Page 57 of Isaia

“Now, let me feel that pretty mouth.” He sweeps my hair to the side, his fingers curling into the strands as he tilts my head just as he wants. “Take my cock like the good fucking girl you are.”

I open wide, slowly taking him inch by inch, and I’m instantly addicted to his taste—an intoxicating blend of sex and lust that pulses beneath my tongue. It's a dangerous temptation, a forbidden fruit wrapped in power and sin.

He fills me up, stretching my mouth in a way that lights my body on fire, and his guttural groan vibrates through the air like a dark promise, my tongue lapping around his length.

“Look at you,” he rasps, his hand tightening in my hair, guiding me with the rhythm he needs. “So fucking perfect. Made for this.”

His words send a flood of warmth through me, and I relax, letting him guide me deeper, my tongue tracing the ridgeunderneath his cock, teasing and exploring, and his sharp intake of breath makes my pulse quicken.

I glance up through my lashes, and the sight of him—the way his jaw tightens, his eyes burning with need—sends a wave of lust down my spine pooling between my legs.

“Give me more of that tongue, troublemaker,” he murmurs, his tone dark and coaxing. “Make me feel how much you want this. How desperate you are to make me come.”

I swirl my tongue around him, flicking and teasing, hollowing my cheeks as I take him deeper. His groans grow rougher, his grip on my hair firmer, and the satisfaction of watching him unravel under my touch sends a spark of confidence through me, and it’s like instinct takes over as I suck harder, drawing him in.

My blood rushes with ecstasy as his hips twitch, a low grunt escaping him as his hand guides me with more insistence. The power of the moment has me trembling, entirely consumed by the intoxicating act of pleasing him.

“Fuck, Everly,” he growls, his hips rocking slightly, his control fraying at the edges. “I’m not gonna last long in your perfect fucking mouth.”

My head bobs as I suck him, harder, faster, and he throws his head back, craning his neck as a groan rolls from his lips, his abs moving and tightening.

Because of me.

Because of what I’m doing to him.

There’s power in that. A sense of control over a man like Isaia Del Rossa. It does something to a woman. It’s doing fucking everything to me.

A moan slides up my throat, vibrating around his cock.

“Jesus, woman.” He forces me down as his hips flex up, pushing his cock so deep I gag around it, tears burning my eyes, but my blood is singing for him, my body quaking with the need for him even though my lungs burn for air. “You’re going to swallow everything I give you.” He bites his bottom lip, his expression all sharp edges and dark shadows. “Every. Fucking. Drop.”

Thick, warm cum hits the back of my throat, and I swallow, taking him down as his hips jerk against me.

Curses drop from his mouth like a prayer, his body shuddering as his release spills into my mouth, wave after wave, and I take it all, my eyes locked on his, desperate to please him.

Cum spills from the corners of my mouth, leaking down my chin, and he groans.

Isaia jerks my head up, and I gasp, his cock slipping from my mouth, the look on his face taking my fucking breath away. It’s a look of sheer possession, dark and wild, his intense gaze dragging over me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. Like I’m his fucking queen.

His chest rises and falls with each labored breath, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, equal parts sinful and satisfied as he brushes his thumb along the corners of my lips, collecting the cum.

“Clean it up, baby.”

He radiates with sexual intensity, authority, and I part my lips, taking his thumb in, my tongue swirling over it as I suck gently, relishing his taste.

I didn’t think it possible, but his eyes darken even more, the satisfaction in them shifting to something more dangerous, more consuming.

“Good. Fucking. Girl.” The words drip with heat, sending a shiver racing down my spine.

His hand grips my jaw, tilting my face up as his thumb leaves my mouth with a slow drag. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he rasps, like a confession before he sears me with a kiss that sucks the soul right out of my marrow. It’s not gentle—it’s consuming, claiming, a clash of teeth and tongues that leaves me gasping for air and aching for more.

His hand tangles in my hair, holding me in place as he devours me, the taste of him still on my tongue, mingling with the bourbon and something darker, something purely Isaia.

By the time he pulls back, I’m trembling, my skin alive with every lingering trace of his touch, and my body is begging for him.

Needing him…to be inside me.

My knees ache against the floor, but I don’t care. Not when he’s looking at me like that. Like he owns me. Like he’s already claimed every part of me.

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