Bartered (The Encounter #1)(15)

“Keep going,” I softly commanded as she lowered the dress past her hips, showing me the soft curves on her hips and her flat abdomen.

After stripping her dress, leaving only her tiny, rectangular, flimsy thong, I took a moment to let my eyes worship her. Her black, strappy stilettos emphasized her toned, slender gams.

“Venez ici.” (Come here.) There was hesitation in her eyes before she came to her senses and did as I had asked of her. Her shallow breaths, lip biting, and lip licking added to my lust.

“Come a little closer… until your legs touch my knees,” I said roughly, feeling the rapid pumps of my heart and the adrenaline rushing into my system. When I felt the soft brush of her leg against mine, even with my trousers on, I could still feel the burn of it. I felt exhilarated. “Part your legs, Isobel.”

Stifling my groan when my eyes roved towards her heavenly, parted warmth, I set my glass aside, my eyes focused on the intricate, lace-covered cunt. I reached my finger out and traced the fine edgings of lace, where it was against the outer lips of her pu**y.

“You feel very soft,” I rasped out, hoping at the same time I wouldn’t lose control, not tonight anyway.

“Are you wet for me, mon bel amant?” (My beautiful lover.) She shivered before she gave a small, reluctant nod, closing her eyes as if she was ashamed of herself for admitting she was aroused for me.

“How many men have touched you this way, Isobel?”

“Before you…” she said with difficulty, “there was only one.”

Mon dieu, but she was perfect. There was nothing more arousing to a man’s eye than a woman who was in denial of herself, wanting a man reluctantly.

Pushing it further, my tongue curled on top of my bottom lip as I stared into her eyes while my finger went underneath the lace and felt her skin, trailing it farther into her pu**y until I felt its hot, inviting essence.

“Isobel,” I groaned out her name as I shut my lids close, tormented at the thought that I wouldn’t get to feel her tonight. For a week, I had lusted in vain; exercising my frustrations on Chantel and Sherry because I wanted to give Isobel space, for my need to conquer her was so intense. She made me feel like an animal, and I couldn’t fathom it. It was disconcerting, yet I couldn’t stay away.

Miséricorde! (Mercy.) I thought as my finger flicked past her wet entrance.

Her breathing was loud and in shallow pants. Her body was on fire as she trembled from my touch. And I was at the edge of being tested to the limit.

“Hugo!” she hissed before her knees buckled and she landed somewhat sitting on her knees while her hands gripped my shoulders.

“Oui, ma belle. Tell me what you want.” Hunger roared in my veins as it rung into my ears, into my heart.

Dieu, but she is so beautiful, I thought as I gazed upon her delicate face, fighting to hold on, fighting for control.

“Let me touch you,” I breathed into her ear as my thumb circled her entrance. “I want to feel how tight you are. How your cunt will grip. How it feels when it envelopes my length, blanketing it with warmth and slickness.”

“Sorry, I can’t. That’s not part of the deal, Hugo.”

Something in her voice triggered my male pride. I knew she wasn’t punishing me because she had been upfront when we had signed the contracts, yet I couldn’t help the feeling of rejection. It was as if she’d slapped me, wounding me as a man.

“Très bien.” I took a sharp breath as I pulled my finger off her, and I felt her freeze, glittering eyes staring at me in shock. “The deck below are bedrooms. Head straight all the way to the end. You can go rest. I have some work to do.”

She gasped, mouth slightly parted. “You’re already dismissing me?”

I was taking a break—a hiatus for my troubling thoughts—but she need not know that. “Yes. You are dismissed.” Hurt bore openly in her eyes, but I steeled myself, unwilling to feel her pain. “Goodnight, Isobel.”

“Six months…” she hissed with passion. “And I won’t ever think about you.”

Ah, she had claws. Good. A woman who prided herself wouldn’t dare fall for a man like me. Her spirited feistiness gave me assurance that there wouldn’t be another Louise incident.

“Sleep well.”

She groaned like a woman in rage, ready to strike, instead she jumped off me, scrambling to get away from me, looking as beautiful as ever in her fiery display, walking away in only her thong.

Isobel Callas.

Every day you are becoming harder to resist, I thought bleakly before slumping into the couch and closing my eyes.

“Baiser tout,” (f*uk everything.) I grunted out, hating my life.

I brought my finger, soaked in her essence, in between my lips. She tasted just as I had thought she would—an aphrodisiac.

The short spat I’d had with Julien earlier brought back everything I wanted to forget.

“You don’t want this to be another Louise, Hugo. She’s too innocent, and you’ll end up hurting her!” Julien surely hadn’t held anything back tonight.

Louise Deniau.

I could totally understand Julien’s concerns since there was something about Isobel that reminded me of Louise. However, Isobel wasn’t Louise. She had fire when Louise had been pure through and through. Her meekness and her ways of always wanting to put me first had been her weaknesses.