23
Olivia
“I’m assuming it turns the wax into an oil or something,” I tell Isaac, and as I glance up, there’s a smirk teasing his lips.
With only the phone light illuminating his face, it’s almost a little wolfish. I check the box, and I’m right—it’s made of soy, intended for massages, and the ingredients are all natural. I blow out a sigh of relief; the last thing I want is my hotel room smelling like a cheap candle from one of those shower gel and lotion gift sets from the nineties we gave our friends for Christmas. Aubrey was at a bachelorette party last weekend, so it must’ve been a party favor or maybe something she picked up as a souvenir.
“Why would she give this to me?” I mutter to myself, then recall her warning me about Isaac. “Oh no. We’re not using this.”
“We absolutely are, babygirl.” He traces his fingers up my arm to my shoulders, then cups them behind my neck. Swiping his thumb on my cheek, he insists, “You’d look so beautiful covered in wax and my cum.”
“I think the word you meant to say was ‘messy.’”
“No, I was right the first time.”
The candle box indicates it’ll be more of an oil than a wax—indeed messy and not sexy—but I don’t correct him on that part, doing a double take at his phone screen, and am more concerned about the photo gracing the front of his phone—the one he took of me on our first date in college. “What’s that?”
“You know exactly what it is.”
“You can’t have that on your screen!” I shriek, but then take a deep breath and lower my voice. “Someone might see.”
He shifts the screen away, but it doesn’t change what I saw—he’s being careless. Even if it is kind of sweet. My lips purse and I narrow my eyes at him. “How long has that been on there?”
“It doesn’t matter. No one sees my phone. I’ll remove it tonight, only if you let me use this.” Isaac takes the candle from me, and there’s a little matchbook in the box. Not waiting for my reply, he lights the candle, and it’s almost romantic how it’s the only thing casting shadows in the room.
Unbuttoning his shirt, he commands, “Sit at the edge of the bed and wait for me.” His tone is dark, not my playful Isaac I’m used to. He can’t seriously want to pour hot wax on me, right? Despite my better judgement, I do as he asks, taking a seat on the bed as he wanders into the bathroom. He returns with two of the bath towels and splays them on the comforter. “Lie down for me.”
I shift back until I’m on top of the towels, propped onto my elbows. I’m unable to tear my eyes away from him as he continues to undress. It isn’t only that he’s gorgeous—hell, I canonly see half of him right now because it’s so dark—I’ve always felt a magnetic pull. I can’t believe he’s mine.
Taking his time, he also keeps his gaze fixed on me with an intensity I’ve never experienced from him, like he wants to devour me whole. After discarding his dress shirt, he pulls his tee over his head by the nape of his neck, then strips me out of my pajamas. His hunger magnifies as his eyes roam my body, and I’ve never felt so beautiful, so desired.
The scent of sandalwood and what may be vetiver wafts over to us, and still, neither of us say a word. I’ve always trusted Isaac, but this isn’t like us playing a cat-and-mouse game in a hotel lobby—this is different. This side of him that’s a little darker, a little rougher around the edges, and it’s sexy-as-fuck. He’s the only man I’ve ever fully handed over control to, so even with my apprehension about the wax, I’m going to do it again.
Once his shoes and pants join the rest of our clothes on the floor, he retrieves the candle, carefully lifting it above my thigh. I hate that he’s still in boxer briefs, but even in the darkness, the outline of his hard cock is undeniable, making my mouth water and the ache between my legs exponentially worse.
“Lie back. Close your eyes.”
I let out a shaky breath and do as he says. My legs fall open, and I swear I hear him growl, even if it’s probably my imagination. I stifle a laugh, and my amusement is cut short as another stream of warm oil drips down my thigh, then the other. At this point, there’s no point in hiding what he’s doing to me. I suck in a breath at a shift on the mattress, but I don’t open my eyes. His soft lips trail from my ankles up to my knees as his massive hands massage the oil further up my legs.
A soft moan escapes my lips and he murmurs, “So fucking perfect,” as he kneads my thighs like they are damn pizza dough.
And now I’m hungry…
No matter how incredible it feels, there are so many reasons this is the last thing we should be doing—power outage, political optics, and the fact that I’m not entirely sure how safe or organic that candle is with the oily wax this close to my pussy. I’m pulled from my mental spiral as hot liquid streams across my belly. As he begins massaging, I can’t help but feel self-conscious. I work out at least four times a week, but after campaigning for over a year, I’m not as toned as I used to be, and certainly not as fit as I was in my twenties.
“Don’t,” he growls, as I attempt to suck in my stomach. I reluctantly allow my abs to relax. “I love you, just like this. You should too.”
Tears prick behind my eyes, because he’s right. I should love myself. I do, for the most part, but I’ve never felt I was good enough—not just physically—always sprinting toward the next goal. I’m now the first woman to be Governor in my state, what’s my next milestone? Isaac loves me as I am, and we only get this one life. As much as I’d love to be a two-term politician, maybe it’s time I consider what’s most important in my life. Live for me, not for an achievement.
I need to get out of my head, and relax into Isaac’s touch. He’s firm but gentle. As he moves up to my breasts, my nipples pebble under his palms and he groans in appreciation. After the stressful day I had, he somehow knew exactly what I needed to unwind. More droplets of the candle drip onto my arms, but in order for him to properly rub down my limbs, he adjusts my legs, spreading me wider. He settles between my thighs, and Igasp as his bare cock grinds against my clit. Where the hell did his underwear go? Truly, I shouldn’t care, and selfishly tilt my pelvis, seeking more.
“You’re going to be my good girl and wait. Don’t worry, you’ll have Daddy’s cock soon enough.”
A whine is caught in my throat—I’ve never been good at waiting. “Please,” I whimper, needing more than his hands on me.
Isaac lowers his mouth to one of my nipples, licking a small circle, then briefly taking it between his teeth before replying, “No, baby, I don’t know when I’ll be able to touch you again. Let me take my time savoring you.”
“I’m not a dessert,” I chuckle.
