Paradise: The Masters of The Order Novel Two

by Verne, Jillian

  She wasn’t sure how to react. That was mean.

  And bossy.

  And controlling.

  And so damn sexy.

  “Yes, Jacques.”

  10

  Unexpected Things

  Jacques could barely stand. His head was spinning and his dick felt like it was about to snap off. He couldn’t believe his reaction. Novices usually bored him, but not Isabella. She was unique in everything, so why not this?

  What little doubt he had about her sexuality was completely gone. Isabella Rey was the real deal. So thoroughly submissive that the thought she might not be beautiful to him almost brought her to tears. The serenity that crossed her face when he put her hand on his erection was gloriously genuine and the acceptance when she overcame the struggle to contain her fire and fell under his control, simply sublime.

  Does she realize that she smiled as I blindfolded her? Will she remember her first true surrender?

  Most didn’t. Whether Isabella did or not, the draw to him would remain deep in her psyche, allowing him to take her farther and farther into his control.

  Exactly where I want her to be.

  He started slowly, looking for limits, and was surprised to find her biggest difficulty was dirty talk. He supposed he shouldn’t be. Repressed sexuality often rendered a normally expressive person mute and he could fix that for her. Otherwise, her trust in him made her delightfully receptive. She even enjoyed the harsh affection of his breast play.

  At first, his determined Isabella was working hard to obey him and not pull away, but then came the magic. The moment when she crossed over and the pain became actual pleasure. Not because she was a masochist; she clearly wasn’t. Because she harbored a deep-seeded need to please her Master and that motivation was the most rare and precious kind. When he put his fingers to her sex and found her wonderfully, copiously wet, he knew for sure. She didn’t dance around or try to grind against his fingers. She sat completely still, breathless and aroused, and held herself for his pleasure.

  Submissive to the core.

  But Isabella’s nature wasn’t the real surprise. The real surprise came when that lovely voice, so shaky and imploring, asked whether she was supposed to call him “sir.” The answer was yes. Definitely yes. Everyone called him “sir,” the title more familiar than his own name. But with her, he wanted something different. With Isabella, he wanted to be Jacques. And not just for a few days.

  Jacques looked down the gorgeous line of Isabella’s torso, over the soft flat of her belly to the lush curve of her hips. Her full breasts with their magnificent, swollen peaks rose and fell on heavy breath. She was splendidly shivery as she held herself for him and waited for his touch to bring her over the edge. He shouldn’t do this yet. It was too fast and she hadn’t earned it, but he was feeling generous this morning.

  And I really want to see what Isabella looks like when she comes.

  He brushed his finger under the strap holding up her nightdress, the one he just ruined. The delicate fabric fluttered to her feet. As he watched it fall, his world stopped, rotated back on its axis, only to begin again in slow motion. He shook his head, hard, and looked again. Ripping the blindfold off her eyes, he grabbed her shoulders.

  “Isabella, what color is your hair?”

  She was deep in that place in the mind where submissives go and she blinked dreamily at him. He stared at the black tresses and shook her a little harder.

  “Isabella, what color is your hair?”

  Her soft voice responded, “Red, Jacques. My hair is red.”

  He fell to his knees unable to believe his eyes.

  You will know her by the fire in her soul and her red hair.

  He already felt the fire and there, at the apex of her thighs, was a marvelous puff of deep red hair.

  Isabella Rey.

  Isla Paradisíaca.

  Island Paradise.

  His paradise.

  Kneeling at her feet in the kitchen, he knew.

  I've finally found her.

  He laid a soft kiss on her belly and the fresh scent of her arousal washed over him. “Put your hands on me, mon Paradis.”

  Gentle hands came to rest on his shoulders as he leaned in and ran his tongue along her creamy center. He swallowed the sweet ambrosia and licked her again. Isabella gasped, fingernails digging into his skin with the urgency of her need as her legs parted and her hips tilted forward in offering.

