Novels by riaeyre

5IsabellaA sinful bliss was the aftermath of the nasty love that was made to me.I lay there in the wrecked sheets, body humming, legs trembling so badly I wasn’t sure they’d ever hold me again.Every muscle ached in the sweetest, most obscene way—sore thighs, bruised hips, a delicious burn between my legs that pulsed with every heartbeat. I couldn’t stop the tiny aftershocks that rippled through me, little echoes of the pleasure that had torn me open and put me back together again, over and over.This had been the best night of my life. No contest. Not even close.Darek had never come close to this. He’d been careful, predictable, always pulling back before things got too messy, too real. This man—stranger, client, whatever he was—had been gentle when my breath hitched, rough when I begged for it, tender in the spaces between until I didn’t know which version of him I craved more. He’d unraveled me piece by piece and then fucked the pieces back together until I forgot my own nam

4Isabella Just for a night…For a night I had to be a prostitute for love.Though it was hard to breathe I sat on the bed shivering as I wondered how I would be able to live with myself after this.For a moment I wanted to stand and tell him I couldn't do it and promise I would work everyday to make back the money he would lose tonight but I couldn't.I couldn't bear the look of disappointment, I didn't want to fail in my responsibilities as a wife.If tonight could change everything shouldn't it be a risk I gladly take for a man who saved my life?The door lock clicked snapping me back to the present, and my pulse hammered in my throat. The door creaked open, letting in a sliver of hallway light that sliced across the floor like a blade. He scoffed, and I felt ice down my spine. "Why's it so damn dark in here?"I heard his hand fumbling along the wall, searching for the switch. "Don't," I blurted, my voice cracking. "I... I don't want the light on. It's easier this way."Everythin

3Isabella “Sir, now I’m sure you are in the wrong room.” I said with certainty stepping back to the bed to grab my dress and cover what was left of my dignity.He gawked at me, his brows high and eyes clearer than when he first stepped in, he was getting sober.Thankgoddess.“You need to leave,” I urged. “Now.”Instead of leaving, he frowned and reached into his pocket. Slowly, he pulled something out and held it up between us.A card.My breath caught as he turned it so I could see. A room number was written clearly on it. Room 39. This room number.“This is the room I was given,” he said. “And the name. Isabella” His eyes lifted to my face watching as the color drained from my face.The sound of my name felt like a slap.My stomach dropped, and my confidence flattered.“It’s your name right?” He pressed. And for the first time I loathed my birth name.“Yes,” I whispered, panic rising fast. “But… but this must be a mistake. I’m Isabella, but this—this isn’t right. My husband—”He c

2Isabella I could hardly breathe.And it wasn’t just because of the pressure I felt but how tightly I tied my corset.The custom-made royal blue Saint Laurent velvet gown was the only nice gown I had left. I had sold every other expensive one except the ones I wore at my wedding.This was the second look for the reception, Derek had picked it out for me, I hoped I would be able to remind him of the special night.When I slid it on, it was a bit loose because I lost weight so I had to add the corset to give the snatched look.It didn’t matter that my ribs were crushed beneath the dress. I wanted to look curvy and sexy, it was a small price to pay to get my husband back.Satisfied with how I look, I left the room. Every step I took my heart thumped loudly with racing thoughts.What would he think?How would he react?And most importantly, where were we heading to?When I stepped outside to the patio, Rashford was already waiting.That alone unsettled me—my fingers curled into the fabr

1Isabella “Can’t you do anything right, you insolent, stupid woman!” Derek roared and before I could bat an eye his hand slapped away the tray in my hand. I flinched as the slightly burnt lasagna arced through the air, alongside the glass of orange juice and the cutlery. They crashed to the ground breaking and making a red mess on the brown carpet.He frowned, giving me a disappointed look that sent my BP through the roof. Immediately, I dropped to my knees, a sharp pain hitting me then it dawned on me I landed on broken glass.I ignored the pain and clasped my hand together as if in prayer. “Please forgive me,” I cried out, mostly from the throb in my knees. “I was getting the laundry that’s why it got burnt–“Spare me your excuses!” He scoffed, sliding his wheelchair away as if my touch revolted him. “Getting married to you was the worst decision of my life.”His words sent an arrow straight to my broken heart.You’d think after hearing those words time and time again they would