’s breasts, leaning down to lick and suck her beautiful flesh. Her thigh was pressed against his burgeoning erection.
Isabelle turned slowly, ensuring his mouth did not lose contact with her breast. She straddled his legs, her thighs pressed to his. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she lifted her body and then, with considerable finesse, slowly slid onto his erection.
He groaned at the exquisite pleasure of her surprisingly hot, tight cunt. She ran her fingers though his hair. He slipped his hands to her ass and kneaded, giving her a small boost as her thighs clenched and lifted. Wherever she had learned her skill, she’d been taught well. He had never had a woman who, with the sheer force of her inner muscles, could rouse him so quickly to orgasm.
After a few thrusts, he held her in place while he fought against the consuming need to rush. Her other clients—older and infirm—didn’t stand a chance under her practiced wiles.
He’d rushed through enough ejaculations with her that he could at least demonstrate some of his prowess.
He was in deep. When she started the purposeful contractions against his cock, he felt his will go weak. Interrupting her rhythm, he surged upward from the chair and backed her against a wall. She moaned, her legs tightening around his waist, but at least he broke the strong grip of her cunt.
“Slow down, Isabelle. I don’t like my pleasure rushed.” With her, it was always going to be a battle of wills. Unfortunately, women always had the upper hand when it came to sexual performance. Men were more likely to hurry through the event because controlling a cock was like keeping the reins of a runaway horse. Once loose, it was hard to regain control. Instinctively, women seemed to know this.
She gazed into his eyes. He stared into the green of her left eye, feeling the need to get lost. Drown.
He thrust into her several times. Hard and quick. Her lids shuttered and she gripped his cock again, sending dizzying pleasure through his cods and up his spine.
She had to learn some simple obedience. He liked orgasm, he liked it infinitely better when he got to draw his pleasure into prolonged sessions.
He used his hand to stroke her rounded bottom delicately. He drew his hand away and then returned it with a hard, stinging slap to get her attention.
She gasped. Her eyes opened wide. “You hit me.”
“Don’t do that until I’m ready,” he commanded.
“You hit me,” she said again, sounding dazed.
Dorian leaned in to kiss her. She bit his lip.
He licked at his lip, tasting blood. “You little hellion.”
She turned into a wild cat in his arms and he almost dropped her. Sharp teeth sank into his shoulder and sharper nails clawed into his back.
He grabbed her thigh with one hand and cupped her ass with the other, hauling her closer, trying to keep her under control. She surged against him, riding his erection hard, but somehow keeping her cunt full of him while she rocked and writhed.
She nipped at his earlobe and pulled outward before she let it slide across her teeth.
He carried Isabelle toward the bed. She was at his neck, taking sharp little bites that had him ready to haul her over his knee. When he got to the bed, he did just that.
He sat with unintended quickness as Isabelle scrambled to get away from him. He grabbed her wrist and she bit the back of his hand. She was lithe and while he was being rough, he had no intention of hurting her, but she was making it difficult to judge play from meanness.
Finally, she slid from his cock. He got her legs between his thighs and he used his hand to bend her over, pulling her completely over his lap. His erection nudged against her. He landed several quick thwacks against her bottom.
When he stopped, he noticed she was rubbing her mons against his leg. The bitch was practically in heat.
“Open your legs,” he commanded. He slipped his hand between her thighs and with two fingers searched up high, finding her sheath drenched and slick. He rubbed his thumb against her plump clitoris and inserted his fingers into her sheath. She clenched around him.
Her hair hung down, touching the carpeted floor. One of her hands gripped his knee. Her pinkened bottom pumped against his intrusion. She started moaning, urging him for more. Hell, he was giving her everything he had.
Circling the distended nub, he brought his fingers up hard against the spongy wall of her sheath and pressed into her. She stopped squirming and her body tensed as she screamed. His fingers, not his needy cock, felt the hard, milking pulls of her orgasm.
For a long minute, her body convulsed and then she went limp.
Dorian lifted her to the bed, settling her facedown. He picked her weak body up from the middle. She braced on her knees but her head still hung down. Dorian kneeled behind her and dipped, his cock finding her hot little cunt with ease. He slid into her again, bringing her to another shrieking orgasm while he spilled into her, each deep jerk filling her with cum.
And not even caring what he left behind.
He rolled onto the bed and groaned. He stretched and shook himself.
He was immodest by no means, but he’d outdone himself. He’d been in Isabelle’s home nearly twenty-four hours and he’d fucked her more in one day than he had any woman, ever.
He ran his finger over his swollen lip and then licked at it.
Isabelle giggled, rolled to her side and stared up at the canopy of his bed. Then she sighed, sounding almost forlorn.
Dorian lowered his hand to her stomach. “What is it?”
“Is it always like this with you?”
“I don’t know how to answer that question.”
“Is every woman you are with so thoroughly satisfied? So enchanted?”
“They come back,” he said. She sounded jealous, not curious. “What about you?”
“I give pleasure. I don’t expect it in return.”
“You should. Every time you are with a man, you should make demands for yourself. You are exquisite, Isabelle. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
She placed her fingers against his lips. “You can’t change who I am.”
“This life was never meant for someone like you.”
“This life is what made me.”
“So start a new life. Tonight.”
Isabelle looked at Dorian. He gazed back at her. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. He wanted their thirty days to last longer. He wanted to know her in more than just the biblical sense.
He wanted to break her rule.
“Do not look at me like that,” she said.
“Why not? It’s how you are looking at me. Do you feel it?” he whispered.
“No,” she whispered. “No, you can’t. You promised. It was part of our agreement. I can’t.” Her voice squeaked. Her eyes flooded with tears. “I won’t.”
“It’s too late. You already do.” He kissed her again. A kiss that promised she wasn’t just his mistress.
“It won’t work.”
“It will, if I move to Italy with you, sweet.” He grinned.
Isabelle St. Hillaire never took another lover.
Dorian Montgomery never loved another.