Rescued by the billionaire

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Breaking the silence

Her hands on my wood stroking it up and down i gritted my teeth trying to control myself;

I find my hands in her fold realizing she had no underwear on and I was met with her sweet nectar, God you’re so wet for me.

“I’m sorry I can’t control myself anymore,” he whispered, his voice trembling with need. “I can’t wait any longer.”

I looked into her eyes, dark and desperate, and then she replied softly, “Then don’t.”

The words hung in the air between us, a silent permission—and everything changed in that moment.

And that’s all I needed to put my c**k in between her folds, I entered slowly and with ease because of how wet she is.

I grunted in satisfaction, a deep sense of relief washing over me because I was finally inside of the woman I’ve had many nights of wet dreams about.

My lips lock with hers as I started to move up and down first slowly, then i started moving faster with my hands stroking her clits to bring her as much pleasure as she’s bringing me.

I took her in every way possible, her eagerness and willingness shining through as she became my devoted student, fully ready to please and learn from me at every turn.

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I woke up feeling all wet and bothered, my skin slick with sweat despite the AC humming steadily in the background. The cool air should have brought relief, but it didn’t—this restless heat had become a familiar companion over the past few weeks. Night after night, I found myself tangled in dreams of Isobel, vivid and consuming, filled with all the ways I wanted to make her mine.

My eyes drifted lazily to the side of the bed—the place where she had slept just hours ago. The memory of her there lingered like a sweet, intoxicating perfume. Unable to resist, I reached out and brought the pillow closer, burying my face in it for a moment. The faint scent of her hair and skin hit me, and I felt an involuntary twitch stirring deep inside me, a physical reminder of how much I wanted her, how much I needed her.

The quiet room was filled with the sounds of my own breath and a growing ache I could no longer ignore.

After taking a cold, necessary shower to cool down and clear my head, I headed downstairs. As I entered the kitchen, I spotted her moving gracefully between the table and the counter, sunlight streaming through the window and casting a warm glow around her.

“Good morning,” she sang softly, her voice light and melodic.

“Good morning,” I replied, my voice still a little rough from sleep.

“Come eat, I made breakfast,” she said, gesturing toward the plates waiting on the table.

We sat down together, the quiet morning filled only with the gentle sounds of us eating. I watched her as she took a bite of her toast, the way her lips wrapped around the crust with effortless grace. It hit me suddenly—I was jealous of that bread. Jealous that it got to be in her mouth, while I sat there watching, craving something far more than toast.

Then she looked up, breaking the silence.

“You kept calling out my name last night,” she said softly.

I choked on my toast, coughing and reaching for my glass of water, trying to regain my composure.

When I looked back at her, she was smiling gently, as if to ease the awkwardness.

“It’s okay,” she added quietly. “I sometimes wake up from my nightmares calling your name, too.”

I nodded, words caught somewhere between my throat and my heart, and simply said nothing.