Page 53 of Isaia

admission clawing out of me without thought.

“Words, Everly. Use your words.”

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his touch slow and torturous. “But I need you to remember something. No one will ever make you feel the way I do. Not your own hands, not anyone else. Just me.” His hand moves higher, brushing over my panties, and I gasp.

My thighs clench instinctively around his hand—a futile attempt at control that earns a low chuckle from him.

“Open,” he commands. “Don’t make me tell you twice.”

I hate how easily my body listens to him, how my knees fall apart at his command, granting him full access. I grip the seat as his fingers slide beneath the fabric, the rough pads of his fingers brushing against my slick heat.

“You’re already so wet,” he says, his tone dark, almost reverent as if savoring the discovery. His thumb presses lightly over the damp fabric, teasing me with just enough pressure to drive me insane. “Is this for me, troublemaker?” His fingers leisurely explore every inch, tracing the outline of my pussy, as if he’s mapping me out, memorizing the way my body reacts to him. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

My breathing turns ragged as his fingers circle my clit, precise, the rhythm dragging me closer to the edge. My body arches, my thighs trembling as his words burn through me, making me want to surrender completely.

The tension in the car is electric, fire, lightning. And I throw my head back against the headrest as he teases my clit, then moves down to my entrance.

My pulse thrums, loud and insistent, as the reality of what’s happening slams into me. He’s driving through the city, one hand on the wheel, the other between my legs like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You drive like this often?” It’s a lame attempt at sarcasm, the breathless edge betraying me.

His lips curve into a twisted smile, his eyes never leaving the road.

“Only with you.” He sinks a finger into me, and I moan. “Now, sit back and let me enjoy this drive.” Without thinking, I shift lower on the seat, needing him to go deeper, and a low groan vibrates up his throat. “That’s my good fucking girl.”

Jesus, it’s the way he keeps calling me a good girl. It’s like a language my pussy understands and reacts to immediately, and I can feel the wetness leak out of me.

“Hmmm,” he growls, the sound vibrating through the small space of the car. “Dripping all over my fingers. Such a needy little thing.”

My eyes roll closed, my breath coming in shallow bursts as he fingers me achingly slowly, pulling out to trace invisible patterns that leave a trail of fire in their wake before slipping back in.

The city blurs past us, but all I can focus on is his touch between my legs. It’s like he knows my body better than I do, giving me exactly what I need, how I need it.

The Ferrari roars, my legs trembling as I give up any attempt to control my reactions. His thumb presses higher, just enough to make my hips jerk involuntarily, and he chuckles—low and wicked. “Getting impatient, troublemaker?”

“You’re impossible,” I manage.

“I’m exactly what you need,” he counters, his tone leaving no room for argument. His finger dips lower, and my breath catches, the sensation sending a lightning bolt of desire straight to my bones, and I grab his arm, clutching really fucking tight.

We stop at a red light, and Isaia finally turns his head to look at me. His gaze is molten, searing me in place. “Spread those legs wider for me.”

“People can see,” I say, aware of the traffic around us.

“Spread those legs, or I’ll drag you out on the street and tongue-fuck you on the hood of this car for the whole city to see.”

“Jesus,” I whimper, and my body obeys before my brain catches up, one knee digging into the door. The wicked grin that spreads across his face tells me he knows exactly the effect he has on me, and he’s having way too much fun with it.

The light turns green, and he accelerates, his hand never leaving its place, never relenting in its slow, torturous exploration.

The engine's roar matches my pounding pulse, and I grab the armrest as he slides in deeper. My breath catches, a sharp inhale, everything coiling so damn tight I’m convinced this man will fucking snap me in half.

Lights streak through the windows as the Ferrari eats up the asphalt, but all I can focus on is Isaia—his touch, his voice, the possessive heat in his gaze every time he glances at me.

His fingers find my clit, circling with the kind of precision that leaves me gasping, my hips lifting off the seat in a desperate attempt for more.

“Stay still,” he warns with a dangerous edge. “Let me make you feel how good it is to be mine.”

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