Chapter 1
The bedside lamp was dimmed to its lowest setting, casting a hazy, ambiguous glow around the room. Isolde Fairweather, slightly tipsy, squinted but couldn’t quite make out Lysander Bright's face, and that made her bold. One hand began to wander, her fingertips gliding down from his neck to the contours of his firm chest, teasingly caressing the hidden muscles beneath his shirt. The other hand was poised to unbutton his shirt; she was determined to uncover the true nature of this usually composed gentleman once the layers were removed. Just as she contemplated her next move, a strong hand suddenly grasped her wrist, halting her. Respectfully, she ceased her actions and waited for him to speak. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Lysander’s voice, already magnetic, dropped even lower, sending a slight shiver through Isolde. She nodded, reassured, “Of course.” There seemed to be no option left to her. Lysander let out a soft hum and pulled her closer, their bodies nearly touching, their breaths intertwining. Just moments ago, Isolde had been confident, but now she faltered; she felt Lysander’s arousal pressing against her abdomen, igniting her senses. Her gaze instinctively darted away, her lips parted to say something, but before she could gather her thoughts, Lysander caught her off guard with a passionate kiss. He kissed her with a ferocity that was raw and untamed, as if he had been in hiding, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce on his prey. The kiss was electrifying—her senses overwhelmed, Isolde barely registered when his tongue danced with hers, and soon, she found herself gasping in chaotic response. “Fairweather, there’s no turning back now,” he murmured, his breath grazing her ear, sending ripples of desire coursing through her. Assuredly taking control, Lysander eased Isolde down onto the bed as he breathed in her scent, pausing only to trail kisses along her delicate neck. His hands slipped beneath her blouse, the coolness of his fingertips against her skin elicited an involuntary sound from her lips, a soft gasp that echoed her craving. It felt as though the kiss had awakened a deep yearning within her. Lysander smirked, his lips curling into a playful grin. “You’re rather eager, aren’t you, darling…” He blew a teasing breath against her neck, sending a shudder down her spine. “Just wait for me to pamper you…” he continued, his voice almost a whisper. Before she could fully absorb his words, Lysander's hands toyed with her bra, pushing it up, and her breath caught at the sudden exposure. His gaze roamed hungrily as he slowly explored her soft curves, fingers pressing in a manner that heightened all her senses, the pleasure building as his touch became less cautious and more urgent. “Lysander Bright… be gentle…” Her words faltered, overwhelmed by sensation, as she faced the reality of her desires. In place of those wandering hands, she felt Lysander’s warm, wet mouth capture her, his tongue swirling around her sensitive skin, igniting a chorus of blissful electricity that swept through her mind. With each kiss, every flick of his tongue heightened her senses, pulling her further into an intoxicating haze of pleasure that clouded her thoughts.
Chapter 2
Lysander Bright slid down her dress, his fingers tracing provocatively against the delicate fabric at her entrance, already soaked through. The wet sensation on his fingertips made Isolde Fairweather squirm uncontrollably, her inner muscles reflexively tightening with each motion. "Please... faster..." Isolde pleaded, unable to endure the teasing. Her body ached with an unfulfilled need. Sensing her readiness, Lysander mischievously guided Isolde's hand to the hardened bulge in his trousers. Feeling its imposing size and searing heat made Isolde blush deeply. Finding her reaction endearing, Lysander encouraged her to unbuckle his pants, exposing his throbbing manhood to her trembling hand. Gripping the rigid shaft lightly, Isolde hesitated, eliciting a restrained groan from Lysander. He grasped her hand firmly while pushing aside her underwear, fully revealing her to his rapt gaze for a tantalizing moment before positioning himself at her entrance. Rubbing the tip along her slick folds, he observed her pleading eyes before thrusting forward, his lean waist driving into her with confident precision. "Ah..." Isolde gasped, eyebrows knitting together as her body adjusted to the intrusion, her hands clutching the bedsheet tightly. The tightness around him tested Lysander's own resolve, his desire battling with the sensation. To reassure her, he claimed her lips in a passionate kiss, his eyes watching her every reaction as he began pushing deeper. "It hurts..." Isolde whimpered softly, tears brimming in her eyes. Lysander paused, realizing the significance of the barrier he'd encountered. A mix of surprise and pleasure stirred within him; knowing it was her first time only fueled his desire to make it memorable, despite the irreversible course they were on. "Shh, it'll feel better soon," Lysander murmured soothingly, convincing despite the intensity of the moment. Isolde bit her lip, wrapping her arms around his neck in a gesture of trust. Seizing the opportunity as she relaxed slightly, Lysander drove forward in a single, resolute motion, her inner muscles gripping him tightly, intensifying the pleasure to a near unbearable degree. Isolde's refined features