Page 67 of They All Own Me

I watch as Tatum stands before me, disheveled but still somehow maintaining that polished edge that's driving me mad. Her torn shirt reveals just enough skin to be distracting, and I force myself to focus on the task at hand.

"What more can I do, Issac?" She throws her hands up in frustration. "To look like I've been put through the fucking ringer?"

My pulse quickens as I study her. Even with messed up hair and smeared makeup, she's still too composed, too controlled. An idea forms in my mind, dangerous and tempting.

"I have an idea," I say, my voice rougher than intended.

I close the distance between us in two strides. Her green eyes widen slightly, but she doesn't back away. Instead, she tilts her chin up defiantly, challenging me. The air between us crackles with tension.

Without warning, I cup her face in my hands and kiss her. Her lips are soft against mine, and for a moment, I forget this is supposed to be about making her look convincingly disheveled.

Chapter 35

Tatum

Before I can evenprocess what's happening, Isaac's lips crash against mine. His kiss is rough, passionate, and frantic, yet his hands cradle my face like he's holding something precious. The contrast is dizzying.

“Damn it, Isaac,” I mumble against his mouth.

“Shut up,” he growls back, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine. His beard scrapes along my neck as he trails kisses down to my collarbone. It stings in the best way possible.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My neck and chest are red and raised from the assault of his beard. Somehow, that turns me on even more.

“Look at you,” Isaac murmurs against my skin. “A real damsel in distress.”

“Hardly,” I retort, trying to keep my voice steady. “More like a damsel with a plan.”

He chuckles, low and dangerous. “That’s what I like about you, Tatum. You're tough as nails, won't take any shit.”

I tilt my head back to give him better access, not caring how desperate I must look. “Is this part of the plan too?”

“You bet your ass it is,” he says, nipping at my earlobe.

His hands move from my face to grip my waist, pulling me closer. I can feel every hard line of his body against mine.

“You know,” I say between ragged breaths, “this isn’t exactly helping with the whole ‘kidnap victim’ look.”

“Who cares?” he says, his voice rough with desire. “You look perfect.”

My heart pounds in my chest as his hands roam over me, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I clutch at his shirt, needing something to anchor me.

Isaac pulls back just enough to grab his knife, his eyes never leaving mine. The metallic sound of the blade sliding open sends a shiver down my spine. He moves the knife to my shirt, the cold steel kissing my skin before he slices through the fabric.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and dirty. “All that prim and proper bullshit, hiding this body.” He rips the shirt further, exposing more skin.

“Is that supposed to scare me?” I challenge, feeling a wet heat pooling between my thighs.

His green eyes darken as he smirks. “Not trying to scare you, love. Trying to make you feel alive.”

He slips a hand into my jeans pocket and yanks hard. The denim tears along my thigh, the sound mingling with my gasp. His strength is raw, primal, and it catches me off guard.

“You’re stronger than you look,” I say breathlessly.

“You’ve no idea,” he replies, stepping back to survey his handiwork. My gaze drifts down to the bulge in his jeans, making it clear just how much he's enjoying this.

“Now Tatum,” he says, voice dripping with lust, “you look like a force to be fucking reckoned with.” He strides over to the camera, leaving me standing there trying to catch my breath.

“Isaac?” I call out, feeling emboldened by the wildness in his eyes.

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