Fake Date, Real Fate-Chapter 115: Worth the Wait [II]

THIS Chapter IS WRITTEN IN BOTH ISABELLA’S AND ADRIEN’S POINTS OF VIEW UNFOLDING TOGETHER IN REAL TIME.

ADRIEN’S THOUGHTS ARE WRITTEN IN ITALICS.

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My breath hitched. I couldn’t form words, just nod, my hips instinctively tilting forward, needy and open.

Adrien unbuckled his belt with a quiet, practiced flick—like he’d been holding himself back for days and couldn’t anymore. His trousers slid just low enough for him to free himself, thick and hard and already straining.

And I stared.

He was thick. Long. Veiny, flushed, and pulsing with heat. How didn’t I notice this before?

A low moan slipped out of me before I could stop it.

He looked built for destruction.

Muscle corded his arms. His abs flexed as he reached for me, ridged and taut. His skin glowed with warmth, strength, hunger.

I wanted to touch every inch.

God, she always looks at me like this—like I’m the only thing in her world. I’d destroy everything I’ve built if it meant she’d never look away.

He stroked himself once, twice, eyes locked on mine the whole time, like he needed me to watch—needed me to know what he was about to do to me.

I need her to see me like this. Unraveled. Bare. I don’t care if it’s reckless—I want her to know exactly how undone I am for her.

Then he stepped between my legs and angled my hips forward. I felt the blunt head of him press against me, and instinctively, I leaned back, bracing myself with my palms on the desk.

She’s not just beautiful. She’s everything. The way she breathes, the way she waits for me, the way she trusts me like I won’t break her—even though I know I could.

"Eyes on me," he said, voice low. "I want to see your face when I fill you."

Because I don’t just want your body. I want your soul looking back at me when I claim you.

I looked at him. And the second he pushed in, I felt everything in me go stretche.

"God—"

"That’s not who you’re with right now," he said, voice like gravel. "Say my name."

"Adrien..."

He slid in slow—deliberate—stretching me, claiming me inch by devastating inch.

The burn was beautiful, maddening.

My legs wrapped around his hips before I even realized I’d moved, pulling him deeper until he was fully seated inside me.

My breath hitched. So did his.

She takes me like she was made for me. Every inch. Every goddamn inch.

"Fuck," Adrien hissed, head dipping to my shoulder for a brief second.

Her walls clenched around me like a second heartbeat. Hot. Wet. Tight. Perfect.

And yet, it still didn’t feel like enough.

I held there, still inside her, not moving. Just... feeling.

Every inch of her heat. Every tremor. Every breath she couldn’t take fully because I was still stretching her open.

She lets me in like she doesn’t even know how dangerous that is.

I don’t deserve this softness.

But God help me, I crave it.

Her hands slid up my chest, underneath my shirt, fingertips brushing over skin like she was mapping me. Like she needed to know me with more than just her eyes.

"You’re shaking," she whispered.

Of course I was.

How do you stay steady when the one thing you swore you’d never need is beneath you, wrapped around you, whispering your name like a prayer?

I pulled back just far enough to move. And then I started thrusting.

He pulled back, thrusting again, harder.

I gasped. He groaned.

"You’re perfect like this," he muttered against my throat, his hands gripping my waist like he couldn’t stand being apart for even a second.

I clung to him, every thrust pushing me further across the polished surface of his desk. Papers crumpled beneath me, forgotten. His name burned in my throat—on my tongue.

"Adrien—"

He lifted his head, eyes wild, jaw clenched. "Say it louder."

"Adrien..." she breathed, half-wild. "Your office..."

I leaned in, mouth brushing her ear.

"It’s soundproof," I said, kissing the corner of her jaw. "I made it that way for you."

I hadn’t even realized it until now. But I had. Months ago. Some part of me always knew I’d break with her.

And maybe—deep down—I wanted her to hear herself fall apart in my arms.

Another thrust. She moaned louder this time, hips meeting mine with a desperate rhythm that unhinged something in me.

I lost control.

All of it.

I gripped her tighter.

His rhythm grew harder, rougher, the sound of our bodies filling the room along with my ragged breaths and his low grunts of effort. It was frantic and controlled all at once—like he’d been starving for this, and I was the only thing he wanted.

"You feel so good," he growled. "You’re all I’ve fucking thought about."

He shifted, hitting a spot so deep it made me see stars. My nails scraped his back through his shirt, and he hissed in response.

God, yes. Mark me. I’ll wear it under my suit. I’ll pretend I’m still in control when I’m not. I haven’t been since the first time you moaned my name.

"You feel like fire," I choked, kissing her mouth. Her throat. Her collarbone. "Like every part of you was made to break me."

Her body tightened around me, slick and pulsing. Her head fell back, her lips parted, her moans rising with every thrust.

"Adrien—"

Say it again. Say my name like you mean it. Like I’m the only thing anchoring you to this moment.

"Adrien, please—"

There it is. That sound. God, that sound. Like surrender. Like breaking glass. And I’m the storm that did it.

I kissed her again—deep and possessive—as I drove into her with everything I had.

Not because I wanted to win.

But because I didn’t know how else to show her what she meant.

I couldn’t say the words. Not yet. Not without unraveling.

So I gave her everything else.

My hands.

My mouth.

My body.

My soul, if she asked for it.

Every stroke was a confession I couldn’t say aloud.

Every moan I pulled from her was one more thread binding her to me.

She clenched around me, and I knew she was close. I could feel her shaking, her body fighting to hold on.

"Let go for me," Adrien said against my lips. "I’m right here."

Let go. Show me you’re mine the way I already know I’m yours.

I shattered. Hard. My back arched, mouth open, every nerve in my body alight as I clenched around him. He held still through it, his breath catching as I pulsed around him, riding out every last tremor.

I love you.

God, I love you.

Then he moved again, faster now, chasing his own release. It didn’t take long.

"Fuck, Isabella," he groaned, and with one final thrust, he came—buried deep inside me, body trembling as he held me so tight it almost hurt.

I’ll never get over this. I already know. I’ll take you like this a hundred times and still want more.

His body felt heavy, beautiful, anchoring me to the desk. His heart hammered against my side, a frantic, wonderful beat echoing my own. I was slick with sweat and something else, something that felt like liquid heat pooling between my legs where he was still buried deep.

She’s perfect. Gods, she’s perfect.

I ran my hands up his back, feeling the hard lines of his muscle. My fingers trailed up to his neck, into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. I wanted to absorb him, to brand this feeling onto my skin, into my bones.

Her touch. It’s burning me. Cooling me. Unmaking me, all at once.

She doesn’t know what she does to me.

I can’t breathe when she touches me like this.

I can’t think.

For a long moment, there was only silence. Our harsh breathing. The thunder of my heartbeat in my ears.

He didn’t pull away.

Didn’t speak.

Just lowered his forehead to mine and stayed there.

Stay. Stay close. Don’t look away just yet.

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