Isaia: Chapter 16

The coffee shop door chimes as Isaia strides in, his presence filling the small space like a thunderstorm about to break. He doesn’t say anything at first, locks those intense, molten eyes on me, and I know—whatever this is, I don’t have a choice.

“Come with me,” he demands, leaving no room for argument.

“Isaia, I’m working.”

“You’re done for the day,” he replies, and before I can protest, he’s tugging my apron off and tossing it onto the counter like it’s irrelevant. “Let’s go.”

Nervous energy crackles through me as I grab my bag, my gaze locking with Molly’s, her eyes wide with questions.

The air outside feels heavier as I follow him to the curb, where his sleek yellow Ferrari is parked. It’s the kind of car that demands attention, that screams recklessness and wealth, and it suits him far too well.

I barely get the seatbelt on before the engine roars to life, vibrating through the leather seats. Isaia doesn’t look at me, his focus razor-sharp on the road as he pulls into traffic. The tension is suffocating, and I’m about to ask where we’re going when he says, “Open your legs.”

My head whips toward him, my pulse thundering. “What?”

“You heard me.” His tone is calm, but there’s an edge of command that makes my breath catch. “Spread your thighs.”

“Isaia, you’re driving.”

“And I’m not asking twice.”

Heat floods my face, and I glance at the road, watching as he maneuvers the Ferrari with practiced ease. My hesitation makes his jaw tighten. “Now, Everly.”

I don’t know what possesses me to obey, but my knees inch apart, the movement slow and tentative. Isaia’s hand leaves the steering wheel, his fingers brushing over my thigh. He hikes up my dress before gripping the inside of my leg, forcing it wider with a jerk. My breath hitches, and heat floods me.

“Have you touched yourself since last night?”

“Excuse me?”

His thumb skims higher, his touch deliberate and maddeningly light. “I want to know if you’ve made yourself come after I licked your cunt on your fucking kitchen counter.”

“That’s none of your⁠—”

“Answer the question, Everly.”

I bite my bottom lip, heat pooling low in my belly, my skin alive with anticipation. “Yes,” I whisper, thinking about how I slid my hand between my legs this morning, fantasizing about what would have happened if he didn’t leave.

Isaia’s grip on my thigh tightens, possessive and unyielding, his fingers digging into my flesh as if my admission has sparked something primal in him.

His jaw tics, and the low growl that rumbles in his chest sends a shiver straight down my spine, arousal flooding me.

“Of course you did,” he murmurs with a rough, velvet drawl. His thumb inches higher, brushing achingly close to where I’m desperate for him. “Couldn’t help yourself, could you? Touching yourself, thinking about my tongue inside you.”

“Isaia—”

“Did it feel as good as I made you feel?”

“No.” The word slips out on a shaky breath, my thighs trembling as his fingers trace the sensitive cleft of my inner thigh.

“Did you think about what my cock will feel like inside you?”

My breath hitches as I nod, the

admission clawing out of me without thought.

“Words, Everly. Use your words.”

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his touch slow and torturous. “But I need you to remember something. No one will ever make you feel the way I do. Not your own hands, not anyone else. Just me.” His hand moves higher, brushing over my panties, and I gasp.

My thighs clench instinctively around his hand—a futile attempt at control that earns a low chuckle from him.

“Open,” he commands. “Don’t make me tell you twice.”

I hate how easily my body listens to him, how my knees fall apart at his command, granting him full access. I grip the seat as his fingers slide beneath the fabric, the rough pads of his fingers brushing against my slick heat.

“You’re already so wet,” he says, his tone dark, almost reverent as if savoring the discovery. His thumb presses lightly over the damp fabric, teasing me with just enough pressure to drive me insane. “Is this for me, troublemaker?” His fingers leisurely explore every inch, tracing the outline of my pussy, as if he’s mapping me out, memorizing the way my body reacts to him. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

My breathing turns ragged as his fingers circle my clit, precise, the rhythm dragging me closer to the edge. My body arches, my thighs trembling as his words burn through me, making me want to surrender completely.

The tension in the car is electric, fire, lightning. And I throw my head back against the headrest as he teases my clit, then moves down to my entrance.

My pulse thrums, loud and insistent, as the reality of what’s happening slams into me. He’s driving through the city, one hand on the wheel, the other between my legs like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You drive like this often?” It’s a lame attempt at sarcasm, the breathless edge betraying me.

His lips curve into a twisted smile, his eyes never leaving the road.

“Only with you.” He sinks a finger into me, and I moan. “Now, sit back and let me enjoy this drive.” Without thinking, I shift lower on the seat, needing him to go deeper, and a low groan vibrates up his throat. “That’s my good fucking girl.”

Jesus, it’s the way he keeps calling me a good girl. It’s like a language my pussy understands and reacts to immediately, and I can feel the wetness leak out of me.

“Hmmm,” he growls, the sound vibrating through the small space of the car. “Dripping all over my fingers. Such a needy little thing.”

My eyes roll closed, my breath coming in shallow bursts as he fingers me achingly slowly, pulling out to trace invisible patterns that leave a trail of fire in their wake before slipping back in.

