RITUAL GUNUNG KEMUKUS

Zella 

He was looking at me.  

I licked my lips, feeling my throat suddenly go dry at the sight of Isaiah King's eyes on me. My palm grew clammy with sweat, and I wiped it nervously over my skirt. His steel grey eyes dropped to my hands to follow the motion, then moved slowly back up, sending heat up my skin. When those eyes met mine again, they were hot and molten.  

"Zella and I can’t wait to get married!" Oliver's voice broke through the haze, making me tear my gaze away from him and look around at the guests at my engagement party.  

God, what was wrong with me? This was precisely why I needed to get married. This obsession with Isaiah King had to stop.  

"Oh, I'm sure," Thomas Carmicheal, my father, grinned, clapping a hand on Oliver's back. "It is meant to be, isn't it, Isaiah? My daughter is marrying my best friend's son, that's a match made in heaven." 

I winced as people nodded in agreement, blushing because I had, in fact, been having terrible thoughts about a man who wasn't just my father's best friend for years but also the father of my fiancé.  

I need help. 

Isaiah remained quiet, and I could still feel those eyes on me. He was probably not looking, though. For as long as I could remember, I had a crush on Isaiah King. It was silly, it was impossible, he was way too old and had the entire business industry of the country at his feet. Everyone either feared him or worshipped him. It was either of those two, and it was pretty clear I worshipped him.  

I had spent nights in the past six years, cradling my pillow, wishing it was his sinfully gorgeous body. I would imagine running my hands through his midnight black hair, feeling the thick strands with my fingers while he kissed me. Isaiah King looked like a man who would practically devour me with his kisses.  

I ached for them, for him, all of him.  

But it could never happen. I knew it wouldn't, and a silly, selfish part of me had gone for his son instead, who was practically a safe version of Isaiah King. 

"A toast!" My sister, Sasha, yelled excitedly, holding her champagne glass up. "To my sister who practically raised me," 

"Sasha," I groaned as she latched her arm around mine, beaming up at me.  

"Oh, don't act like that, you deserve all the happiness in the world, and I'm happy you've found it with Oliver." 

Yeah... With Oliver. I couldn't help but steal another look.  

He was talking with someone, but those grey eyes remained on me. Oh god, there was only so much I could take. My breathing turned heavy, and I came in short pants. I gripped the champagne glass, raising my brows.

Did he know what he did to me? He shouldn't stare at me like that. I bit my bottom lip, trying to rein in all the feelings that surged through me. My jaw dropped when he reached up to brush his lips with his thumb; for some reason, that felt electric.   

I wanted those hands on me. I wanted to run across the hall and throw myself at him shamelessly. I had wanted him for years and every day, it only grew much more harder to stop thinking about him and yearning for him. My thighs quivered as everyone spoke around me. I was slick with desire, hot and bothered.  

I needed to find release, or I would go mad. I pressed my legs together, downing my champagne in one go. The alcohol burned like liquid fire down my throat, and I felt my nipples strain against my bra, begging to be let out.  

"I... Uhm, excuse me for a minute. I have to go to the restroom," I choked out, giving a smile that probably looked like I was constipated instead and raced out of the hall. 

I slipped into the restroom, rushed to the counter and leaned against it. My hands fumbled as I pushed my dress up, facing the mirror. A soft moan slipped from my lips when my fingers found my sopping wet pussy under my panties.    

"Oh," I sighed, rubbing lightly, closing my eyes as I replayed what Isaiah had done, pressing his thumb over his lips. I imagined that thumb touching me now, flicking against my clit and rubbing down hard. I imagined him placing me on the counter, towering above me, teasing me with his kisses while his fingers sunk into my cunt.  

"Oh god, yes, Isaiah," I gasped, easing a finger into my pussy and dropping my head back in need. "Please," 

That huge frame of his practically enveloped me in his heat and scent. He used the Cologne Blanc. I had figured that out two years ago and had bought the cologne, spraying it in my room and getting excited just taking his scent in. 

I wanted him to dominate me, take me, tell me dirty, wicked things in my ears while he played with my pussy. Hot pleasure bubbled in my veins, and I groaned, increasing the pace of my fingers in my pussy, moaning his name.  

"Oh, Isaiah, just like that. Please, please don't stop. I'm going to cum," 

"Cum, Zella," I imagined him saying in that deep raspy voice, calling my name in that honey-like way that had me dizzy with pleasure. "Cum for me." 

"Oh yes, yes, yes," I cried as my orgasm slammed right into me. My eyes opened to see my flushed face in the mirror while I worked my fingers in my cunt, prolonging my orgasm. When I finally came down from my high, panting and breathing heavily. "This has to stop, Zella." 

I was getting married to his son. I couldn't marry Oliver and then be hung up, touching myself to his father.  

I looked up at the mirror, trying to adjust my hair, when I noticed a huge frame at the door. My jaw dropped and I whipped around, mortified. 

"Isa... Uncle Zay, H-How long have you been there?"