*Isabella's POV*
Twenty-five minutes. Which must have fell like a bloody eternity to him, probably because I could hear him pacing back and forth like a caged lion through the door. Finally, I took a deep breath, steeled my nerves, and shouted, "Are you fucking ready?"
His voice came back, slightly muffled but dripping with impatience and a dark kind of humour. "I've been fucking ready since a month ago!" he shouted back, and I couldn't help but let out a proper, loud laugh. Idiot.
My hand was actually shaking a little as I reached for the doorknob. I slowly, so fucking slowly, pulled the door open to reveal myself, and the lingerie i was wearing.
It consisted of leathery silk straps that stretched over my most intimate areas. The straps wrapped around my breasts, just barely covering my nipples to form a sort of bra, then ran down my back and between my ass cheeks, up to cover my pussy just enough to be considered a thong.
All the straps met on my stomach in a large, intricate bow, holding the whole damn contraption together. One small tug at that bow… and it was all over. Let's just say, putting the fucking thing on had been a mission and a half, a real puzzle of straps and buckles, but it was all worth it now. All so fucking worth it to see the look on his face. His stunned, utterly speechless gaze.
"Hi, Birthday boy," I said, my voice a low, seductive purr. Fuck, the look on his face was fucking priceless. His jaw literally dropped, and if the floor wasn't there, I swear it would've clattered downstairs. His eyes, dark and intense, roamed over every inch of me, taking in the straps, the bare skin, the whole fucking package.
"Fuck," he breathed, the word a ragged sound. "This has to be the hottest thing anyone has ever done for me." He moved then, crossing the distance between us in a single, powerful stride, pulling me flush against his chest by my waist, his hands hot on my skin. "And you're the hottest fucking girl I've ever seen in my life," he growled, before claiming my lips in a kiss that started gentle, almost reverent, a stark contrast to the fire in his eyes.
I pulled back just enough to breathe, a giggle escaping my lips. "Where's your shirt?" I asked, my fingers tracing his abs. I was sure he'd been wearing one when I went to freshen up.
He smirked, a wicked, knowing curve of his lips. "Doesn't matter. I don't want any fucking clothes between us." His voice was a low rumble that vibrated right through me.
"Don't you wanna... unwrap your present?" I asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Already on it," he said, his voice thick with lust. He reached out, his fingers hooking around a single, delicate strap on my hip. With a gentle, deliberate tug, the entire bow on my stomach came undone. The whole intricate contraption of straps fell away, slithering down my body and pooling at my feet, leaving me completely, utterly naked in front of him.
"Fuck," he muttered, his gaze devouring me. "You're gorgeous." He took a shaky breath, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Do you want me to go gentle or rough? Tell me, sweetheart," he said, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Cause I've fucking missed you so much, I'm afraid I'm going to hurt you."
A slow, confident smile spread across my face. "Do your worst, birthday boy," I challenged.
The look in his eyes shifted then, from restrained desire to pure, primal hunger. "Fuck," he breathed, "you're perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect." And then he claimed my lips again in a hungry, brutal kiss that was all teeth and tongue and desperation, a kiss that promised I was about to get exactly what I'd asked for.
He didn't give me a chance to breathe, to think, to do anything but feel. In one swift, powerful movement, he lifted me and tossed me onto the massive bed. I bounced once on the soft duvet, the air leaving my lungs in a surprised gasp.
He stood over me for a second, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with that primal hunger I'd unleashed. His hands went to the waistband of his shorts, and he yanked them down, along with his boxers, all in one go. His cock sprang free, hard and ready. He strode to the bedside table, yanked open the drawer, and grabbed a condom. My eyes were locked on him as he ripped the packet open and rolled it on. And in that moment, my heart did a fucking weird lurch. His dick... it was a carbon copy of Damien's. My brain screamed for a second before the thought was obliterated by the sight of him moving towards me.
He was on me then, his body covering mine, all hot skin and coiled muscle. He pinned my arms above my head with one of his, his grip firm and unyielding. "You have no fucking idea what you do to me," he growled, his voice a low rasp against my ear. And then he drove into me, hard and deep, burying himself to the hilt in my pussy with one powerful thrust.
A cry tore from my throat, a mix of pain and pleasure. He set a punishing rhythm, pounding into me, his hips slamming against mine. His free hand found my breast, his fingers squeezing, almost to the point of pain, sending jolts of electricity straight to my core. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, not from sadness, but from the sheer overwhelming intensity of it all. The force of him, the feeling of being completely and utterly possessed. But I didn't stop him. I didn't want to. I arched my back, meeting his thrusts, urging him on.
"Fuck, Jacob," I gasped, my voice ragged. "Don't stop."
He let out a dark chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest and into mine. "Stop? Sweetheart, I'm just getting started." He shifted his angle slightly, hitting that spot inside me that made stars explode behind my eyes. The pressure built and built, a tidal wave of sensation, until it crashed over me. I came with a loud, broken cry, my body convulsing around his.