scrunched in pain, her legs rigid, body trembling as dark red blood seeped from her entrance, marking their union with a vivid stain. Aware of her inexperience, Lysander maintained a controlled rhythm, easing his movements to lessen her discomfort. Her body, though still aching, responded instinctively to his slow thrusts. "Lysander... you lied..." Isolde's voice cracked with emotion, tears slipping down her cheeks as she spoke. "And which one of us begged for it?" Lysander taunted, punctuating his words with a deliberate thrust that momentarily broke Isolde's fragile grip on consciousness. Lysander's strong hands caressed her waist, his rigorous thrusts driving deeper each time. Gradually, Isolde's sensation blurred between pain and pleasure, her confusion momentarily forgotten as the intensity overwhelmed her. Sensing her growing arousal, Lysander quickened his pace, his own breath becoming strained. The tight grip of her muscles around him was nearly too much to bear. "Ah... I can't... oh..." Isolde's voice rose in pitch, her body responding to the rising crescendo of unfamiliar pleasure. The repetitive slap of their joining filled the room, growing faster until Isolde's sharp cry signaled her release. Her body arched, minds swimming in ecstasy as a wave of relief washed over her, climaxing just as Lysander let out a low growl, his brow furrowing while he emptied himself deeply inside her. Holding Isolde close, Lysander stayed connected until he was spent, only then withdrawing slowly, savoring the intense pleasure of the moment. Both panting heavily, Isolde's body continued to quiver, her entrance still contracting as a warm liquid trickled out. Their shared experience left them breathless, a palpable bond of intimacy formed in the heat of passion. For Lysander and Isolde, this was more than just a physical act; it was a deeper connection, an intertwining of souls that neither had previously experienced. Lysander gently stroked Isolde’s hair, holding her close as they lay together, lost in the profound moment they'd just shared, the beginning of a new chapter in their entwined lives.
Chapter 3
After a blissful climax, Isolde Fairweather was draped in tantalizing allure. Her cherry lips parted and closed as Liliana's nectar overflowed endlessly, causing Lysander Bright's pulse to race once more. His substantial manhood lifted its head again. Just as Isolde Fairweather was about to close her eyes and rest, a large shadow cast over her. Lysander Bright's handsome face gradually enlarged before her vision. Isolde Fairweather glanced down at the man's nether region and was taken aback. Was it her imagination, or had it become thicker and longer? Was this man so insatiable? She seemed to have gotten herself into quite a predicament. Though her body was sore and she didn't want to move, she couldn't find the words to refuse him. Seeing Liliana stare intently at a specific part of him, pondering who knows what, Lysander Bright's lips curled into a devilish grin. He leaned in and whispered seductively against her earlobe, "Do you like what you see?" Caught red-handed, Isolde Fairweather's cheeks flamed up. She pouted and hurriedly denied, "No, no... it's not good looking." In truth, it resembled a large, menacing snake from Fenwick Thorn more than anything appealing. Unperturbed, Lysander Bright chuckled lightly into her ear, "Doesn't matter if it's good looking or not, as long as it can make you feel good, right?" Isolde Fairweather bit her lip and turned her head away. This man, usually so meticulous and aloof, now spouting such lewd words with ease—he was indeed a cunning fox hiding his true nature. Seeing Isolde's pout, Lysander Bright's long fingers moved with premeditation towards her secret place. "That expression... was my performance earlier not satisfying enough?" "Ah, ah... what are you doing..." she stammered, flustered. The man pressed his right index and middle fingers together, expertly massaging the sensitive flesh around her clit. His touch was light yet skilled, once more making Isolde Fairweather wet between her thighs. Though she had dabbled in erotic literature and films for self-gratification, her own touch paled in comparison to the fervor ignited by the man's dexterous fingers. Noticing her clit's heightened sensitivity, Lysander Bright was even more intrigued, teasing her with occasional light brushes. Isolde writhed in an attempt to increase his contact, but he withdrew his fingers, denying her relief. An overwhelming emptiness washed over Isolde, and she opened her beautiful eyes, brimming with tears of frustration, looking like a lost, saddened fawn. Jonathan's unbridled excitement grew at the sight. Holding back his playful urges, Lysander Bright grabbed his assertive manhood and directed it towards her lower entrance. Before plunging in, he teased her swollen clit with his hardened member. "Ah... you're awful," Isolde Fairweather whimpered, her nose stinging as the tears that had been pooling finally fell. The sight made Lysander Bright even more excited. Liliana's once-throbbing entrance now appeared quite pitiable with its redness. Lysander’s member lightly probed the entry, her moist welcome fluid indicating readiness. However, Isolde was defiant, her delicate feet kicking lightly. Lysander lifted her legs, securing them against his waist. Completely exposed, Isolde's blush intensified, pressing her lips together in utter humiliation.
