Undone by the Ex-Con_A BWWM Romance

by Talia Hibbert

  He sank down to the floor before her. Didn't even pause to consider what he was doing. If he had, he'd have been horrified; Isaac Montgomery did not kneel. Not in spirit, and certainly not in fucking body. Not for anyone. Not even for her.

  Only he did. Blood pumped painfully through his cock, but the need in his gut had nothing to do with her beauty and everything to do with the way she looked at him. Isaac had no time to think. For once in his fucking life, his mind was as blissfully silent as his mouth. All he could do was feel. And he felt so fucking much.

  Lizzie lowered her leg, hooking her knee over his shoulder. Now the space between her thick thighs lay open, exposed, right in front of his face, and he thought he might die at the sight. His eyes ran over her hungrily, taking in the way her leggings stretched over her body, the way the fabric moulded against her flesh, displaying the plump outline of her pussy. Jesus fucking Christ. He felt dizzy. Isaac dragged his gaze up to her face, and his voice was rough and pleading when he said, "Let me."

  She cocked her head. "Let you what?"

  "Lizzie..."

  "You will give me words, Isaac. Because I want them." And then, her tone softening, she added, "It's just me. Alright?” She reached down to cup his cheek, and that first real touch was almost painful in its perfection. Isaac pressed his face into her hand, revelling in its cool softness.

  "Alright," he acquiesced, his breathing harsh. "Alright. I want to touch you. I want to taste you. I want to make you come. Let me."

  She stared at him for a moment, biting her lip, as if she were really thinking about his words. And then she said, "No. I don't think so."

  Isaac was silent for a moment, certain he'd misheard. But she looked at him steadily, and he realised that she wasn't taking it back. She would deny him, and she would enjoy it.

  "You can make yourself come, though," she added, as if it was an afterthought. "In fact, I think you should. I'm sure you want to." Finally, she let her honeyed gaze dip to his cock, and then—he wasn't imagining it—her control slipped for a moment. He saw her lips part, saw her eyes widen. But within seconds, she composed herself again, looking firmly away. "You definitely want to," she drawled.

  He wrapped his hand around his aching shaft as if he'd simply been waiting for her permission. Maybe he had. "You can't be fucking serious," he ground out, pumping his fist slowly.

  And she giggled. She fucking giggled.

  Isaac's control snapped.

  He met her eyes, held them, let her see every ounce of the lust coursing through him. "If I kiss you now," he said through gritted teeth, "will you stop me?"

  She shrugged.

  "If I rip off your fucking clothes and put my mouth on your pretty cunt, will you stop me?"

  She wasn't smirking now. She was wide-eyed, and though she remained silent, the leg she'd hung over his shoulder tightened as if to pull him closer.

  He resisted, as much as he wanted to take that hint and run with it. Setting his jaw, Isaac rasped out, "Answer me." His hand worked his cock faster, gripped his shaft tighter.

  "No," she whispered.

  He deflated. "You're saying no?"

  She reached forward, running her fingers through his short hair. "I'm saying I won't stop you." Then she pulled him up, and he came gladly, pushing her across the desk with a growl.

  Lizzie gasped as Isaac forced her down over the desk, her head protected by the cradle of his hand.

  But that hand wasn't still for long. He surrounded her, his weight pressing her into the unyielding mahogany, his hands everywhere at once as though making up for lost time. He kissed her, just as he'd threatened to do, and she didn't stop him. She didn't tell him no. She'd rather fucking die.

  It wasn't supposed to be like this. She'd had a plan. She'd devised the perfect way to get what she needed without the sexual submission Mark had hinted at earlier that day. It was all about control, Lizzie had decided; so she would stay in control. And he would submit.

  When would she accept the fact that Isaac destroyed even the best-laid plans?

  Somehow, she'd ended up exactly where she hadn’t planned to be: on her back. And it was kind of wonderful.

  His tongue slid against hers as the firm pressure of his lips massaged her own. His fingers sank into her thighs, and his naked erection brushed against her clothed pussy, and then he shuddered above her and oh, Jesus Christ, she would never be the same.

