Page 94 of Isaia

“The way you take me,” I murmur, sliding my tongue along her collarbone. “It’s fucking art, baby.”

Every inch of her trembles, and when she’s finally seated fully, she lets out a broken moan that makes me groan in return.

“Fuck,” I breathe, my fingers digging into her hips. “You feel perfect. You know that? So motherfucking perfect…just for me.”

“Hmm-mm.”

I grab her hair with one hand and jerk her head back. “Say it. Who are you so damn perfect for?”

“You,” she breathes. “Just for you.”

“Good girl.”

Her eyes flutter closed, her lips parting as she adjusts to me. I stay still, watching her, memorizing the way she looks like this—vulnerable, powerful, completely mine. Her hands slide to my shoulders, her nails biting into my skin as she starts to move, slowly at first, lifting herself just enough before sinking back down.

“Just like that,” I rasp. “Take my cock the way you need it.”

She starts to ride me, her movements hesitant at first, but then she finds it—the pace that makes her gasp, makes her body arch against mine.

I grip her ass, helping her, but I let her set the pace, let her take control even as it drives me insane.

Her moans grow louder, her movements more frantic, and I know she’s close—I can feel it in the way her pussy flutters around my cock.

I bracket her hip with my hand and press my thumb to her clit, earning myself a beautiful cry from her lips, and her pace quickens, her head falling back as her hips rock against me.

I slide one arm up her back, pulling her closer, my mouth finding the arch of her throat.

“You’re doing so good,” I murmur, my lips grazing her skin. “Keep grinding me like that. Come all over my cock.”

“Isaia…oh, God.”

Her body tightens all at once, her thighs trembling on either side of me as she freezes for a heartbeat, her lips parted, a soft gasp escaping like she’s been struck by something she can’t control.

Her pussy clamps down around me, pulsing in rhythmic waves that send a rush of heat through my cock, and then she lets go completely.

I’m in fucking awe as her head tilts back, exposing the delicate curve of her throat as a moan tear from her lips, her movements desperate as she grinds down on me, chasing every last ounce of her release.

Her nails rake down the sides of my neck, leaving sharp trails of fire in their wake, and the sight of her—flushed, trembling, completely wrecked—burns itself into me, stealing what’s left of my control.

“Jesus Christ.” I grip her hips, holding her in place as I thrust into her, hard and deep. “You’re so warm. So tight. I’m about to come so fucking hard. Fuck!”

I bury myself deep, groaning as I come, my fingers digging into her skin as I hold her against me, filling her with every ounce of my cum.

For the longest time, I keep her there, needing to be inside her as long as possible. This woman’s pussy is fucking cocaine to my self-control—addictive, mind-numbing, and completely wrecking me one hit at a time.

Her body sags against mine, her breath coming in soft, uneven pants as her head rests against my shoulder. I can still feel the heat of her, the way her body clings to me, her thighs trembling faintly around my waist, and I slide my hands up her back, mytouch slower now, tracing the curve of her spine as she exhales shakily.

The air between us is heavy, charged with a silence that’s louder than words.

I press my lips to her temple, lingering there as the world around us slowly seeps back in—the rustle of the trees and the distant lap of the lake.

“No one else gets to see you like this,” I murmur against her skin. “No one else gets to have you.”

She doesn’t answer, but the way she tightens her arms around me says enough. The moment feels raw, stripped of all pretense, and I hold her close, grounding myself in the reality of her warmth.

The bike creaks faintly beneath us as she shifts, lifting her head to meet my gaze. Her lips part like she wants to say something, but then she doesn’t. Instead, her fingers trail lightly over my jaw, her touch soft in contrast to everything we’ve just done.

“Is this real?” she whispers. “Are we…real?”

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