  Jacques couldn’t believe the passion radiating from this untried masterpiece. It reeked out of every pore. Everything he did, every command, every touch, every kiss, sang through her, making her smolder with silent desire. Her body was designed for sexual pleasure; her heart crafted to respond naturally to being mastered. The fire in this woman wasn’t contained to her soul.

  Isabella Rey was fire personified.

  “You belong to me, Paradis. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes, Jacques. Please.”

  He felt her body quiver, the muscles of her thighs tremble, as he worked his tongue over and around her, suckling every succulent inch between her spread legs. When he nipped her, she responded to his wicked touch exactly the way he wanted, unfurling herself and slanting her body until his mouth fit her perfectly. He put his hands between the tops of her thighs and, using both thumbs, spread her lips to open her completely.

  When he eased back to look, she showed no sign of being embarrassed at being so exposed. His angel may be quiet, but she wasn’t shy and made no effort to shield herself, rather went up onto her toes as if straining to reveal more. In reward, he flicked his tongue over the jutting pink nub as his fingers pushed into her hot silk. Her entire body clenched when he found that special spot on the inside and pressed. She struggled harder to maintain control.

  Perfect. Absolutely, fucking perfect. “Come for me, Paradis.”

  Taking her between his lips, he began to suck until the desperate cry of her complete surrender filled the silence.

  It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

  *****

  Is that singing?

  Isabella heard a choir in her head as if the Angel Isabella had enlisted a posse of her angelic pals to join her in a joyful chant. She blinked open heavy lids.

  Cabinets, chair legs. How did I get onto the floor?

  Her eyes rolled over her bare feet to her legs, up her naked body to the arms wrapped around her torso.

  Jacques.

  She twisted her neck and looked at him over her shoulder. He was leaning against a cabinet with the countertop over his head, cradling her between his legs and smiling, the picture of contentment tangled around her with the two of them sprawled across the kitchen floor. Eyes closed, head tilted back, smiling and petting her skin. Her mind was frazzled. She couldn’t get a firm grasp on her post-orgasmic reality and Jacques didn’t seem to want to let her.

  Phenomenal.

  There was no other word for that orgasm, if you could even call what Jacques just gave her an orgasm. It was more like a whole body explosion. Everything inside of her, absolutely everything, burst free into a skyrocketing bliss, so brilliant, that the world faded. She had no idea her body could do that.

  So that’s what all the fuss is about.

  When Isabella tried to move, warm hands stroked over her breasts, down her belly, silently lulling her body to relax into his. Jacques's touch was soothing, luxurious, inching lower with each pass and leaving no doubt what her deceptively sedate lover wanted. She wasn’t sure she would survive if she came again, but all she could do was lie against him, dazed, and let those magnificent hands touch her.

  Jacques’s fingers tickled through her pubic hair, along the lines between her thighs, and her legs spread instinctively. When he found her slick center, her body bowed. The skin was still incredibly sensitive yet she opened, yielding to Jacques’s desire as if her life depended on it. He pushed into her and drew the fresh wetness over her folds.

  “Did you enjoy your breakfast, Isabella?” he a
sked in a lazy voice that matched the lazy glide of his hand.

  “If that’s your idea of breakfast, Jacques, Dios mío, what will you do at dinner?”

  She wiggled against him and her bottom pressed into his very erect penis. Her body froze, but her heart rate shot into the stratosphere.

  I came. Jacques didn’t.

  She twisted, trying to sit up, and his arm tightened across her chest.

  “No. Be still.”

  Her body was weak and loose, unable to fight him and not really wanting to, but her mind was almost panicking.

  “You didn’t climax, Jacques. I didn’t satisfy you.” Her voice was high.

  “I’m fine.”

  Jacques didn’t move or open his eyes. Only held her tight against his chest and pressed his fingers, slow and firm, into her moist channel. In and out. In and out. Despite her racing mind, her body began to flow with his hand.

  But this is wrong.

  In her experience, men took their satisfaction. If the woman was lucky enough to find hers while they did, great. If not, tough luck. Yet here Jacques sat, his erection announcing his need like a clanging gong, and she wasn’t allowed to touch him.