  Isaac dragged his mouth from hers, grazing his lips over her jaw, down the line of her throat. His touch set off fireworks within her, sparks flying behind her closed lids. He'd probably smudged her lipstick to high heaven. The lipstick she'd applied so carefully, thinking there was no way he'd get close enough to kiss it off.

  She should tell him to stop. This was probably the most unethical thing she'd ever done. But being with Isaac was like drowning beneath of a wave of bliss; all she wanted was five more minutes, every five minutes, for the rest of time.

  Lizzie abandoned her self-control, letting her hands run over every inch of him. His skin was burning hot as if the fire kindling between them was heating his blood as much as it did hers. There was no mistaking the way he wanted her. He pressed his big palm between her legs, against her aching clit, and she stifled a cry at the sweet pressure.

  "Don't," he panted in her ear, rubbing her pussy through her clothes in a slow, easy rhythm. "Don't stay quiet."

  "I can't possibly—"

  "You do whatever you want with me," he interrupted, his voice fierce. "If you want to scream, you scream." He hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of her leggings and knickers at once, yanking them down to the top of her thighs. Then he continued stroking, his calloused fingers grazing the hood of her swollen clit, with nothing between them to dampen the touch. Lizzie almost did scream.

  His other hand pushed up her jumper, squeezing her hip as if the feel of her body alone could get him off. Maybe it could. The thick head of Isaac's cock grazed the sensitive crease at the top of her thigh, the slick drops of his arousal moistening her skin. Her pussy clenched desperately, the rising wave of need within her reaching its peak.

  "Isaac," she panted. "I need you to..."

  "What?" His hand moved from her hip to her belly, cradling the soft flesh. "Tell me what you want."

  But she couldn't. Not anymore.

  Lizzie stiffened as he ran his fingers over the tender spot where she'd last injected. It didn't hurt; not really. But the soreness burst through the cloud of desire surrounding her, and suddenly she felt sick. He was touching her because he wanted to, and she...

  She had no idea what she was doing. But whatever it was, he didn't deserve it.

  Isaac saw the change in her immediately. "What's wrong?" He frowned, pulling away slightly. "Are you okay?"

  "Get off." It was all she could say.

  He pushed himself off the desk, his biceps shifting. Standing before her, still gloriously naked, he frowned. "Did I—"

  "You did nothing wrong." He was the victim here, actually. And with that thought came shame, heavy and hot. Lizzie stood, pulling her clothes into place. Patted her hair even though she knew from experience that all the sex in the world couldn't dislodge it.

  Not that they'd had sex. Thank God.

  "I'm sorry," she said, the words sticky as caramel on her tongue. But nowhere near as sweet.

  "For what?" He asked, his confusion palpable. "What's going on?"

  "Nothing. Nothing's going on." She should correct this. Smooth it over, keep him close. But the reminder that she needed him for reasons he could never understand—and would never forgive—only made Lizzie want to push him away.

  Rebelliousness is your worst trait, Elizabeth. Don't convince yourself that it’s charming; it's not.

  "Lizzie..." He reached for her, hesitant, obviously wary of rejection. Which made it even harder to back away from his touch. But she did it anyway. It was for his own good.

  "I have to go," she muttered.

  He didn't speak. Didn't move. But
she felt his eyes on her as she scurried through the room, yanking open his door.

  And she felt his hands on her for the rest of the night.

  Fourteen

  “Isaac’s learning to ski.”

  Lizzie dunked her biscuit carefully into her tea, ignoring the girls' chatter as best as she could. Isaac's name was coming up far too frequently, and it felt like a slap every time.

  The memory of yesterday refused to fade, and she wasn't sure if it ever would.

  “He’s adorable. I saw him out there with John shouting orders at him. And he was wobbling around like a baby duck!”

  Audrey's superior elder sibling voice stepped in. “Ducks don’t wobble, Ava.”

  “Yes, they do.”

  “No; they waddle.”

  “Girls,” Lizzie interrupted, finally looking up from her cup. “Don’t bicker.” And then, before she could give in to the urge to ask about Isaac, she popped the biscuit into her mouth. It crumbled against her tongue, gingery and delicious.

  Beside her, Candy was dunking her own biscuit enthusiastically. She’d lose half of it in the cup, if she wasn’t careful.

