Page 71 of Surfer's Paradise

She glared. “Not funny.”

“Rosie,” he groaned, nipping at her neck, trailing his lips lower, his fingers still teasing her. “I swear, I was just—”

She let out a shaky breath, trying to fight him, trying to stay mad.

But he was already two fingers deep inside her.

Already curling them just right, already making her body turn against her, making her squirm, making her want him just as bad.

“Isaac,” she warned, but her voice wasn’t strong anymore.

“Yeah?” he muttered, kissing his way down her throat. “You were saying?”

She was breathing heavy, glaring, but fucking melting, too.

And Isaac knew he had her.

But he also knew he had to do this right.

He slowed down, softened just slightly, resting his forehead against hers, his fingers still moving deep inside her.

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship,” he said, tracing his lips over hers, soft and slow and careful.

Her breath hitched.

She stared at him, something unreadable flickering behind those blue, blue eyes.

“You keep going,” she whispered, voice thick, uneven, laced with something dangerous, “and there’s no going back.”

His breath stilled in his chest.

Then he grinned, cocky and reckless and absolutely fucking gone for her.

“Rosie,” he said, pressing his thick, aching cock against her core, letting her feel exactly how gone he was.

“There already is no going back.”

Her lips parted, a single moment of realization flashing across her face.

And Isaac capitalized.

He lifted her off the counter, hauling her against him, carrying her straight back to his bedroom.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her legs tight around his waist, her body burning against his.

He kicked the door shut, dropped her onto the bed, climbing over her, his hands everywhere, his mouth devouring hers, his cock already pressing against her slick heat.

She was breathless beneath him, her chest rising and falling, her pupils blown wide, her fingers fisting his t-shirt.

Isaac unzipped his fly, his need so fucking intense it was a physical ache. He would say anything, do anything, give her anything—as long as she let him inside her again.

“Rosie,” he whispered against her lips, his voice all gravel and heat, desperate and reckless.

“Let me have you again.”

Isaac knew the exact moment she gave in. It was in the way her body softened beneath him, how her fingers tightened in his shirt, how her lips parted with a sharp, uneven breath that told him everything he already knew—

She was too into him. Always had been. And he fucking loved it. Loved that no matter how much she pushed, resisted, fought against the inevitable, she always caved for him.

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