CHAPTER 78: "AHH~ PETER... I CAN’T~~" (R-18)

Her legs trembled—actually trembled—and she grabbed the edge of the nearby counter like her body was short-circuiting. Her pupils were blown wide, lips parted, chest flushed and rising like she was already halfway to breaking.

"This is wrong," she breathed, but her eyes were fixed on my lips like she wanted to be ruined by them.

"Is it?" I whispered, letting my thumb graze along her cheekbone—slow and reverent, like I was studying the shape of a woman who forgot she was a masterpiece. "Or is it the first right thing that’s happened to you in years?"

She blinked up at me, dazed. Her body was leaning into mine now, not just willing—desperate. Her hands, trembling, reached for my bare chest like she couldn’t stop herself anymore. Her fingers grazed my skin, and I felt her nails press in—not to hurt, but to hold on. To something real. Something she hadn’t felt in years.

"Tell me to stop," I whispered, lowering my face to hers, my breath brushing over her lips. "Tell me to back off. To put my shirt on. To leave and fix your pipe like none of this happened."

Her lips quivered. She opened her mouth, and I saw the war behind her eyes.

And then—

"I can’t~"

A soft, cracked confession. A cry for freedom wrapped in silk.

"Then don’t."

I closed the gap and kissed her.

The second our lips met, Isabella Rodriguez shattered like she’d been holding herself together with thread and prayers.

"Mmmhhh~~ Pete~"

She let out a broken sound—half sob, half moan—and melted into me like her body had just remembered what it was made for. Her hands pressed against my chest, fingers splaying wide as she clung to me, digging in, like the contact alone was anchoring her back into her own skin.

She gasped as I backed her up against the counter, one hand cupping her jaw, the other sliding beneath her top to find her warm, needy skin.

"Ohhh...~ my god~," she whimpered as my fingers touched her waist, her stomach twitching under my palm like it had forgotten gentle contact.

I activated my ability.

The moment my fingers made full, supernatural contact, she screamed—not in fear, but in shock, in need, like she’d been electrocuted with pleasure.

Her whole body arched off the counter, mouth falling open as a deep, guttural moan tore from her throat.

Her nails dug into my shoulders, trying to pull me closer—harder. Her hips rolled once, searching for friction, and I caught her lower lip between my teeth just to hear the strangled gasp that followed.

"I—Peter—I can’t—" she panted, trying to speak, but her words were falling apart like her willpower.

"You don’t have to talk," I growled, mouth moving to her neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. "Just feel."

And oh~, she did.

"Oh~ my fucking God~"

She moaned again—louder now—as my hands moved up her sides and cupped her breasts through the thin fabric, thumbs grazing her hard, soaked nipples until she whimpered my name like a plea.

Four years of being untouched.

Four years of aching.

And now, Isabella Rodriguez was unraveling in my hands like she’d been waiting her whole damn life for someone to finally see

her.

To touch her.

To make her feel like a goddamn woman again.

And I wasn’t going to stop until she forgot every single moment she ever spent starving.

Her skin was becoming warm and impossibly soft under my touch, and I could feel her body temperature spike the moment my hands found her waist.

She was overheating—like her own desire had ignited something dormant inside her. I dragged my fingers up her bare sides, slow and purposeful, and her whole body jolted as if I’d pressed live wires into her flesh.

The cool bathroom air clashed against her heated skin, making every inch of contact feel like a contradiction—fire and ice, pleasure and punishment, sin and salvation. I could feel her heartbeat through her ribs, hammering wild against my palms like it was trying to escape her chest.

A sharp gasp tore from her throat, her knees wobbling beneath her. I pinned her to the wall with nothing but the pressure of my body, keeping her upright while her mind struggled to keep up with what her body was experiencing.

Not pain—pleasure so raw it bordered on violent. Her nervous system had been asleep for four years, and now it was waking up all at once. Every inch of her was trembling. Muscles twitching. Breathing ragged. Hips rolling. My touch wasn’t just skin-deep—it was rewriting her entire sense of what it meant to be touched.

"F-Fuck," she choked out, the word catching in her throat like it had claws. It wasn’t a curse anymore—it was a confession. Her back arched as I traced the edges of her ribs, and her entire body convulsed like I’d lit a fuse under her skin.

Her top clung to her like second skin, the thin cotton soaked in sweat, sticking to the swell of her breasts and the tight dip of her stomach. I could see the outline of her nipples, hard and straining against the fabric, every brush of air making her gasp.

"Oh God..." she whimpered, voice hoarse and breathless. "What the fuck are you doing to me?"

"Bringing you back to life," I growled, letting my lips brush the shell of her ear. She shuddered violently, eyes fluttering closed as another tremor rocked through her.

My fingertips moved in slow, deliberate paths—across the curve of her hips, up the sides of her ribs, across her belly and back again. Every inch I claimed made her more frantic. Her thighs pressed together, grinding for friction. Her stomach jumped every time my thumb grazed the hem of her bra.

Isabella moaned.

The first one came from deep inside her, like it had been buried under four years of silence. A raw, unfiltered sound of surrender. It made her eyes roll back. Made her hips buck forward.

"Ah—nnh... fuck—P-Peter..."

I pressed my body closer, crowding her until there was no space between us. My mouth ghosted down her neck, and her hands snapped up to grab fistfuls of my shirt, her fingernails digging in hard enough to leave marks.

She was convulsing in my arms now, her body betraying her mind as wave after wave of sensation crashed through her. My charm had already melted her resistance—but this? This was destruction. Her cells were unraveling under my hands.

"I—I can’t—" she gasped, her head falling back, banging lightly against the wall behind her. "Oh my God, it’s too much. I can’t—" Her body arched again as I grazed my thumbs beneath her bra, feather-light touches that had her sobbing with need.