Page 67 of Isaia

I nip at her clit, then soothe the sting with my tongue, and her hips jerk. “Isaia,” she breathes, my name a plea, a curse, a prayer. “I’m going to come.”

“Say it again.” I glance up, my chin slick. “Say my fucking name.”

“Isaia. Please.”

Her control slips further, and it’s exactly what I want.

I thrust two fingers inside her, curling them just right, and she cries out, her back arching as she throws her head back. My tongue works in tandem, relentless, driving her closer to the edge.

“You feel that?” I growl against her wet cunt. “That’s me, Everly. No one else gets to know you like this. You understand? No one. Say it.”

“No one,” she breathes out, and her body tenses, her thighs trembling as I push her closer and closer to the brink. I can feel her walls tightening around my fingers, the way her breath hitches, her moans growing louder, more desperate.

She’s close, her hips grinding against my mouth, chasing the release she knows I control. I suck her clit into my mouth, my teeth grazing just enough to draw a sharp cry from her lips, her body bowstring tight.

“Look at me when you come. Fucking look at me.”

Her eyes snap to mine, the connection searing, and it’s like the whole world narrows to this—her, me, and the storm raging between us as I pump my fingers harder, my tongue working her clit until she shatters around me, her cries raw and broken.

I don’t let up. I drive her through the waves, her body convulsing, her nails digging into my scalp until she’s nothing but a trembling mess, her release gushing over my tongue.

When she finally collapses back on the desk, her breath coming in shallow gasps, I bite her sensitive clit—not hard, just enough to make her entire body jerk, then rise to my feet, towering over her as I lick my lips and wipe her juices off my face.

She’s shaking, her skin flushed, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on her face.

She’s never been more beautiful.

The sight of her like this—wrecked, undone, entirely at my mercy—solidifies the truth I’ve known since the moment I first touched her.

She’s mine. The marks of my possession are all over her. The way her thighs tremble, the slight redness where my hands gripped her too tight, the dazed, almost pleading look in her eyes as they flutter open to meet mine.

No one else will ever see her like this.

No one else will ever reduce her to this beautifully vulnerable state.

I own her.

Every shift of her body, every tremble, is a goddamn symphony I’ve memorized. She’s woven into me, and it’s too late to pull her out without breaking both of us.

Watching her now, completely spent, I feel like a king surveying his conquered kingdom.

Her breathing evens slightly, her lips parting as if she wants to speak, but no words come. She looks at me, and in that gaze, I see everything—submission, defiance, confusion, and something deeper, something she’s too scared to admit out loud.

I brush my thumb over her swollen pussy lips, and a shiver runs through her, a reminder of how sensitive she is, how every nerve in her body is still tuned to me.

“You feel that?” I rasp. “That’s what it’s like when you’re with me. That’s what only I can give you.”

Her eyes drop for a second as if she’s trying to collect herself, trying to rebuild the walls I’ve torn down. But I won’t let her.

I lean in, placing a hand on either side of her, caging her in once more.

“I’m going to fuck you, Everly. Soon. Because you’re mine, and you know it.” My lips brush against the shell of her ear. “Every moan, every gasp, every fucking breath—you give it to me. No one else gets that. Not Paladino. No one.”

She doesn’t respond, but her silence speaks louder than any words could. Her body, her mind, her very soul—they belong to me, and I’ll destroy anyone who tries to take them away.

The room is thick with the aftermath of what we’ve done, the tension between us simmering beneath the surface. I straighten, letting my gaze roam over her one last time, memorizing every detail of her in this moment. Because this is what control looks like. What ownership feels like. And I’ll be damned if I ever let it slip through my fingers.

“No one else,” I murmur a dark promise. “Do you understand me? Just me. And if it means I have to drive a knife through your friend’s heart, I’ll do it with a goddamn smile.”

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