Page 58 of Surfer's Paradise

He’d leave it.

He turned off the lights, stripping off his shirt as he made his way into his own room.

Not exactly how he imagined his night going.

But whatever.

Guess tonight was gonna be a simple eat. Pass out. Done.

Except—it wasn’t.

Because he was lying awake.

Staring at the ceiling, muscles tight, chest heavy, mind spinning.

What the fuck was he even doing?

Rosie was here now.

In his house.

Probably still pissed as hell.

And why did that bother him so much?

Why did he care if she was mad?

Why did he care that she didn’t want to need him?

Why the fuck did he care so much about any of this?

Isaac gritted his teeth, exhaling sharply.

His cock was hard.

His whole body felt wound too tight, too restless. Abstinence wasn’t a thing for him. His hand slipped down, palming his cock through his sweats.

No relief.

Nothing.

His jaw clenched, frustration simmering just under the surface. Everything sucked. And for once, not even getting himself off was gonna fix it.

He let out a sharp breath, dragging his forearm over his eyes.

Fuck everything.

The night stretched long and unbearable, the weight of it pressing down on Isaac like a fever, hot and relentless.

He was half in a daze, somewhere between sleep and frustration, his body burning with too much heat, too much tension, too much fucking want.

At some point, he’d kicked off his sweats, leaving himself naked beneath the sheets, one hand still wrapped roughly around his cock, trying—**failing—**to ease the pressure building under his skin.

His jaw clenched, his breathing shallow, sweat dampening his hairline as he dragged his palm over himself again, harder, rougher.

Nothing.

No fucking relief.

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