Page 57 of The Founder's Power

I curse under my breath, forehead still resting against hers.

“You can let it ring,” she whispers.

“I could,” I say.

Her fingers are still wrapped around me. I’m still on the verge of being inside her, and yet that phone keeps buzzing like it’s clawing through time.

“I haven’t heard that sound in weeks,” I mutter.

“You don’t need to go back,” she says quietly, but there’s a flicker in her eyes. Something vulnerable. Something uncertain.

I kiss her again slower this time. “I’m not leaving this bed,” I promise. “Not until I’ve made you come so hard you forget I ever had a company.”

That earns a breathless laugh. Her grip tightens on me again.

Bzzz… bzzz… bzzz.

But the world out there doesn’t care about promises.

Isabelle lets her hand drift away from me. For a moment, I think the spell has broken, but then she looks up at me with something fierce and playful in her eyes. She shifts, pushing gently at my chest until I fall back onto the pillows.

“You’re not getting up,” she murmurs, sliding the sheet off my hips. “Not yet.”

I exhale sharply, pulse already pounding as she moves between my legs, her hair spilling forward like silk across my stomach.

“Isabelle—”

“I know,” she whispers, kissing the base of me. “You chose me. Let me show you what that means.”

Then she takes me in her mouth. Slow and deep, every inch disappearing between her lips with deliberate care, her tongue circling me in ways that make my hands clench the sheets. My head falls back, and I groan, low and broken, as she begins to move, slow and steady.

She’s unraveling me with every motion.

Her hands on my thighs, her mouth warm and wet and perfect, her gaze flicking up to meet mine as she sucks me deeper. There’s something possessive in her now, not just about giving but owning this moment. Owning me.

My fingers slide into her hair, not to guide her, just to touch. To ground myself in the reality that this—she—is mine.

Not the company.

Not the empire.

Her.

The phone buzzes again, muffled now beneath layers of silence and heat.

I couldn’t care less.

My entire world is right here—in her mouth, in her hands, in the breathless sounds she draws from my throat as I struggle not to come too fast, too hard.

But it’s impossible.

She hums around me, and that sound—that sound—pushes me to the edge.

“God, Isabelle—” My voice cracks as I groan her name, hips flexing despite myself.

She doesn’t stop or flinch. What she does do is take everything, swallowing every last drop.

When it’s over, when I collapse into the mattress with a guttural, gasping exhale, she kisses the inside of my thigh like a promise. I reach down, pulling her up into my arms and pressing my lips to hers.

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