The city blurs past us, but all I can focus on is his touch between my legs. It’s like he knows my body better than I do, giving me exactly what I need, how I need it.

The Ferrari roars, my legs trembling as I give up any attempt to control my reactions. His thumb presses higher, just enough to make my hips jerk involuntarily, and he chuckles—low and wicked. “Getting impatient, troublemaker?”

“You’re impossible,” I manage.

“I’m exactly what you need,” he counters, his tone leaving no room for argument. His finger dips lower, and my breath catches, the sensation sending a lightning bolt of desire straight to my bones, and I grab his arm, clutching really fucking tight.

We stop at a red light, and Isaia finally turns his head to look at me. His gaze is molten, searing me in place. “Spread those legs wider for me.”

“People can see,” I say, aware of the traffic around us.

“Spread those legs, or I’ll drag you out on the street and tongue-fuck you on the hood of this car for the whole city to see.”

“Jesus,” I whimper, and my body obeys before my brain catches up, one knee digging into the door. The wicked grin that spreads across his face tells me he knows exactly the effect he has on me, and he’s having way too much fun with it.

The light turns green, and he accelerates, his hand never leaving its place, never relenting in its slow, torturous exploration.

The engine’s roar matches my pounding pulse, and I grab the armrest as he slides in deeper. My breath catches, a sharp inhale, everything coiling so damn tight I’m convinced this man will fucking snap me in half.

Lights streak through the windows as the Ferrari eats up the asphalt, but all I can focus on is Isaia—his touch, his voice, the possessive heat in his gaze every time he glances at me.

His fingers find my clit, circling with the kind of precision that leaves me gasping, my hips lifting off the seat in a desperate attempt for more.

“Stay still,” he warns with a dangerous edge. “Let me make you feel how good it is to be mine.”

I bite down on my lip, stifling another moan as he works me over, his touch relentless and devastating. The rhythm of his fingers builds, pushing me closer to the edge with every teasing stroke, and I can feel myself unraveling, tension coiling tighter and tighter until it’s unbearable.

He turns, and I open my eyes to see a long, straight road ahead of us. “You ready?” His finger pushes in deep, and my mouth falls open as I gasp for breath.

Isaia steps on the gas, and the car roars beneath us, surging forward with a violent burst of speed. The force presses me back against the seat, and I’m on sensory overload.

The pressure of his fingers inside me is relentless. My pulse races, matching the Ferrari’s furious rhythm, and I can barely breathe, my body caught between the thrill of his touch and the breakneck pace of the car.

“Hold on, sweet girl,” he says, his voice thick with control and something darker. “This isn’t a ride you’ll forget.”

His words send a fresh wave of heat coursing through me, and I’m no longer capable of controlling the moans I make, his finger curling just right, hitting a spot that has my legs trembling.

“Jesus, Isaia,” I gasp, clutching the edge of the seat.

“That’s it. Let me hear those pretty sounds. Don’t hold back. I want every moan, every breath. They belong to me.”

The words unravel me, and when he slides his finger into me once more, the stretch sends a jolt of pleasure straight through me, his palm working my clit hard and fast.

I can’t help the way my hips tilt, trying to take him deeper, and he chuckles, the sound rich and sinful, while I’m chasing a release that has me in a chokehold.

His hand doesn’t falter, his fingers curling with precision, dragging over that spot inside me that has stars sparking behind my eyes.

My thighs tremble, my nails digging into the seat as I clutch at anything to ground myself, but there’s no grounding this. No controlling the way he’s pulling me apart, piece by piece.

“Come for me, baby girl. Make a fucking mess in my palm.”

And I do—shattering with a cry, my body clenching around his fingers as pleasure crashes over me, wave after wave.

“Fuck!” I cry, slamming my palm against the roof of the car, lifting my hips, my ass off the seat so his fingers can work me through an orgasm that ripples on and on, an endless intensity that blinds me, white-hot and consuming, leaving me trembling and utterly undone. I barely register the smooth way he keeps control of the car, even as my world tilts and spins.

As the last tremors fade, I open my eyes, my chest heaving. Isaia slows the car, and his hand lingers for a moment longer, his fingers sliding away with maddening slowness as if he’s reluctant to let me go.

He lifts his hand to his lips, his tongue flicking out to taste me, and the sight is so raw, so sinful, that my breath catches all over again.

“Christ. You taste like something I’ll never deserve,” there’s a wicked glint in his eyes, “but I’ll take it anyway.”

Everything’s a blur until we pull up in front of Ember & Bean, his eyes dark and unreadable as he shifts the car into park. The gleaming yellow Ferrari hums beneath us, but the space between us is electric, crackling with everything he just did to me.

I’m still trying to catch my breath when he gets out, rounds the car, and opens the door for me.

“Out,” he orders, and there’s no mistaking the edge of command. I climb out, my knees barely holding me as the cool air hits my flushed skin. He crowds me, my back against the car, his eyes wild with promise. “Next time, you won’t be walking anywhere.”

My breath hitches, and I practically float onto the curb, watching him get back in the car. “Lock your door tonight,” he says. It’s not a warning—it’s a promise.

And I hate how much I want him to keep it.