Chapter 4
Lysander Bright's hips surged forward, and his entire shaft entered Liliana Fairweather halfway. Drinking in the extreme pleasure, he slowly pressed deeper, reaching the very core. This position allowed him to penetrate further than before, touching the most sensitive part of her. He was burning hot, and Isolde Fairweather could feel the heat spreading inside her, transforming the initial sting into a growing sense of pleasure, a desire for him to continue. Lysander began thrusting, each powerful drive followed by a swift withdrawal, leaving Isolde gasping and moaning helplessly. “Ugh... no, it's too... deep...,” she whimpered, her voice a soft symphony of ecstasy. In response, Lysander rewarded her by freeing a hand to caress her sensitive clit, matching the rhythmic thrusts. Isolde could only feel the intense sensations in her core and clit, her mind overtaken by the passionate encounter. Her breathless, moaning voice echoed through the room. “There... right there... don't stop...” When Lysander heard her express pleasure, a wave of satisfaction washed over him, driving his efforts harder. As his length continually plunged in and out, her juices flowed freely, soaking the sheets beneath her. “I'm close... so close...” she stammered, with escalated stimulation from both her clit and her core. Lysander knew she was nearing her peak. He pushed one of her legs forward, quickened his pace, and with a strong shove, reached her deepest spot. “Aahh...!” Isolde's climax surged through her like a tidal wave, her face contorted in sheer bliss. The overwhelming sensation caused her muscles to tighten around Lysander's still throbbing member. Lysander grimaced, switching to mouth-breathing as he was hit by the intensity of her orgasm. With a casual swipe, he cleaned his own length, then dressed quickly while Isolde struggled to regain her composure. Gently, she tried to steady herself and walked shakily toward Lysander. Wrapping her arms around him from behind, she rested her head on his broad back, her fingers tracing the firm muscles of his abdomen. “Speak,” Lysander prompted, his voice flat but not unkind. Her fingers tightened a little, and she inhaled deeply before speaking, her voice still tinged with the softness post-pleasure brings. “I want to marry you.”
Chapter 5
Lysander Bright paused, his fingers fiddling with his cuff as he turned to face Isolde Fairweather. His expression grew serious, and his deep, penetrating black eyes seemed to see right through her. Isolde instinctively lowered her gaze, her heart racing as she awaited his response. “No,” he stated flatly. Isolde blinked, stepping forward in desperation. “Why not?” Given the history between their families and the closeness they had developed over the past few days, not to mention their earlier intimate moment, she had felt relatively confident—if not entirely certain—that he would agree. As if he had anticipated her question, Lysander leaned in closer, his warm breath brushing against her face. But instead of comfort, a chill ran through her, a surge of anxiety gripping her heart. “Because…” He caught her averted gaze. “You cry too easily and you’re rather foolish.” The moment the words left his mouth, his face shifted into a grin, and the tension between them broke as he chuckled, his handsome features softening. Isolde was momentarily taken aback, realizing he was referring to how she had acted earlier. Anger flushed through her, and she pushed him away, retreating back to the bed, crossing her arms defiantly. “I wasn’t joking! Stop picking on me!” “You’ve had plenty of that already.” Lysander had still not addressed the matter in question. Seeing that there was no hope left, Isolde stifled a frustrated groan as she lay back on the bed. The exertion of the earlier activities had left her utterly drained, and the allure of sleep was winning her over. Yet, she cracked open an eye, glancing at Lysander as he rummaged through his wardrobe, finally stepping out of the room with long strides. Isolde couldn’t help but think, after such a close encounter, shouldn’t they be cuddled up together in bed instead of him walking away so decisively? Was she really that unappealing to him, to warrant such a blunt rejection? Hot frustration simmered in her chest as she pouted, clenched her fists, and let her eyes flutter shut as she succumbed to sleep. When Lysander found himself unable to resist peeking back into the room, he saw her radiance, arms crossed and cheeks flustered with indignation. Had she really worked herself into such a tizzy? A smile crept onto his lips involuntarily as he adjusted the blanket she had kicked off, his gaze lingering on her lovely face before he slipped back out. --- The next morning, even though it was nearly ten o'clock, Isolde Fairweather found herself still sprawled out in bed, her body aching with exhaustion. She stretched lazily, then suddenly jolted upright, realization hitting her. She searched frantically for her phone, tossing the blankets aside. After a fruitless search, it dawned on her—she had left her bag in his car after a nervous whirlwind of a night. Time was of the essence, so she quickly dressed and made her way to Lysander's study. He had likely left early for The Guild of Merchants by now, and sure enough, the study was empty. He had assured her the previous day that she could help herself to whatever she needed after waking up, so Isolde casually took a seat at his desk and powered on his laptop. To her surprise, the computer was wide open without a password, and she found herself impressed by the speed of the internet connection in his vast home. With her thoughts drifting, fingers resting at her chin, an idea sparked. Her fingers began to type across the keys as she set to work, determination flooding her expression.
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