Isaia: Chapter 17

I shift in my bed, jolted awake by a sense of being watched. I rub my eyes, trying to erase the lingering images of a dream that felt all too real.

The room is shrouded in darkness, with only slivers of moonlight peeking through the blinds and painting bars of light and darkness onto the sheets.

“Good, you’re awake.”

“Oh, my God!” I jolt upright against the headboard, my heart racing in my chest. “Isaia? What the fuck?” Trembling, I reach for the lamp on the nightstand and turn it on, and my breath catches in my throat.

He’s sitting in the chair by the window, his presence a perfect storm of danger and seduction. Shadows cling to the sharp lines of his face, accentuating his chiseled jaw and cheekbones like some dark god sculpted them.

His bare chest gleams faintly in the low light, every taut muscle shifting with predatory ease as he tilts the bottle of bourbon to his lips. The amber liquid glints, catching the faint light, and his throat moves as he swallows. It’s mesmerizing. Every movement exudes power, a controlled recklessness that sends a rush of heat through me.

“You make the most beautiful sounds when you sleep. I’ve been sitting here with a rock-hard cock for more than two fucking hours.”

“Two hours? You’ve been here for two hours?”

He shrugs. “Give or take.”

Leaning back, he exudes power and possession like he owns the room just by being in it—a pagan god who can turn anything into a goddamn throne.

The way his head is tilted slightly feels deliberate, designed to make me squirm under the weight of his gaze. And God, it’s working. Even the way he’s holding the bottle—lazily, carelessly, his fingers long and strong against the glass—is purposeful, like every detail is part of a game only he knows the rules to.

Isaia Del Rossa is a man who doesn’t just command attention. He devours it.

My heart stutters as I swallow. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze steady, unflinching. He sets the bottle on the small table next to him with a clink, his movements slow, measured, as if he’s got all the time in the world.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, his voice low, rough, like gravel underfoot. “Thought I’d check in.”

“Check in?” I sit up, my heart pounding against my ribs. “Where’s Luna?”

He glances at her sleeping by his feet.

“Okay, I need to get a new dog,” I deadpan.

“Why?”

“Because you broke mine.”

“Funny.” But he doesn’t laugh.

I pull a palm down my face, still trying to get my pulse under control. “Isaia, it’s the middle of the night. You can’t just⁠—”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want.” There’s a suggestive curve of his lips, and I swear the room gets smaller. “Especially when it comes to you.”

My pulse thrums in my ears. There’s no denying the pull he has on me, the way my body reacts to him so close, even as my mind screams at me to throw him out. “You’re insane,” I whisper.

“Maybe.” He leans back in the chair, his legs spread wide, one hand resting on his jean-clad thigh as the other reaches for the bourbon again. “But you like it. Don’t you?”

I bite my bottom lip.

“I get that pussy of yours purring like a kitten every time I show up, don’t I?” His smoky gaze is a spell that has my blood rushing and pulse racing.

His words shouldn’t turn me on. But they do.

I should argue. I should tell him to leave, to get the hell out of my house. But the words don’t come. He’s not just a man sitting in my bedroom; he’s a force of nature, pulling me in like a tide I can’t fight. And God help me, I don’t want to.

Shifting forward, he rests his elbows on his knees, and my breath catches as his gaze drops to my lips before meeting mine again.

“Ever sucked a cock before, Everly?”

My mouth falls open, my face heating. “What the hell kind of question is that?”

“A simple one.” He leans back again. “You going to answer, or do I have to guess?” I hate his smug smile, like he already knows the answer.

“No,” I manage.

He hums, the sound approving. “Didn’t think so.”

“What is this? Why are you even here?”

“Come here.”

“I’m not⁠—”

“Come. Here.” Each word is a command that speaks to the deepest parts of me, and my body trembles as I hesitate with a mix of fear and something darker, something that’s growing stronger with every second I’m near him. But I find myself moving, sliding off the bed and crossing the small space between us until I’m standing before him.

Suddenly, I’m hyperaware that the oversized shirt I’m wearing is not the most attractive outfit at the moment.

His eyes rake over me, dark and hungry. “Kneel.”

“Isaia, this⁠—”

He grabs my wrist, pulls me close, and his hand is under my shirt, palming my pussy, making me hiss as I suck air through my teeth.

“I said. Fucking. Kneel.”

My legs buckle before I can think, dropping to the floor between his spread thighs.

He leans forward, his hand gripping my chin, tilting my face so I’m forced to meet his gaze. “Good girl.”

He leans back and unbuckles his belt. Everything is charged with tension that makes my skin sing, his eyes never leaving mine as he reaches in and pulls out his cock. It’s hard, thick, veins snaking along its length, the head glistening as if daring me to taste.

A groan escapes his lips as he casually palms himself, the sight eliciting a strange thrill deep inside me. He’s devastatingly beautiful, exuding unrelenting power and a dominance so palpable it seizes the air around us, demanding submission.

“You see this, troublemaker?” He strokes his cock some more. “This is what’s waiting for you. What I’ll feed your pussy…inch…by inch until you’re full of nothing but me.”

