Isaac
“We’re not going to the Lambert’s ball,” Maisy declared. The disgust on her face, the furious fire in her stunning eyes, told her husband everything he needed to know about what kind of evening they were in for.
Marriage hadn’t been anything like he’d imagined or bothered to long for once upon a time. Isaac had never imagined a woman, his wife at that, could hate him so much. He was well aware of the self fulfilling prophecy and endless cycle they lived in. He’d come home drunk before mid-day, having blown off his work in the study to knock back vile imported Irish whiskeys at the gentlemen’s club. He’d only stumbled out when the whores arrived, finding an uncomfortable churning in his stomach at the thought of anything with a gash between its legs. Only the smallest part of him wondered when he’d become such a fucking asshole, but the rest of him sighed a sound of pure exhaustion at the thought of what waited for him at home.
“I don’t give a fuck about the Lamberts or their ball.” It was true. He didn’t give a fuck about much these days. He started off toward the darkened haven of his study just as Maisy started in on him.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Coming home drunk? Smelling like whiskey? You were supposed to finish the estate ledgers today.”
“I will deal with the fucking ledgers,” he spat toward the wall, unwilling to turn around and face her hot wrath. “I’m the man of this house and I don’t need my wife telling me how or when to handle my affairs.”
“The man of the house?” She asked incredulously, a mocking tone in her lilted voice. “Then act like it.”
He’d been close to the breaking point before he ever crossed the threshold to their home and had ignored all the pleading parts of his body that begged him to go anywhere else. Whether it was the built up frustrations or the lubrication of whiskey he wasn’t sure, but he finally snapped at her words.
Drunk or not, the Commandant had spent his life as a soldier and a sailor. The fluid ease with which he turned on her, using his own body to push hers against the nearest wooden paneled wall shocked her and he didn’t attempt to keep her head, piled high with silky dark hair, from smacking against the wall behind her as she scrambled for her own personal space.
Isaac stared his wife down, impressed and aroused by her unflinching nerve. She wouldn’t take it back. She’d never apologize. And god damn him, he loved her for it.
“You want a fucking man, Mase?” His voice dripped with honey, sickeningly sweet, while one hand captured her at the waist, tugging her against him and pushing himself into her at the same time. The other hand snaked up her side, over her heaving breast, grazing her neck before dipping long calloused fingers into her dark hair to yank her head back for his hungry mouth. “You’ve fucking got it, baby,” he growled against her neck.
This dance, too, was one they’d done over and over. He’d take her right there: rip at her skirts, bruise her thighs, leave hickeys across her neck and bosom, shove himself inside her impossibly wet heat and fuck her like an animal until he’d flooded her cunt. Maybe twice. Then they’d part to their separate bedrooms and wait until the next time they came to screaming blows.
Knowing the outcome did nothing to stop the cycle. He tore at her skirts, cussing with the sailor’s mouth as the tattered fabric exposed her pale skin. His hands went straight to her pussy, rubbing at her through what little fabric was left between them while he nibbled on her neck, grazed the shell of her ear with his afternoon stubble, and teased about the desire he felt there.
“This man enough for you, baby?” A heartbeat, a broken, defeated sigh while her nails dug into his shoulders. “I thought so.” He bit her lips, refusing to soothe the sting with a kiss and instead lowering his voice to whisper at her ear. “Wet like a well-paid whore.” He chuckled at her growl, the extra bite of her nails through his fine shirt. “Needy like one too.”
“Fuck you-“ she spat through a panted breath. He only responded by pushing the fabric aside to plunge two fingers into her.
“Fuck me, baby? No, no, no. I’m going to fuck YOU.” A single breath later he’d worked the buttons to his too tight trousers open and pulled his aching cock free. He didn’t care if he remained clothed. If her scent and her wetness would coat his clothing before they finished. If he stripped her naked and refused to reciprocate the vulnerability.
“You’re lucky I don’t push you to your knees and fuck that filthy mouth, Maisy.” He kissed her finally, sliding his tongue into her gasping mouth while he pumped strong fingers in and out of her heated core. “I do love to watch you get your mouth filled.” A free hand stroked himself, precum thick and clear, already beading at his throbbing tip. But it had been a long day. And longer nights since they’d been together this way, both too busy pretending they didn’t want, much less need each other the way they did now.
It was Isaac’s turn to throw his head back when Maisy helped him, moving with him to wrap a leg around his waist and angling her hips to get his fingers deeper. Her small hand wrapped around his velvet length and he thought he might cum right then.
“Put it in, Mase. We both know you need this.” He breathed, attempting a steadied breath and held her darkened eyes. “We both need this.”
For the first time, maybe ever, she didn’t argue. She only grazed her hand over him, and used the head of his cock to stroke through her exposed folds, hesitating at her entrance once she’d lined him up.
It was all the invitation Isaac needed to push into her heat. Her body welcomed him home and the ragged sigh that pulled from his chest only served as a reminder of the hold she had always had over him. Over his complete inability to resist her. Over his sham of a sense of self control.
He freed his hands to tighten at her small waist, pulling her into him with each reciprocal thrust. The last of his reserve faded to ashes as their mouths met, both hungry and desperate.
He wouldn’t last long at the punishing pace he’d set. The bite of her nails digging into his still-clothed skin only served to push him closer to the edge. She gasped his name, stilling before her body exploded its release, her tight heat rolling with the waves of her orgasm around his impossibly hard cock.
“Fuck, Mase-“ his haggard breathing, her whining whimper, and the wet slap of their bodies filled every inch of space around them and Isaac forced himself to hold her gaze when he finally reached his peak. Even with his eyes open stars exploded across his vision. The vision of her. Open. Softer. Aching while he spilled his seed inside her. He held her to him, flexing his hips to press the head of his cock as deeply as possible into her sacred depths. She already carried his child but that was no excuse not to fuck her like he needed her pregnant every time they ended up this way.
Isaac refused to move, even after Maisy had slumped against him. After his throbbing cock had moved to twitching to leaking and finally soft inside her. He refused to let the moment end. Refused to let her off him.
More than anything he wanted to take her to his bed. To hold her tight and kiss her breathless until both of them were ready to do it all again. But she’d turn him down. The way she’d turned him down all those times when he thought marriage might have been a good idea. All those times. He wouldn’t risk further humiliation now so he let himself untangle from her, threw an apologetic grimace at her torn clothing and tucked his cock back behind his buttons and turning away.
“I’ll make sure the modiste sends another dress.”