  “He wasn’t going to ski at all, but I convinced him.” Ava said smugly.

  “No, you didn’t. It was Alex.”

  Ava snapped, “It was both of us."

  But Audrey remained firm. “No. It was Alex.”

  Alexandra, of course, was silent.

  “Crap,” Candy muttered. She’d lost her biscuit.

  Lizzie looked around the hotel’s quiet little cafe as though searching for strength, a break, or God Himself to aid her. None of the above appeared. So she lured in a waiter with a wave of her hand and murmured, “Plus de thé, s'il vous plaît.”

  “Bien sur Mademoiselle,” the waiter nodded, disappearing for her tea. She could only hope that he returned soon. All this talk about Isaac had her nerves shot.

  “What are you going to do this week, Lizzie?” Ava asked, her gaze bright and innocent as ever. “Audrey says you won’t ski.”

  “Certainly not. I haven’t since I was a child.”

  “So what will you do?”

  Uncomfortable, Lizzie shrugged. She should be spending her time luring in Isaac, as Mark had made horribly clear. And she'd only made her job harder after yesterday's fiasco. A sexually satisfied man was easy to manipulate. A confused and frustrated man... Well.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, and the girls couldn't begin to understand just how much she meant that.

  “You should go to the spa like Mummy,” Audrey offered, nibbling on her third truffle. Lucky cow.

  “Maybe,” Lizzie murmured. It was a good idea, really, but she wasn’t sure about wandering around half-naked in front of people. Definitely not Clarissa, with her weekly spa trips and her pedicures and God only knew what else. But still, Lizzie filed the idea away. It would be a nice replacement for the baths that Mark had ruined. And she had to get over this odd disconnect with her body somehow.

  She hadn't felt disconnected with Isaac.

  “Oh,” Ava cried. “Look!”

  All at once, the sisters sprang to rapt attention, their noses lifting slightly as though they were dogs scenting the air. Baffled, Lizzie turned to follow their direction of their collective gaze—

  Only to have Alexandra of all people hiss “No! Don’t be so obvious, Lizzie!”

  Well. That was her chastened, then.

  Exchanging an incredulous look with Candy, Lizzie turned back to face the girls and said, “What on earth are you three doing?”

  Alexandra flushed beet red. Audrey’s gaze slid to the white, linen tablecloth. Ava, however, was completely shameless.

  “It’s a boy,” she grinned. “And he’s French. And he likes me.”

  “No he doesn’t,” Audrey argued. “He’s seventeen.”

  “He could like me,” Ava muttered.

  “You’re a child.”

  “I’m a teenager.”

  “He likes Audrey,” mumbled Alexandra. “Everyone likes Audrey.”

  The quiet hopelessness in the girl’s voice made Lizzie frown. But no-one else seemed to notice.

  “Lizzie,” Ava was gushing. “Won’t you teach us that Parisienne accent you do? It’s so sophisticated.”

  “Maybe another time,” Lizzie said, still watching Alexandra. The middle sister appeared to be deflating breath by breath, like a pin-pricked balloon. Lizzie remembered this part of adolescence well. But had she looked so desolate back when she’d been going through it? Hopefully not, for her poor brother’s sake.

  “Alexandra,” Lizzie murmured, leaning forward to capture the girl’s attention. “A seventeen-year-old is too old for you. But you must know that you’re very lovely, and charming and talented. You do know that. Don’t you?”

  Awkwardly, Alex shrugged. She looked left and right, checking that her sisters were still enraptured, or bickering, or some combination of the above. And then she leaned forward too and said, “Ava and Audrey are both more interesting. I’m… boring.”

  “You’re quiet,” Lizzie corrected. “And do you know who else is quiet?”

  Alex shook her head.

  “Isaac,” Lizzie said. She leaned back, watching as that single word sank into Alexandra’s mind and brought with it a smile like a sunrise. The girl looked down into her lap, biting her lip. She was pleased. Apparently, even though Lizzie wasn’t able to galvanise herself half the time, she had managed to say the right thing.

  “Oh, he wants us to come over,” Audrey said brightly. “Lizzie, Candy do you mind if—”

  “Of course not,” Candy smiled. “Go for it, babe.”

