Page 54 of Resisting Isaac
He turns to her. “That was…”
“Unexpected but amazing,” Ivy finishes, crossing her arms. “And if you don’t find a way to use that footage somehow, you’re out of your damn mind.”
The severe weatherends the scene blocking before anyone can question us about our romantic interlude.
People scatter for cover in every direction. Isaac grabs my hand, and we make a beeline to his family’s private stables.
The tack room door slams shut behind us.
I’m dripping wet. In more ways than one.
Panting from the kiss, from sprinting here immediately after. My boots squish. My dress clings to every curve.
Isaac turns the lock, slow and deliberate, like he’s sealing us into another world. Just for a moment. Just forthis.
“Jesus,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his soaked hair. “You okay?”
“I think so.” I’m still struggling to catch my breath. From the rain. The kiss.Him.
He steps closer.
“I wasn’t acting out there, spitfire.” He fingers grip my chin then graze my lips. “I’ve been thinking of nothing except this since the moment I woke up in that hotel room alone.”
“Me too,” I admit quietly in the fading light.
His gaze drops to my dress, transparent now, plastered to my body. His jaw tightens, hands flexing at his sides like it’s taking everything in him not to reach for me.
So, I help him out.
I grab his shirt and pull.
It comes off in one wet, heavy motion, landing on the floor with a slap.
“Isaac,” I start, contemplating telling him maybe we shouldn’t do this. Someone could walk in. But before I say another word, hedevoursme.
His mouth crashes onto mine, all wet heat and rough need. There’s nothing careful about it. Just the way his tongue sweeps over mine and makes me moan, the way he walks me backward until my back hits the wall between two saddle racks.
He lifts me like I weigh nothing and sets me on the low workbench.
I wrap my legs around him, hands clawing at his belt, my lips trailing over his stubbled jaw, down the column of his throat.
“You feel that?” he growls against my skin, rocking his hips into mine. “That’s what you do to me. Every goddamn day.”
“Isaac,” I repeat, and he groans into my mouth.
“Fuck, baby. That’s the one thing I didn’t get that night. You moaning my name while I’m inside you.”
I whimper, loving that he wants this as much as I do. Loving that he calls me baby. No one in my life has ever called me that and I doubt I’d have wanted anyone to. But when this man says it, it feels like fireworks.
“I have a condom in my wallet,” he offers once I’ve freed him from his jeans. “But there are people out there, spitfire. Can you be a good girl and be quiet for me?”
I should stop this.
I should say no, but my need for him is bordering on painful. I nod and watch as he retrieves the condom then rolls the latex sheath onto his solid length.
“I didn’t want to do that scene,” he says, nipping myearlobe. “I knew they’d see what I’ve been trying to hide. But touching you like that? Holding you like I’ve been dying to? I’m not sorry.”
Neither am I.
