CHAPTER 79: "I NEED YOU TO~"

"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.

I kissed the hollow of her throat and felt her swallow hard under my mouth.

Her moans were louder now—full-body cries, drawn from some primal place she’d kept locked up for too damn long.

"Ahn—ahh... oh fuck—right there—God, please..."

Her thighs were trembling. Her stomach tightened with every stroke of my hands. Tears welled up in her eyes again, spilling over, but they weren’t sad. They were release. Relief. The sensation of being wanted so hard her body didn’t know how to handle it.

"Please," she sobbed, her nails clawing into my back. "Don’t stop. Don’t stop. I’ve never—never felt like this. Please, Peter—God, don’t stop."

I moved one hand to her jaw, cupping her face, my thumbs brushing away tears as my fingertips sent shockwaves into her temples. Her skin burned under my hands—flushed, hot, electrified.

"Look at me," I ordered, voice low and heavy with that command she couldn’t ignore.

Her eyes fluttered open, pupils wide with lust and need. Her lips were trembling. Her body pressed so close I could feel every twitch, every desperate tremble.

"Tell me what you need," I said, kissing the corner of her mouth. "Right now. Say it."

Her lips parted.

"I need you," she whispered—then moaned louder when my hands cupped her breasts. "I need you to ruin me... please."

And just like that, the rest of the world stopped mattering.

Isabella’s eyes locked onto mine, but damn near crossed—like she was trying to stay conscious while I wrecked her nervous system from the inside out. Her lips were parted, trembling, trying to form words through gasps and sobs and broken moans. Her voice came out ruined, her soul dragging every syllable up like it was a confession on death row.

"I... I need you to touch every inch of me~," she begged, her hands gripping my shirt like it was the only thing anchoring her to reality. "I need you to remind me what it means to feel~ to be seen. Not survive. Not function. I need you to fuck away four years of being nothing. Of feeling invisible and cold and... and dead."

I didn’t say a word.

I took

her mouth like I was starving.

My lips crushed hers—raw, possessive, deep enough to make her moan so loud it echoed and bounced off the tiled walls like a scream.

Her knees buckled again, body convulsing like her whole system short-circuited under the weight of that kiss alone. She gasped into my mouth, the sound desperate and broken, but still tried to grind herself against me like her body was chasing something her mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

My hands weren’t gentle anymore. Not soft. Not tentative.

I grabbed her—palms sliding up her back, fingers spreading along her spine, cupping her ass with both hands like she belonged to me. I pulled her hips into mine, forcing her to feel the hard press of what she’d done to me.

Her thighs squeezed around me like she couldn’t stand on her own anymore. And honestly? She couldn’t. Her whole body was trembling like she was seconds from passing out.

"You’re not invisible," I growled against her lips, dragging them with my teeth. "You’re a fucking work of art—a masterpiece that’s been buried alive by a man who doesn’t deserve to speak your name."

Her body shook with a sob—but it wasn’t grief. It was the sound of relief and raw hunger ripping out of her all at once.

She pressed her forehead into my neck, panting like she’d run a marathon, her chest rising and falling so fast I felt every breath against my collarbone.

"I’ve been so lonely," she cried, her voice cracking as her nails clawed at my back, trying to pull me deeper into her. "So goddamn empty. I thought this was just life now. I thought I was... broken."

"You’re not broken," I hissed, sliding my hands under her jeans until I was gripping the curve of her bare hips. My thumbs dug into her skin, dragging slow, fire-lined circles that made her scream. Her head slammed back against the wall, her body arching like I’d shot lightning straight through her.

She moaned again—loud, feral, out of control—and her thighs shook so violently they knocked into mine.

"Oh my God—what the fuck are you doing to me?" she gasped, voice ragged, every word shaking like her lips couldn’t form around them.

"Bringing you back to life," I whispered, letting my fingers slide lower—tracing the curve of her thighs, the dip of her waist, the softness of skin that no one had touched like this in years. She bucked into me like she was trying to crawl out of her own skin.

"I can’t—fuck—I can’t take this—" she whimpered, her nails digging into my neck as her head lolled to the side, lips parted in helpless, mewling moans. "It’s too much. It’s too much. You’re rewiring me—oh God—what the fuck—"

"You can take it," I said, biting her earlobe gently before letting my breath flood her ear. "You’ve needed

this. Craved it. Even if you didn’t know how to say it. But your body knows. Doesn’t it, baby?"

Her response wasn’t words—it was her hips grinding into mine like she wanted to fuse our bodies together. Her jeans were damp now—soaked through from just this—and her thighs were trembling hard enough I had to hold her upright.

She was unraveling in real time. Four years of numbness of cold nights and empty mornings and sexless silence, were being burned alive by my touch. Her body couldn’t keep up. Her moans were feral now, high-pitched and raw, and she kept gasping like she couldn’t breathe.

"Please," she begged, barely able to form the word. "Please, don’t stop. I’m not ready. I’m not done."

Her hands were everywhere—gripping my shoulders, sliding into my hair, pressing to my chest like she wanted to feel my heartbeat just to know I was real. She was shaking so hard now that her legs gave out completely, and I caught her by the waist before she slid down the wall.

"Look at me," I ordered, voice sharp and deep, full of the command that sent shockwaves down her spine.

She tried. God, she tried.

Her eyes fluttered open, pupils blown wide, face flushed and damp with sweat and tears. Her lips were swollen, her professional and housewife gracefulness smudged, her whole-body trembling like she was seconds away from breaking apart completely.

"Tell me what you need."

Her lips parted, voice hoarse, but the words came out with no hesitation.

"I need you," she whispered. "I need you to show me what it means to feel. I need you to fuck me like I’m real. Like I’m worth it. Like I’m yours."

I smiled.

"You already are."

And I wrapped her up in my arms again, feeling every inch of her burning against me like fire had taken human form—and I was the only one who could survive it.

The bathroom had become a fucking fever dream.

Steam was pouring off the marble like we were trapped inside some bougie spa fantasy gone wild. The mirrors were fogged, the lights were soft and golden, and the air was so thick with heat and lust it felt like it could choke you.

I was soaked to the bone—hair dripping, chest gleaming, water running in steady streams down every inch of muscle. My skin was flushed, glistening like molten bronze under the light, and the heat wasn’t just from the damn shower anymore.

Outlining every flex, every shift of power in my body. Each drop that slid over my chest traced the deep cut of my abs, flowing between muscle like liquid fingers, and Isabella... fuck, she was staring.