Page 55 of Isaia

His bare chest gleams faintly in the low light, every taut muscle shifting with predatory ease as he tilts the bottle of bourbon to his lips. The amber liquid glints, catching the faint light, and histhroat moves as he swallows. It’s mesmerizing. Every movement exudes power, a controlled recklessness that sends a rush of heat through me.

“You make the most beautiful sounds when you sleep. I’ve been sitting here with a rock-hard cock for more than two fucking hours.”

“Two hours? You’ve been here for two hours?”

He shrugs. “Give or take.”

Leaning back, he exudes power and possession like he owns the room just by being in it—a pagan god who can turn anything into a goddamn throne.

The way his head is tilted slightly feels deliberate, designed to make me squirm under the weight of his gaze. And God, it’s working. Even the way he’s holding the bottle—lazily, carelessly, his fingers long and strong against the glass—is purposeful, like every detail is part of a game only he knows the rules to.

Isaia Del Rossa is a man who doesn’t just command attention. He devours it.

My heart stutters as I swallow. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze steady, unflinching. He sets the bottle on the small table next to him with a clink, his movements slow, measured, as if he’s got all the time in the world.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, his voice low, rough, like gravel underfoot. “Thought I’d check in.”

“Check in?” I sit up, my heart pounding against my ribs. “Where’s Luna?”

He glances at her sleeping by his feet.

“Okay, I need to get a new dog,” I deadpan.

“Why?”

“Because you broke mine.”

“Funny.” But he doesn’t laugh.

I pull a palm down my face, still trying to get my pulse under control. “Isaia, it’s the middle of the night. You can’t just?—”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want.” There’s a suggestive curve of his lips, and I swear the room gets smaller. “Especially when it comes to you.”

My pulse thrums in my ears. There’s no denying the pull he has on me, the way my body reacts to him so close, even as my mind screams at me to throw him out. “You’re insane,” I whisper.

“Maybe.” He leans back in the chair, his legs spread wide, one hand resting on his jean-clad thigh as the other reaches for the bourbon again. “But you like it. Don’t you?”

I bite my bottom lip.

“I get that pussy of yours purring like a kitten every time I show up, don’t I?” His smoky gaze is a spell that has my blood rushing and pulse racing.

His words shouldn’t turn me on. But they do.

I should argue. I should tell him to leave, to get the hell out of my house. But the words don’t come. He’s not just a man sittingin my bedroom; he’s a force of nature, pulling me in like a tide I can’t fight. And God help me, I don’t want to.

Shifting forward, he rests his elbows on his knees, and my breath catches as his gaze drops to my lips before meeting mine again.

“Ever sucked a cock before, Everly?”

My mouth falls open, my face heating. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

“A simple one.” He leans back again. “You going to answer, or do I have to guess?” I hate his smug smile, like he already knows the answer.

“No,” I manage.

He hums, the sound approving. “Didn’t think so.”

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