  “Don’t you want me to touch you?” she whispered, a sense of rejection making her voice quiver. Don’t you want me?

  “As much as men hate to admit this, Isabella, we don’t die from not getting off.” As if he read her mind again, he added, “And I want you, make no mistake about that. But for now, I want the simple pleasure of touching you.” The voice sounded grateful.

  Grateful for what? Blue balls.

  She squirmed, fighting her traitorous body’s willingness to succumb to that talented touch.

  “You’re thinking too much, my fiery angel.”

  “This doesn’t seem fair.”

  “It isn’t about fair, Isabella. It’s about what I want and what I decide is best for you. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  So that's it. Jacques takes care of everybody, including hard-up, undersexed oncology nurses in desperate need of foot massage and orgasms.

  “But you didn’t…”

  “No buts. Total control, Isabella. This is what I want.”

  “I want to take care of you,” she sighed.

  “I know.”

  He found that perfect spot and pressed, silencing her would-be protest. Leaning into her ear, he whispered, “Of course, I could bind you to make you lie still.”

  Her body responded to his suggestion by squeezing tight around those decadent fingers.

  “And you would like that, I see,” he chuckled.

  Jacques found a rhythm with his stroking, sliding those seeking fingers over her sex, all slippery and swollen, and she melted into his chest.

  What has he done to me?

  This wasn’t who she was, some spoiled diva who indulged herself without a care for her lover. Isabella Rey took care of people. Yet here she was luxuriating in pleasure while her man was left wanting.

  “Relax and let me take you away, my sweet Isabella.”

  The voice, the touch, the care was so seductive, luring her away from herself and into a different world. Jacques's world. A place where she could disappear into pleasure, forget her cares, stop worrying about everything and everyone else. A place where she could let Jacques take control and just be. It was heaven on earth.

  She moaned low in her throat, so tantalizingly close, so desperate to let Jacques take her where she wanted to go, but still holding back.

  “Touching you is like touching paradise,” he said softly. “Let go, Paradis. Let go now.”

  She felt her body loosen before the deep ache tightened and took her hard. She let go and called out his name as she came.

  *****

  Damn. No mistaking that sound.

  Jerard shook his head as he turned away from the kitchen door. There would be no turning back now. Jacques took what he wanted and he obviously wanted Isabella.

  I hope you know what you’re doing, angel.

  *****

  Copper eyes cast a wicked light. She felt his heat, the pressure of his cock pressing at her entrance, tempting her, teasing her with anticipation. Her body tensed, waiting, needing. His mouth curved in satisfaction as he pushed into…

  Clap! Clap!

  The dream shattered.

  “Wake up, lazy girl. We got work to do.”

  Swoosh.

  Isabella opened her eyes to room suddenly flooded with light. Her hands shot up to protect her eyes. “¿Qué? ¡Vete!”

  Andre strolled over to the bed and ripped off the duvet, tossing it over his head in a flourish of blue lame and black satin. “Someone’s got a date,” he sang as one red-tipped finger tapped her nose, “and if the pretty lady don’t hurry, she’s gonna get in a whole lotta trouble.”

  The pretty lady growled and pulled the sheet over her body. Andre ripped that away too.

  “You look like a crazy queen matador doing that,” she scowled.

  Andre threw his arms over his head, striking the perfect pose. “Olé. Now get up. Jacques comin’ back at six and I gotta fix that.” He reached down and stroked his fingers through her hair.

  “Just dye it later and let me sleep.”

  “No, no, sugar. Jacques say natural color,” Andre added a lascivious wink, “and we both know that what our Jacques wants, our Jacques gets.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him as she sat up. “Your timing sucks, Andre. You just ruined a perfectly glorious X-rated dream.”

  A hearty laugh filled the air, “I’m not even askin’, sugar.”

  “Dios mío. I couldn’t put it into words if you did.” Isabella shook off the last delicious remnants of her dream.

