Page 74 of Isaia

The air between us hums. It’s a tension thick enough to drown in. My breath falters as Isaia’s gaze rakes over me with the weight of a touch. It drags like fire over every inch of bare skin, burning soul deep.

His hands move to the hem of my oversized shirt, fingers brushing the bare skin of my thighs. Heat blooms where he touches, and my breath catches as he lifts the fabric, pulling it over my head and tossing it to the floor like it’s nothing.

Like I’m all he sees.

It’s scorching, the way his eyes roam over me, sliding what’s left of my panties down my legs. I should feel exposed, vulnerable, but under the weight of his eyes, I feel powerful, wanted in a way that borders on worship.

And I love it.

“You’re fucking perfect.” The words rumble from his chest, the sound wrapping around me like a physical thing.

Rough fingers trace the curve of my waist, his thumb brushing just beneath my ribs, a simple touch that sends shivers racing through my body. The contrast between the strength of his grip and the gentleness of his touch makes me ache for more.

“Isaia…” My voice trembles, and I don’t know if it’s a protest or a plea, but it dies in my throat when his hand drops to the waistband of his jeans, unbuckling his belt.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve made myself come, thinking of this exact moment.”

My pulse quickens thinking of him, his cock in his palm, stroking, moaning, saying my name in the middle of night.

“I’ve fantasized fucking you, driving you mad with my cock so deep inside you, stretching you until nothing exists but the way we fit together.”

The sound of metal sliding through the loops, the soft click of the button—it’s intoxicating, each movement precise, measured…and all for me.

His eyes stay locked on mine as he pushes his jeans down, stepping out of them with the kind of effortless confidence that makes my mouth go dry. When he pulls his shirt over his head in one smooth motion, I forget how to breathe.

Every inch of him is honed, cut from shadows and fire, his muscles rippling as he tosses the fabric aside. He’s all hard lines and raw power, his skin kissed by scars that tell stories I’ll never ask about but can’t stop tracing with my eyes.

He stands before me, bare, unyielding, the dim light catching his sharp jaw and hollowed abs, making him look like somethingdangerous, something untouchable. And yet, he’s mine. For this moment, he’s mine.

My gaze drops lower, and my breath catches.

His cock is thick, veined, and impossibly hard, the flushed head glistening. It’s as fierce and commanding as the rest of him, and the sight reminds me of what he tastes like on my tongue, deep at the back of my throat.

I want to taste him again.

He doesn’t move, letting me look, letting me take in every inch of him, like he knows the sight alone could undo me.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me, troublemaker?” His tone is low, gravelly, and it seeps into my skin, making my toes curl against the sheets. “How fucking impossible it is to breathe when I look at you?”

I can’t answer. Words don’t exist in this space, in this moment. All I can do is reach for him, my hands trembling as they find his shoulders, his chest, his skin hot beneath my palms. He’s a furnace, burning, branding me with every inch I touch.

His lips curl into a dark smile, his hands sliding up my thighs, his grip firm, unyielding.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he murmurs like it’s a promise and a threat all at once. And God help me, I want him to.

He takes my hand, guiding it down, and when my fingers wrap around his hard length, a gasp slips from my lips. The heat of him, the sheer size, has me biting my bottom lip, desire blooming between my legs.

“Feel that?” he murmurs. “I’m going to put every inch inside you. And no matter how much it hurts, you’re going to let me in.” His fingers trace my jaw, lifting my face to meet his gaze, his lips a breath from mine. “After the hurt’s gone, I’ll make you feel everything I want you to feel. You ready for that?”

I nod, breathless, words failing me as he pries my hand away from his cock and pins my wrists above my head in one swift, dominant motion. The grip is firm, possessive, and it sends a rush of heat spiraling through me.

His mouth hovers close, teasing me with the promise of a kiss that never comes, igniting a desperate ache that makes every nerve in my body sing.

His hand slides up my thigh, slowly, his body pressing closer, every movement calibrated to pull me under his control.

I’m trembling, caught between the anticipation and the faintest trace of fear, and he senses it. Of course he does. Isaia always knows.

“Relax, Everly.” His grip on my wrists softens before releasing them, and his eyes burn into mine, full of promise. “I’ll be gentle…this time.”

---