Page 46 of Isaia

My fingers grasp the cool marble, nails scraping as I arch beneath his touch, helpless against the rush of sensation. “Isaia…Oh, God.”

He guides my legs over his shoulders, savoring each taste, and I convulse as he flicks the tip of his tongue over my clit, a pulse of pleasure ricocheting through me like an electrical storm.

My fingers knot in his hair, holding him close, my body writhing beneath his mouth as the intensity builds, white-hot and consuming.

His hands grip my hips, fingers digging in—not to stop my movements, but to control them, setting the rhythm, like he knows exactly what I need.

A moan echoes from my lips when I feel his tongue prod against my entrance, dipping in, teasing. Every thrill, every nerve ending fires too sharply, too fast, and I try to pull back, but Isaia keeps me there.

“Take it.” His mouth moves faster, relentlessly, his lips and tongue working me until I’m gasping, shuddering.

I’m breathless as I try to speak, “S-stop…it’s too…too much…” But he doesn’t let up. Instead, he slips his hands under my ass, pressing his fingers into the soft flesh, lifting my hips, squeezing me harder against his mouth.

“Isaia, I’m going to…” The words dissolve into a strangled cry as a wave of ecstasy crashes over me, consuming every thought, every breath. It’s heat and lightning, every nerve in my body set alight. The pleasure doesn’t just ripple, it surges, pulling me under in waves so powerful I can’t control it.

My thighs shake, my chest heaves, and the coiled tension snaps, leaving me trembling and utterly undone—like every piece of me has shattered and reformed in his hands.

“Jesus, woman.” He takes my arm, pulling me up, and the fierce hunger in his eyes steals the breath from my lungs, his mouth glistening. “You have no idea, do you? How fucking beautiful you are when you fall apart like that.”

His hand fists in my hair, tugging gently but firmly enough to tilt my head back, exposing my throat, and I shiver when lips brush over the sensitive skin there, featherlight, before he nips the spot.

“I know about Club Myth,” I murmur, and I’m sure I can feel him smile against my skin. “I’m not like the girls you’re used to.”

“And that makes me want you even more.” He kisses the hollow just beneath my throat. “You have no idea what it feels like to take a cock deep between your legs. The stretch. The pressure. The way your body starts begging for it deeper…harder…faster, until everything fades and all that’s left is that raw, desperate need for release.” His voice is a blade, cutting into me, stripping me bare.

“I want inside you, little troublemaker. You have no idea.” His teeth graze my neck again, not enough to hurt, but enough to leave a promise. “But I want you to beg me for it first.”

My pulse stutters, my breath hitching as he pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes molten, dark with hunger and something deeper, something that makes my stomach flip. His thumb brushes over my bottom lip, his touch almost reverent, as though he’s holding himself back by the thinnest thread.

“And when you do,” his thumb traces my jaw, “I’ll ruin you, sweet girl—take you apart piece by piece until every moan, every cry, is mine.”

The dark promise stirs something in me—something wicked, carnal, like he somehow latched on to the deepest, most unspoken parts of me and made them his.

He steps back, leaving me breathless and trembling, every nerve in my body alight, every ounce of me aching for more. Before I can respond, before I can pull him back or push him away, he smirks, wicked and knowing, and turns toward the door.

“Lock it,” he tosses over his shoulder, the command sharp and undeniable, leaving me there, bare and undone, with his absence cutting deeper than it should.

Chapter 14

ISAIA

Ilight a cigarette and lean against the thick oak tree, watching her house.

She thinks I left. I didn’t.

Smoke curls from my lips, my gaze following her silhouette slipping from room to room. God, I want to fuck her so badly, and I almost did, right there on her goddamn kitchen counter.

The memory surges back. Her soft gasps, the way her body melted into my touch—perfect and untouched. And her taste…Jesus, her taste. It’s imprinted on me, like a brand burned into my tongue, sweet and addictive, with a hint of something I’ll never be able to name but will crave until the day I die.

I close my eyes, the phantom sensation of her trembling beneath me crawling under my skin, and it’s all I can do not to storm back into her house and finish what I started. To push her to that edge again, hear her cry my name as she falls apart in my hands.

My cock aches at the thought, at how close I’d been to claiming her completely, to carving my name into her soul in a way no one could ever erase.

She doesn’t realize what she’s done to me. How she’s crawled under my skin and made herself at home. And now that I know the truth—her truth—that she’s never been taken, possession claws in deep, and it’s pulsing with nothing but wicked intent.

I’ll break her. Be her first. Take everything. But as desperate as I am to feel her virgin pussy strangle my dick, there’s a darker part of me that craves her on her knees, begging, pleading for me to take her innocence and make it mine.

I want her unhinged with lust, her eyes wide and glassy as she realizes how deep this goes, how far I’ll take her. I want her wrecked—every gasping breath, every trembling cry, a tribute to the grip I have on her body and soul.

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