  “Well then,” he said with a grin and pointed to a pale pink dress hanging on the doorframe, “perhaps you won’t be needin’ that. Perhaps something sexier for your sexy man. I brought my body paint.” The expression was pure suggestion.

  The idea of herself, naked and painted, strolling toward Jacques in the setting sun made her flush. The good Catholic girl could never do that, but the sinner? She was definitely on board.

  The phone buzzed on the bed table. A text from Craig. Fair warning ur bro called 6Xs. No brush off. Soz. Good luck. Miss u.

  “Oh, no.”

  “Bad news, sugar?” Andre asked.

  “I got so caught up in Jacques that I forgot to check in with my brothers.” Her stomach turned. "Craig wouldn't tell them…Dios mío, do they know where I am?"

  “You look pale, Isabella. I’m guessin’ your brothers… ” He exaggerated the “s.”

  She raised four fingers in the air.

  “Heaven have mercy,” he said, laughing, “don’t like the little sister havin’ some naughty fun.”

  “You might say that,” she said flatly.

  “Well, they’re not here. What’s it gonna be? This,” he held up the dress, “or my paints?”

  “Let’s go with the dress, but maybe later in the week, we’ll see.” She grinned at him.

  He bowed. “Sexy devil woman.”

  The phone rang again and she jumped. “Mierda, it’s my brother.”

  “Sexy devil woman who’s afraid of her big bad brother,” Andre teased.

  “You’ve never met my big bad brother, listillo.” She tried to sound calm as she answered. “Buenos días, Teo.”

  “Where the hell are you?” Teo’s voice screamed through the line and she jerked the phone away from her ear. Andre backed up on his stilettos. “I’m coming to get you right now, baby girl. For Christ’s sake, Craig said you ran off with some guy.”

  She eased forward, holding up one finger to Andre. “Tell me you didn’t hit him, Teo. He had nothing to do with this.”

  “He sure as hell did. An opening by Nicolai Stavros? What the hell was Craig thinking taking you there? And ese demonio who kidnapped you, he’s in for a world of pain. Give me the address.”

  “Teo, listen to me. It’s not what you think,” she started, voice
pleading.

  “The address, baby girl. Right now or I’m calling Joaquim.”

  Maybe it was the pain that sprouted in her head at the thought of returning to Paris or maybe it was the pain in her heart at the thought of leaving Jacques behind, but she snapped at the brother she'd always had nothing but softness for.

  “Don’t you dare! You don’t understand, Teo.”

  “Then why don’t you make me understand, hermana mía,” he demanded in a voice that allowed no argument.

  She never lied to her brother, but telling him this truth was too much. “No puedo.” Her voice cracked.

  When Teo spoke again, the anger had melted away. “Talk to me, hermana, I know something’s wrong,” he said softly. “Por favor, háblame.”

  Silence stretched between them. She wanted to talk to him. Teo was her soul mate. The one she turned to. The one who always understood. But he can’t help me. The brother who had always been her hero, her protector, her best friend, couldn't help her. None of them can. A tear slipped down her cheek with the thought.

  “Lo siento, Teo. I have to go.” Her hands started to shake as she hung up. The phone rang again and she shut it off.

  Andre sat on the side of the bed and took her hand.

  “I’m alright, Andre, really, I’m fine.”

  “Why you runnin’, sugar?”

  “Who says I’m running?”

  “I’m from Haiti.” Andre pressed his finger to his temple. “We see. You can’t talk to him, you talk to me.” His big hand tightened around hers.

  “It’s just that I need this time away. There are things in my life right now that I’m not ready to handle. Things my family can’t help me with, you know.”

  “So you’re runnin’ away with Jacques. Oke, but don’t go so far as to lose sight of the ones who be truly lovin’ you,” he said, voice somber.

  “Don’t you start too. I’m not a child.”

  “In Jacques’s world, you are.”

  “I know what he is, Andre, but I need something from him before…” She dropped her head. “I just want to be, uh, different for a while.”