Chapter 310: End of an era
Chapter 310: End of an era
TAMARA
EPILOGUE: ONE YEAR LATER
“You aren’t supposed to see the bride on her wedding day, Isaiah,” I panted, turning just enough to catch his reflection in the mirror as I helped him lift my gown, the heavy fabric bunching at my hips. Lust rolled through me in dizzying waves, thick and heady, stealing my breath before I could steady it.
Isaiah grunted the moment his fingers found my wet core, his reaction immediate, raw. His mouth latched onto my neck, biting, sucking, claiming, like he had waited all day just to do this.
“And I’m not supposed to be fucking you before seeing you at the altar, princess,” he murmured against my skin, his voice deep, rough, dangerous. “But here we are.”
The words alone made me wetter.
His fingers pushed inside me without warning, drilling into me until a sharp gasp tore from my chest. My hands flew to the edge of the sink, knuckles whitening as I clung to it for balance.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned. “You’re so tight.”
One finger became two. Two became three. He stretched me slowly, until my thighs trembled and my moans echoed off the tiled walls. He curled his fingers just right—exactly the way he always did—and drove them into me relentlessly, knowing my body better than I knew myself.
His other hand rubbed my clit in ruthless circles, then slid up to squeeze my nipples where they had spilled free from my gown. I bit my lip hard, desperate to keep quiet, but pleasure tore through me anyway, shaking my entire body.
“Oh God… Isaiah—”
“I won’t stop until you come, princess,” he growled, breath hot against my ear. “Come on. Give it to me.”
He did not have to ask again.
The moment he bit my ear and slapped my clit, the orgasm ripped through me violently, stealing my voice, shattering me from the inside out. I screamed, the sound torn from somewhere deep in my chest, my legs threatening to give out beneath me.
“Fuck…” I breathed, collapsing back against him, boneless, satisfied—and still aching.
Isaiah leaned down, pressed a soft kiss to my hair, his eyes dark and intent as they met mine through the mirror.
“You don’t think I’m done, do you, malyshka?”
I grinned, still catching my breath. “I hope not, baby.”
His answering smile was lethal.
His fingers went to his belt, undoing it just enough for me to feel him—hard, thick, pressed firmly into my back. My breath hitched all over again.
“Now onto the main course,” he murmured.
He pushed me forward until my hands braced against the sink, my back arched for him without thought. His fist tangled in my hair, pulling just enough to make my spine shiver.
Then he slammed into me.
The force of it knocked a silent gasp from my lungs, my body jolting forward as he filled me completely in one brutal thrust. Isaiah groaned loudly, head falling back, his eyes squeezing shut as the veins in his neck stood out.
The sound he made—because of me—sent a fresh rush of heat straight through my core.
“You always feel so good, princess,” he moaned. “Fuck.”
“I’ll feel even better if you move,” I begged, my hips already rolling back, desperate for friction. “Please, baby.”
He laughed lowly. “Always ready for me, aren’t you?” His voice dropped, dark and intimate, raising every hair on my body. “Your pussy is always begging to be fucked. Always crying for my cock.”
He pressed me harder against him, still refusing to move, the angle driving him impossibly deep, past my g-spot, stealing a broken groan from me. The intensity made my head spin, the torture delicious and unbearable all at once.
“Isaiah… please.”
“Fuck,” he muttered. “I love hearing you beg.”
He pulled out completely.
I barely had time to gasp before he slammed back into me even harder.
“God!” I cried.
“Fuck,” he groaned, just as loud.
After that, he gave me no mercy. His thrusts turned relentless, powerful, snapping into me over and over until my cries filled the room and his moans vibrated through my spine.
His hand left my hair and came down hard on my ass, the sharp sting making me gasp, making me wetter, the slickness pooling with every slap.
Before I could even protest, he pulled out again, spun me around in one swift movement, lifted me like I weighed nothing—and slid back into me just as fast.
Our eyes locked.
“I can’t believe I get to call you my wife today,” he muttered, his voice low and reverent, a soft contrast to the rough, punishing way he was fucking me. His grip on my hips tightened like he was afraid I might disappear if he loosened it even for a second.
The words hit me harder than his thrusts ever could.
My entire body lit up, warmth spreading through my chest, my stomach, my thighs. “And this time,” I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion more than pleasure, “you don’t get to run.” My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it. I was happy—achingly, overwhelmingly happy.
Isaiah leaned closer, his teeth dragging slowly along my jaw, a possessive scrape that sent shivers straight down my spine.
“No,” he said softly. “I don’t get to run.”
Then he kissed me.
Not rushed. Not frantic. A deep, toe-curling kiss filled with promise, with devotion, with forever. It set something molten loose inside me, excitement curling tight and needy in my core.
The sudden rattling of the door froze us both.
“Tamara A. Baron!” Maggie shrieked from the other side. “Why aren’t you ready yet? The guests are arriving!”
My eyes widened in panic. I pulled back instinctively, already bracing my hands against Isaiah’s chest to push him away—
But he only smirked.
“We’re going to have to do this the exciting way, princess.”
My brows knit in confusion, but before I could ask, he slipped my panties into my mouth. My eyes flew open, shock and heat crashing together. I knew instantly what he intended—and the thought of it made my thighs tremble even harder.
Isaiah’s smirk deepened.
He lifted my legs until they rested on his shoulders and thrust back into me in one smooth, ruthless motion. I arched hard, my body bowing, a silent cry tearing through me—but no sound came. I could only cling to him, eyes blown wide, as he fucked me relentlessly.
He hit all the right places again and again, each thrust sharper, deeper, until the pressure in my belly snapped.
The orgasm crashed over me violently, a million fireworks detonating low and hot, delirium washing over my body in blinding waves. My knees nearly buckled.
Isaiah followed seconds later, groaning deeply, his body trembling against mine as he came, holding me like I was the only thing keeping him grounded.
We collapsed together, foreheads touching, breaths ragged and heavy, bodies slick and utterly spent.
When our breathing finally slowed, Isaiah straightened, retrieved the pants from my mouth and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of my head, so gentle it made my chest ache.
“I love you, Tamara Baron,” he murmured. “Or should I say… Tamara Cannighan.”
A giggle slipped out of me, light and shaky, like a small earthquake in my chest, its ripples making my whole body tremble.
“Tamara Cannighan,” I repeated softly. “It has a nice ring to it.”
“It does, doesn’t it,” he agreed, smiling so brightly it nearly took my breath away.
“And I love you too,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “Isaiah Cannighan.”
His eyes twinkled, something unguarded and pure shining there. For the first time since we had found our way back to each other, Isaiah looked truly, completely happy.
And the sight of him like that made my throat tighten, tears burning behind my eyes. I wanted to laugh, to cry, to scream my joy into the world.
This—this—was what we had been chasing since he was sixteen and I was nine. Thirteen long, brutal years to finally get here. Crazy. Painful. Worth every second.
He was worth it.
And so was our little girl. Leah Cannighan.
My small, perfect family.
THE END.