My fingers have started shaking again. And this time, it has nothing to do with Isaak. It’s got nothing to do with Marissa, either, who’s obviously beautiful and brainy and doesn’t deserve to be treated the way I’ve treated her for the past hour.
I’m mad at myself. Furious, in fact. Because I’ve fallen for the wrong man. I’ve always prided myself on being a smart girl, and I’ve gone and done the stupidest thing. Stupider even than sleeping with a stranger in the bathroom of a fancy restaurant. All my stupid mistakes seem to revolve around Isaak.
I can’t blame him for that. It’s on me.
“Excuse me,” I say, choking on the words as I get up.
I can feel him watching me, but I keep walking to the back of the plane where there’s a private nook set up.
All I need right now is to be alone.
I pull the screen door shut behind and try to breathe through the panic that’s taking over. I have to think of Jo. That calms me.
I’m just starting to regain control of my heart and breath when, without warning, the screen door opens and Isaak steps inside. I wheel on him furiously, wiping away the tears even though I know he’s already seen them.
“I want to be alone,” I insist.
“You’re upset.”
“Please,” I whisper, begging for probably the first time since I’ve known him. “Please… just give me some space.”
“You don’t need space.”
“And you know what I need, do you?” I demand.
“I do,” he replies confidently. “You need to say whatever it is you’re not saying to me.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“Don’t play me for a fool, kiska. I know you—”
“Don’t! Stop saying that. You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me.”
“Why are you so mad about Marissa?”
He’s got me trapped, both literally and metaphorically, and it’s making me even madder. I try to shove him back out of my space, but of course that only gives him permission to grab a hold of me.
His hands are powerful when they clamp down around my wrists. Before I can resist, I find him pushing me down onto the ledge. I’m at eye level with his crotch, so I can see the outline of his erection just underneath.
“Come on, Camila,” Isaak urges. “Tell me everything.”
I put my hands on his hips, intending to push him away. But something happens the moment I touch him: I don’t want to let go.
My eyes move from his eyes to his crotch and then back again. My heart is pounding, my pussy throbs, and my nipples are as hard as I know his cock is right now.
“You’re jealous, right?” he muses. “You can’t stand the thought that I might have fucked her in the past. Or worse, that I might fuck her in the future.”
“You’re free to fuck whoever it is you want,” I snap at him, even though that’s the farthest thing from the truth and the fading fury in my voice proves it.
Isaak shakes his head. “Oh, I don’t think so. I know what you want, Camila. It’s in your eyes. You’re outed now, so you might as well take what you want.”
I should want to prove him wrong. I should fight to prove him wrong.
But somehow, I do the exact opposite.
I give in. To him and to my baser desires. I let my attraction take the front seat and before I know it, I’m ripping his belt open and off. The moment I can, I unzip and pull his pants down. His cock jumps free and I don’t allow a moment to pass before I part my lips and take him in my mouth.
Isaak grips the top railing of the plane. He gives me control for only a minute. Maybe even two. Then his instincts kick in and he grabs the reins. He takes control of my head and pins me in place as he starts fucking my mouth.
The heat of his cock sliding in and out of my throat makes me so wet that I reach down between my legs and start to finger myself.
He gives a low groan as he watches me, his eyes boring into my face, taking in every little jerk and gesture. He’s straining against the urge to come.
But I want him to. I desperately want to taste him.
“See, Cami?” he says to me. “This is what you really want. You want me. You’re just too fucking proud to admit that.”
I find it strange that he would say that to me at this moment of all moments, when his cock is buried at the back of my throat. Isn’t it obvious that I’m not too proud for anything?
I have managed to give away everything I thought made me who I am. I have sacrificed it all— and for what? A cruel son of a bitch who might just be using me as a tool in his revenge plot.
He pulls out suddenly and yanks me back up to my feet. He grips my ass tight and hoists me up, forcing my legs around his waist.
I gasp as he shoves my panties aside, pushes his cock inside me, and fucks me. I try to cling on to something solid, but the only remotely solid thing in the vicinity is him.
I come so fast and without a moment of warning. And as I do, I feel like my body is giving up on me a little bit at a time. I shiver and tremble and writhe, but he doesn’t stop fucking me until he’s erupted, too.
When he’s spent himself inside me, he sets me down unceremoniously on the window seat and zips himself up again.
It’s over as soon as it started, and clearly, he’s not looking to stick around.
Fine with me.
Whatever we have, it’s pretty clear that it’s turning toxic. I’m not sure if all the secrets between us are poisoning the well or if it was poisoned from the very beginning.
All I know is that I can’t afford to sulk around his house, waiting for him to make a decision about my life. I need to find a way out of here—before I do any more damage to my heart.
It takes Isaak only a few seconds to get himself in order again. When he leaves the alcove, he doesn’t so much as glance at me. I know it’s a deliberate choice. He’s sending a message: I’m dispensable. Just another fuck.
I’m not sure what I look like right now, and I’m not sure I want to find out. My clothes are disheveled, my skin feels dry and sallow, and my hair hangs in knotted tufts around my face.
It’s going to take me ages to look human again. Which I feel is appropriate.
I’ve been hurt. I’ve been broken. And I shouldn’t be able to walk away from that so easily. I’m going to wear these scars like a badge of honor.
Because it’s proof that I made mistakes.
But I survived. I endured. Now, I’m determined to live to tell the tale.
Isaak Vorobev will not get the best of me.
39
Isaak
“How many times?”
“Nine,” Bogdan replies.
“Nine?” I repeat. “Nine fucking times?”
Bogdan and Vlad exchange a glance. Neither one of them were sure how I’d react. But they didn’t expect anger. That’s clear enough from their faces.
“Isn’t this a good thing?” Bogdan ventures. “I mean, Maxim trying to get in contact means that he’s backed into a corner.”
“Or he has a plan,” I retort. “The motherfucker’s up to something. I know it.”
“We’re not going to find out unless we accept one of his calls,” Vlad points out.
“I have nothing to say to him,” I growl. “He destroyed any hope of a peaceful resolution when he attacked me at what was supposed to be a gentlemen’s meeting.”
“I get that,” Bogdan replies. “But shouldn’t we know why he’s trying to get in contact.”