19. Isabelle

Chapter 19

Isabelle

Mack is quiet as he leads me to his bedroom, but his presence is anything but silent. He's vibrating with the same ruthless energy that made me stop and stare at him in awe that first day—and now it's wrapped around me.

"There are toiletries for you in the bathroom," he says.

Magic that happened while we were out, I suppose.

"I'm going to get changed for bed." His gaze rakes over me in that way that sets my skin ablaze. "I want you to sleep naked."

And then he disappears into an adjacent dressing room. He leaves the door ajar, but I can see him undressing.

All righty.

I go to the bathroom. His toilet is insanely fancy. Bidet spray options, drying features, and it plays a little song for each setting, too.

The toothbrush that appeared next to the right-hand sink isn't a disposable one, either. It's a brand-new electric brush and there are three types of bespoke toothpastes on offer.

And someone thought I might like a seven-step skin care routine, too, which is five steps more than I usually do, but as I dab on a serum that makes my skin look dewy, I cannot complain.

Between the jetted shower this afternoon and this deluxe evening experience, I feel squeaky clean and pampered.

I'm still wearing my clothes, though.

"Walking out here naked is beyond me," I announce when I join Mack again.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless but wearing black lounge pants that cling to his thick thighs and heavy hips.

His cock is clearly outlined, too, tenting the fabric.

But it's the wide swathe of uncovered skin that I can't stop looking at. He's so big with his shirt off. His arms are like tree trunks, his shoulders like boulders.

And his broad barrel chest is dusted with dark hair that makes me want to tangle my fingers in it and tug.

"My eyes are up here," he teases.

I jerk my face up, cheeks flaming.

"Sorry," I whisper.

His expression says I have no reason to be. "Do you like what you see?"

I nod eagerly.

"That's a relief." He chuckles. "I wasn't sure what you'd think of my old man body?—"

I throw myself at him, kissing him, swallowing those silly words.

He tangles his hands in my hair and kisses me back, and then between licks and sucks, he peels off my shirt and my jeans and the questionable maternity underwear.

"It's bedtime," he rumbles. "Time for goodnight kisses."

I pout as he pulls back the blankets, which only makes him laugh.

"This feels like a bait and switch," I insist. "You got me naked and now you only want a good night kiss before bed?"

His heavy brows lift, his eyes glittering. "I said kisses, plural. And you didn't ask me where they would be."

Disappointment does a backflip costume change into delight as he climbs on top of me, bracketing me against the pillows.

He's huge above me, his arms thick and strong on either side of my shoulders, long enough that there's space between us, but like…no oxygen.

I can't breathe, for sure, but I don't need to because he leans in and kisses me, softly this time, and that's better than air.

That's better than almost anything else in this world.

Then he kisses my jaw, and my neck. "Bedtime kisses for your pretty tits," he whispers before cupping my breasts and worshipping my nipples.

"Bedtime kisses for baby," he says as he works his way down my body, leaving my tits aching and swollen, his lips brushing over my lower belly now.

Then he shoulders my thighs open, stretching them wide, and I squirm as he looks at my pussy.

"Endless bedtime kisses," he murmurs, his gaze dark and fierce, before ducking his head and licking straight up my center.

My back arches off the bed and my hands shoot to his head, burrowing into his hair.

"Oh my God."

He flicks my clit with his tongue. "Who?"

"Mr. Emerson?" I gasp.

A harder flick this time, and his beard rubs against my inner thighs as he shakes his head.

"Mack," I breathe.

He latches on with a satisfied hum and sucks, sending shooting stars spiralling up my spine to burst in front of my eyes.

But he doesn't chase that spike of pleasure and push me over the edge. He settles in and kisses me slower after that, long hungry licks that feel so good I could melt, followed by swiping flicks that make me moan.

I imagine this is what floating in the ocean must be like. Endless waves pushing and pulling, a force too powerful to properly be perceived, only felt. And I am at its mercy. Mack's mercy.

Not God. Just my boss, kissing me goodnight between my legs.

And then the pleasure starts to climb.

I can't stop it. It's a wave so big it might drown me, and I'm screaming, coming apart, gripping Mack's hair like a lifeline. His mouth works against my pussy, his tongue thick and relentless, licking everywhere. It pushes inside me, making my head spin, then pulls up to my clit, where the fireworks happen.

When my hips lift off the bed, he puts his hands beneath me and tips me up.

"Come for me," he growls. "Come on my face, Isabelle. Let me have this. I've missed you so much."

Stunned, I stare at him. He holds my gaze, and time stops. His face is wet from me, his beard glistening, and it's obscene. He's holding my hips in the air, my belly pushing up between us too, a curve that puts an exclamation mark on whatever this is between us.

Don't you know yet, Isabelle Bright?

I do. I do know. But it's so scary to even think the words. I can't say them yet, even when he ducks his head and pulls my clit back into his mouth.

He's mine , though… I can marvel at that undeniable fact. Mr. Emerson is mine again.

"That's it," he groans against my flesh between sucks. "Fuck, you're sexy. Gonna kiss this pussy goodnight every day now."

My clit throbs, straining, and with his next pull, I shatter.

He catches me, keeping me safe, and as the aftershocks rocket through my body, he rolls us under the blankets and tucks me firmly in against his big, warm body.

"What about you?" I mumble, sliding my hand over his soft pants, tented over a very hard cock.

"That was for me," he rumbles. He catches my wrist and brings it to his chest.

His heart thumps against my fingertips, racing just like my own is.

"God," I whisper. "That was…"

"God doesn't make you come like that, Isabelle. I do. Your pleasure is my pleasure, you understand?"

"Not really," I admit sleepily.

He smiles and kisses my forehead. "I'll show you. Every single day."