  “You two are the best!” Audrey stood, sending a little wave to the mysterious boy behind Lizzie’s head, and her sisters followed. As they left the table, Alexandra threw a little smile over her shoulder that warmed Lizzie’s heart.

  Then Candy said, her voice wry: “I heard that.”

  Lizzie blinked. “Heard what?”

  “Isaac,” Candy echoed, in a fair imitation of Lizzie’s crisp tones. “What was that about?”

  “Oh… You know. Just, the girls admire him so much. They spent half the day with him yesterday.”

  “I know,” Candy grinned. “Poor fucker.”

  Despite herself, Lizzie laughed. “I think he likes how much they—”

  “Talk? Probably. Fills all his brooding silences.” Then Candy’s smile grew sly. “But you like his brooding silences, don’t you?”

  “Oh,” Lizzie murmured absently. “The tea is here.”

  “You drink more bloody tea than my nan.”

  They paused as the waiter settled a fresh tea set onto the table with a flourish. But then, as soon as he left, Candy started again.

  “Why don’t you just admit that you like him?”

  “I don’t like him,” Lizzie insisted.

  “Yes you do. You at least want to sit on his you-know-what.”

  Shocked, Lizzie put down the teapot—it wouldn’t do to drop it. The thing looked expensive.

  “Candice!” She gasped. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  The younger woman gave her an embarrassed smile. “To be fair, it comes a lot easier when I’m writing it down.”

  “Good Lord, woman. How old are you, anyway?”

  “Twenty-one,” Candy grinned. “But don’t forget, I am a best-selling relationship expert.”

  “I ought to ring your mother.”

  “My mother’s worse than me.”

  Lizzie snorted. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth, mortified. But when her eyes met Candy’s, she snorted again, before the both of them broke out into peals of laughter. The kind of laughter that only makes sense to those in on the joke, and that makes everyone else extremely irritated. Usually, Lizzie would rather die than cause such disruption in a public place.

  Today, she didn’t give a damn.

  Fifteen

  Lizzie tightened the belt of her robe as she peered through the doorway. It
was an unnecessary precaution, but paranoia had been her closest friend since Mark’s visit to her room.

  Of course, she wasn’t in her room right now. And this, she hoped, would be even better than a bath.

  Confident that the coast was clear, Lizzie stepped out of the changing room and into the wide, low-lit corridor that would take her to the spa.

  Audrey had been right earlier that day; Lizzie needed something to do. A way to relax. And hopefully, since it was well past 11 P.M., there wouldn’t be anyone around to interrupt her as she luxuriated in the steam room. Or the sauna. Or the hot tub. Or the rain room.

  She’d been impressed by the spa’s brochure, to say the least.

  Padding across the warm, stone floor, Lizzie felt the air heat as she drew closer to the spa’s open facilities. Terracotta walls became dark wood, then a thick, translucent wall of glass bearing the hotel’s swirling logo. And then, finally, she came to the archway that would lead her into wonderland.

  Oh, my. This would definitely do that job.

  Lizzie gazed with growing pleasure at the open space before her. The heated room was almost entirely taken up by a huge, round pool, surrounded by smaller pools with built-in stone seats—or were those hot tubs? The bursting jets seemed to indicate so. At the far end of the pool there was even a cascading faux-waterfall. She’d like to try that out, for sure.

  But first, she’d take her time with the slim glass doors scattered about, chic metal plaques above the doorways making each room's purpose clear.

  And best of all? The whole place was completely empty.

  Grinning, Lizzie eagerly untied her robe and hung it up by the archway. Her sunshine yellow bikini would do just fine. She shucked off her flip-flops, placing them neatly beneath her hanging robe, before moving further into the room, giddy as a child on Christmas Eve.

  She’d already planned out her spa schedule. Looking around, she realised that there was no clock on the wall—annoying. But that was okay; she was good at judging time on her own, anyway. She’d start with the sauna and give herself about ten minutes, if she could handle that long. She tightened her grip on the little bottle of water she’d carried in from the changing room, which was already sweating. It'd be her second in the last thirty minutes, but she couldn't risk dehydrating while she was alone in here.