Page 33 of Isaia

He’s trouble. It’s written in every hard line of his body, every shadow that clings to him. But it’s the kind of trouble that seeps under your skin, makes your heart race even when you know you should walk away.

There's a wildness to him, something untamed that stirs the deepest parts of me. It thrills me in a way that sends my pulse skittering, makes my mouth go dry.

He licks his lips, and I can’t help it—my eyes drop, tracing the path his tongue leaves behind, a glistening sheen on those full lips.

“I think you should leave,” I manage to say, but the words sound weak, almost breathless.

“Yeah,” he rumbles, a dark growl that curls tight in my stomach. “But I think I’ll stay a little longer.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his hand lifts slowly, and my breath catches, his fingertips grazing my neck, featherlight but electrifying, sending a ripple of heat spiraling through my body.

“This vein right here.” His thumb brushes over the spot where my pulse is hammering wildly beneath my skin, and I shiver. “It’s racing. I think I’ll stick around and figure out why.”

“Isaia, I don’t?—”

He presses down on the delicate skin there, causing me to suck in a breath as heat blooms deep within me. His touch isn’t just a touch; it’s a slow, consuming burn, like a flame licking dangerously close to the edge, threatening to engulf us both.

And, God help me, I don’t want to move away.

His eyes trace the path of his touch, dark and hungry, like he’s studying every inch of me he plans to claim. The thought sends a shiver through me, feeling that small pressure, hot and teasing, a promise of something that could unravel me entirely.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I finally manage, my voice shaking with a mix of fear and something darker—something that flares hot and undeniable inside me, urging me closer to him, despite the danger,becauseof the danger.

He leans in, his breath warm against my neck, sending a thrill of goosebumps skittering down my arms, and his mouth hovers, barely a whisper away, making it impossible to think of anything but him.

“Oh, I think it’s a perfect idea,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below my ear. “You’re either terrified ofme, or you want me.” His thumb slides along my jaw. Slowly. Deliberately. “And something tells me it’s a little bit of both.” He inhales loudly, deeply, like I’m the air he’s desperate for. “Fuck. I hope it’s a little bit of both.”

Oh, my God. I can barely breathe.

His hand glides down, fingertips barely grazing the edge of my collarbone, brushing just above where my dress dips low, his touch light but charged. Teasing. The barest contact, but it’s enough to send a storm of desire through me, every brush of his skin against mine unraveling any resistance I thought I had. It’s like he’s mapping out all the places that make me weak, and he’s enjoying every second of it.

Time stands still. It’s just me and him and his fingers finding their way down my chest, along the plunging neckline, just above my breasts.

My breath hitches, and he notices, his lips curving into a wicked smirk. “Ah,” he murmurs, with dark satisfaction, his touch paused. “There it is, that little tremble. You don’t think I feel it? The way your heart’s pounding? The way your skin’s heating up under my touch?”

I want to deny it, to tell him he’s wrong. But the rapid heartbeat against my chest feels like a confession.

“Isaia.” It’s all I manage to say. I’m entranced, completely spellbound, like nothing else exists. Only this moment. Only him. It’s both scary and exciting.

His fingers slide back up to my jaw, his touch pulling me deeper into his orbit, and I offer no resistance as he presses his knee between my thighs, rough denim brushing against the sensitive skin there, igniting sparks that spread like wildfire.

I can’t help the soft, breathless moan that escapes me, and my body arches instinctively, pressing closer, needing more. Every part of me is drawn to him, aching for him.

“I’m having a hard time figuring you out, Everly.”

“Good,” I say, the word slipping from my lips on a breath. “I’d hate for it to be easy for you.”

That smirk again—lazy and confident, like he knows just how far he’s gotten under my skin. It’s alarmingly sexy, the kind of look that promises trouble, the kind that makes your pulse race and your mind blur with desire.

He leans closer, so close I can feel the heat radiating off his skin. “Are you a little troublemaker, Everly Beaumont?”

“No.” I breathe. “Why would you ask that?”

His gaze is locked on me, soaking up every breath I take, every involuntary movement, as if he’s savoring how easily I’m unraveling for him.

“Because if you keep looking at me like that, you're bound to cause trouble for me.” His words come in a slow drawl, each one sinking into me. The energy between us alive, dancing, singing, igniting. Every inch of my body is screaming at me to close the distance, to let him pull me into whatever dark, delicious thing he’s offering.

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