Runaway Bride

JOHN POV

I sat at the bar nursing my drink, the amber liquid swirling in the glass. The laughter mingled with the clanging of glasses engulfed me, yet I only wanted to escape the noise.

I noticed the naked girls dancing on the high table, their tits perfectly match with the way they moved their body, is being long I fuck someone.

Thinking of that my dick Is already getting hard and aroused.

This time, it was my turn to take in the grandeur of Titan Weapons Co, though I didn't get anything in return. My mind drifted, thoughts of work and responsibilities plaguing me. As I was in the middle of drowning them out with the next drink, the door creaked open, and she walked right in.

Everyone seemed trapped, and I could sense the shift in the environment. Laughter erupted, and my brow furrowed in confusion. Who was this woman that drew such attention? I moved in closer to joke more with my assistant, Jake, who was absorbed in his cell phone.

“Who’s the girl?” I asked, nodding toward her.

‘And what's is she doing in a bar like this wearing wedding dress’ I wondered.

Jake looked up, and his expression shifted into one of astonished incredulity. “That’s Isabella, Daniel’s fiancée the runaway bride. She was supposed to get married today.”

“Isabella?” I repeated, a pang of sympathy hitting me. “What happened?”

“Daniel was fucking and eating her best friend pussy in the restroom just before the ceremony,” Jake groaned, shaking his head. “And she's right here, with everybody fussing over her.”

“Come beautiful bride, let me fuck you and I promise I will eat your Pussy, if Daniel is not eating it” One man said. Moving closer to her.

I saw that laughter surrounded her, the unkind jokes and laughter pricking at her like a slap. Isabella stood alone near the bar, clutching a glass, oblivious to the world around her. My heart ached at the sight. I couldn’t just sit here and do nothing.

“I’ll have a word with her,” I said, putting down my bottle and rising to my feet.

“Really? Is that a great idea?” Jake raised an eyebrow. “She looks like she’s about to get herself into serious trouble.”

“I don’t care,” I replied firmly. “Someone needs to help her.”

As I approached, I noticed her drinking heavily, her eyes glazed and unfocused. The crowd kept filming her, recording every moment of her agonizing pain. I reached her just as she downed another shot.

“Hello,” I said softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You shouldn’t drink so much. It’s not safe.”

She stood up to meet me, disarmed and fearless, a cocktail of curiosity and resistance plastered on her face. “Why do you care?” she slurred, her words slightly jumbled. “What do you know about safety?”

“Or did you just want to eat my pussy like the other people here?” I could feel her heart broken with the way she talked.

“I know that drowning your feelings in alcohol is no solution,” I said, my tone flat. “I’m John, by the way. I own Titan Weapons Co.”

“Great,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Another billionaire to add to my list of disappointments.”

I frowned at her response. “I’m not here to judge you, Isabella. I just want to help. You should get some fresh air.”

She made a bitter joke that cut through the music at the bar. “Help? Really? What do you think you can do? You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m going through.”

“I may not know your story, but I can see you’re hurting,” I replied, my heart aching for her. “Let’s get you out of here. You don’t deserve this.”

“Deserve what?” she shot back, eyes narrowing. “To be humiliated? To be the joke of the night?”

“Exactly,” I said, my voice steady. “You deserve better. Let me take you home.”

She paused, and for a moment, I wondered whether she would just say no to me anyway. But then she took a deep breath and nodded. “Fine. Just don’t expect me to be grateful.”

I reached out, taking a chance, and she grasped my hand hesitantly. I led her away from the crowds. Breathing in the cool night air, I saw her visibly calm down a bit as we stepped outside.

“Why did you even bother?” she inquired, her tone less hostile but still tinged with sarcasm. “You could have stayed in there, enjoying your night, instead of wasting your time on a loser like me.”

“For the sake of not ignoring someone who is hurting, if there is anything I can do to help,” I said gently. “You’re not a loser, Isabella. You’re just going through something unimaginable.”

She stared at me, her hazel-green eyes moist with unshed tears. “You really think so?”

“I do,” I said sincerely. “It takes strength to face what you’re dealing with. Not everyone would come to a bar after an embarrassing public humiliation.”

“Strength,” she echoed, shaking her head. “I feel anything but strong right now. I feel like a complete fool.”

As we approached her building, I could feel her fragility. “We all have moments that make us feel weak. What matters is how we choose to move forward.”

Isabella caught the door to her apartment just in time, nearly hitting herself in the head. I followed her in, closing the door behind us. The air was thick with unspoken feelings, and the sky was overcast.

“Here we are,” she said, her voice noticeably slurred. “Welcome to my sad little life.”

I chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood. “It’s not sad; it’s just… in transition. You’ll find your way.”

She went to the bar and poured herself another glass. I frowned, stepping closer. “Maybe you should take a break from that.”

“Why? You think I should just pretend everything’s fine?” She met my gaze, her eyes flashing with a cocktail of anger and suffering.

“No, I think you should live through what you are experiencing, but not get lost in it,” I replied, taking a step closer. “There’s a difference.”

She took a long drink from her glass, and her expression changed. “What if I don’t want to feel? If I just want to lose myself for a single night? Blading out won't solve anything.”

“Isabella” I wanted to say, but the words led into an empty silence as I watched her.

Her eyes formed a connection filled with an enthralling combination of aspiration and lust. I wondered if there was another way to wash that pain away.

My pulse quickened as the air thickened between us. “What do you mean?”

In a single, fluid movement, she leaned into me, her mouth brushing against mine. I felt the burn emanating from her, the primal urge in her gaze. Evading the suggestion that the world was somewhere else, the only thing that truly mattered was this instance.

“If you want me to forget everything just eat my pussy, like the way Daniel Eat Mia pussy” her voice filled with lust and desire.

“I guess I wish I could feel anything else but this hurt,” she murmured, a barely audible warmth in her breath against my cheek.

She kissed me, her touch hesitant yet powerful on my lips. My mind oscillated between the ecstasy of her touch and the brutality of her situation. I knew we were on a slippery slope, and when I returned the kiss, reason flew out the window, lost in the vast ocean of emotion that nearly overwhelmed us both.

At that moment, I ceased to exist altogether; all matters of content, burden, future, and everything else went away. All that mattered was Isabella and the sizzling warmth that danced between us in the ceramic confines of her tiny flat, the black box.