Chapter 162
**Extraordinary Bride 162**
This morning, Isla and Gabriel found themselves enveloped in the soothing embrace of the shower’s warm rain. The bathroom was a sanctuary, filled with steam that curled around them like a gentle cocoon, providing the warmth they craved during a time of profound change.
Life had taken a swift turn, and the passing of Alfred Wyndham had cast a shadow of sorrow over them. Yet, amidst the grief, a rare gift emerged—time. The Wyndham companies had closed their doors for the mourning period, a tribute to the man who had shaped their lives in countless ways.
For the first time in what felt like ages, Isla had Gabriel entirely to herself, without the relentless pull of work or responsibilities tearing him away. This moment felt like a stolen honeymoon, a brief escape from the chaos of their lives, and her heart swelled with a bittersweet mix of grief and gratitude. She leaned into him, feeling a profound sense of safety and love that brought tears to her eyes, unbidden and raw.
Gabriel was unable to resist the urge to touch his wife, his hands roaming over her with an intensity that spoke of both tenderness and hunger. It was as if he needed to reassure himself that she was truly there, that they were sharing this precious moment together. Standing behind her, his strong chest pressed against her back, water cascaded over their bodies, a shared baptism in both love and sorrow.
His hands explored her, tracing the soft curves of her hips, gliding to her waist, savoring every inch of her that belonged to him. He kneaded her shoulders, working out the tension that had built up from days filled with worry and loss.
Isla surrendered to him completely, tilting her head back onto his shoulder, her body melting under his attentive care. The warmth of the water mingled with his heat, soothing her aching muscles while stirring something deeper—a longing that had been awakened by his touch.
“Do you enjoy that?” he murmured against the sensitive curve of her neck, his voice a low, seductive whisper. His lips brushed against her damp skin, sending delightful shivers racing down her spine, even in the enveloping warmth of the shower.
“I love it, please, keep going,” she breathed, her voice soft and filled with need. The simple act of his touch made her feel cherished, a feeling that lingered even after their passionate night together. She craved more of him, an insatiable desire igniting within her.
“I have something beautiful planned for us,” he said, his tone rich with promise, as if he were about to unveil a cherished secret. His hands slid lower, cupping her full breasts, squeezing gently, his thumbs circling her hardened nipples. The sensation shot through her, igniting a spark of pleasure that intertwined with the emotional weight they carried. “Do you trust me, Isla?”
“I do,” she gasped, her breath quickening, her heart racing like a wild stallion. Trusting him felt effortless, a natural instinct forged through shared trials. They had weathered storms together, and doubt no longer held sway over their lives.
His lips traveled slowly along her neck, kissing the sensitive spot where her pulse quickened, then moving to the side of her face, nipping her earlobe before returning to her throat. Each kiss was a vow, tender yet possessive, his breath warm against her skin. His hands remained on her breasts, a constant reminder of his desire.
He kneaded them with increasing fervor, rolling her nipples between his fingers until she arched into him, lost in the sensations. The water made everything slick, amplifying every touch, every glide of skin against skin.
His rigid cock pressed against her backside, hard and insistent, teasing her with each subtle movement. Electric shocks coursed through her body, igniting a deep, pulsing need at her core. Her body ached for him, a throbbing demand for release that felt urgent and consuming.
The mourning had left them both exposed, emotions tangled with desire, making this intimacy feel like a desperate claim on life amid their shared loss. She bit her lip, a soft whimper escaping as the tip of him nudged her ass, teasing her without fully entering.
A sharp gasp escaped her lips when his hand slipped lower, cupping her wet folds, fingers parting her slick lips with bold intimacy. The touch was electrifying, sending a rush of heat coursing through her veins.
“You see,” he groaned, his voice thick with lust, his manhood pulsing against her. “This is what I adore about you—always dripping for me, so ready, so undeniably mine.” His words, laced with desire, ignited a fire within her, driving her to the edge of madness with arousal.
In that moment, they stripped away the sadness that had cloaked them, replacing it with a blazing fire of passion, making her feel desired and powerful in her vulnerability. Her love for him deepened, a fierce protectiveness intertwining with pleasure—he was her anchor, her passion.
His fingers found her clit, circling it with firm pressure that made her knees buckle. She gasped louder, the sound echoing off the tiled walls, raw and unrestrained. Then, one finger pushed inside her tight passage, stretching her just enough to make her jump, her inner walls clenching around the intrusion.
The fullness was exquisite, a tantalizing promise of more, and she cried out, “Oh God,” her voice breaking under the weight of overwhelming sensation and emotion. Tears mingled with the shower water on her cheeks—not from pain, but from the sheer intensity of being so connected, so utterly loved.
“That’s it, love, let me hear more of that. It’s insane how you respond to me,” he growled, his free hand holding her steady against his chest. Her hips bucked involuntarily, grinding back against his cock as his finger pumped faster inside her, curling to hit that sensitive spot deep within.
She arched her back, pressing her ass against him, her pussy squeezing his finger in desperate pulses. Just one finger felt like everything—his touch unraveling her, body and soul, the grief fading beneath waves of need. Her breaths came in short pants, moans filling the steam, her hands gripping his thighs for support.
“Now, come for me, my love,” he coaxed, his voice a husky whisper in her ear, laced with a tenderness that made her heart ache.
Those words, simple yet commanding, shattered her defenses.
The orgasm built like a tempest, coiling tightly in her belly, and she rode it hard—her body shaking, her pussy convulsing around his finger in hot, rhythmic spasms. She cried out his name, “Gabriel!” the sound raw and pleading, pleasure crashing over her in endless waves.
Emotions flooded her: love so deep it hurt, relief in this stolen joy, and a quiet fear of losing more time. He didn’t stop, his finger thrusting through her release, drawing out every tremor until she sobbed softly, overstimulated and blissed.
But as her high peaked, he spoke again, his tone shifting to dark hunger. “Now it’s my turn.” With those words, he gently bent her forward, pressing her against the cool glass wall of the shower, her palms flat for balance. Water streamed down her back, pooling at their feet.
He positioned himself behind her, the head of his thick cock teasing her entrance, slick with her arousal. Then, with a smooth, deep thrust, he entered her, filling her completely. Her body stretched around him, welcoming every inch, the sensation so intense it stole her breath away.
He groaned low, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her back onto him as he began to move—slow at first, savoring the tight heat, then building to a steady rhythm that made her moan anew. In this act, they poured out their love and their sorrow, binding tighter in the steam and spray, creating a moment that transcended their grief.