My breath falters, my throat tightening. The world seems to shrink, the air heavy and charged, every sound blurring into a faint hum.

“You’re going to beg for it deeper, harder, faster while your cunt’s a fucking mess, throbbing and aching, driving you out of your goddamn mind.”

His words hit me like a spark to dry kindling, and my pussy clenches hard, a slick rush of heat flooding me as if my body is answering his promise before I can even catch my breath.

The throbbing ache he described? It’s already there, pulsing and insistent, demanding everything he just vowed to give.

My mouth goes dry as I take in the way his hand wraps around the base, stroking upward, gliding his thumb over the head, spreading a bead of precum.

“I can make myself come within twenty fucking seconds if you keep looking at my cock like that.”

My body reacts with a rush of heat before my mind catches up, a soft whimper escaping me, barely audible but loud enough for him to notice.

His gaze sharpens. “You want me to come…don’t you? You want to see me lose it—fucking wrecked and spilling just,” he pumps upward, “for,” all the way down, “you.”

The need is insane, so intense I’m sure I’ll come if he just breathes against my heated core.

“Hands on my thighs, baby girl.”

Swallowing hard, I place my trembling hands on his muscled thighs, and something stirs deep, an uptick in confidence sliding up my spine.

He’s holding his cock by the base, eyes dark and wild. “Open those pretty lips for me.”

Dominance radiates from him, seeping into my pores, and my lips part, my breath shallow and shaky. I lean forward without thinking, my lips brushing over the head in a tentative, featherlight touch, and the most erotic, primal fucking sound rumbles from his chest and rips out his throat, making my pussy clench so damn tight, I’m pretty sure I just came a little.

“Lick it,” he moans. “Slow, from base to tip, like you’re starved for it.”

My tongue flicks out, tracing every inch of him with leisurely strokes that leave a trail of heat in their wake. Each movement feels like a revelation, awakening something untamed and hungry inside me, something I didn’t know existed.

I can feel his gaze searing into me, and it only makes me want to give more, his musky, heady scent filling my senses, making me dizzy and desperate.

“Now, let me feel that pretty mouth.” He sweeps my hair to the side, his fingers curling into the strands as he tilts my head just as he wants. “Take my cock like the good fucking girl you are.”

I open wide, slowly taking him inch by inch, and I’m instantly addicted to his taste—an intoxicating blend of sex and lust that pulses beneath my tongue. It’s a dangerous temptation, a forbidden fruit wrapped in power and sin.

He fills me up, stretching my mouth in a way that lights my body on fire, and his guttural groan vibrates through the air like a dark promise, my tongue lapping around his length.

“Look at you,” he rasps, his hand tightening in my hair, guiding me with the rhythm he needs. “So fucking perfect. Made for this.”

His words send a flood of warmth through me, and I relax, letting him guide me deeper, my tongue tracing the ridge underneath his cock, teasing and exploring, and his sharp intake of breath makes my pulse quicken.

I glance up through my lashes, and the sight of him—the way his jaw tightens, his eyes burning with need—sends a wave of lust down my spine pooling between my legs.

“Give me more of that tongue, troublemaker,” he murmurs, his tone dark and coaxing. “Make me feel how much you want this. How desperate you are to make me come.”

I swirl my tongue around him, flicking and teasing, hollowing my cheeks as I take him deeper. His groans grow rougher, his grip on my hair firmer, and the satisfaction of watching him unravel under my touch sends a spark of confidence through me, and it’s like instinct takes over as I suck harder, drawing him in.

My blood rushes with ecstasy as his hips twitch, a low grunt escaping him as his hand guides me with more insistence. The power of the moment has me trembling, entirely consumed by the intoxicating act of pleasing him.

“Fuck, Everly,” he growls, his hips rocking slightly, his control fraying at the edges. “I’m not gonna last long in your perfect fucking mouth.”

My head bobs as I suck him, harder, faster, and he throws his head back, craning his neck as a groan rolls from his lips, his abs moving and tightening.

Because of me.

Because of what I’m doing to him.

There’s power in that. A sense of control over a man like Isaia Del Rossa. It does something to a woman. It’s doing fucking everything to me.

A moan slides up my throat, vibrating around his cock.

“Jesus, woman.” He forces me down as his hips flex up, pushing his cock so deep I gag around it, tears burning my eyes, but my blood is singing for him, my body quaking with the need for him even though my lungs burn for air. “You’re going to swallow everything I give you.” He bites his bottom lip, his expression all sharp edges and dark shadows. “Every. Fucking. Drop.”

Thick, warm cum hits the back of my throat, and I swallow, taking him down as his hips jerk against me.

Curses drop from his mouth like a prayer, his body shuddering as his release spills into my mouth, wave after wave, and I take it all, my eyes locked on his, desperate to please him.

Cum spills from the corners of my mouth, leaking down my chin, and he groans.

Isaia jerks my head up, and I gasp, his cock slipping from my mouth, the look on his face taking my fucking breath away. It’s a look of sheer possession, dark and wild, his intense gaze dragging over me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. Like I’m his fucking queen.

His chest rises and falls with each labored breath, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, equal parts sinful and satisfied as he brushes his thumb along the corners of my lips, collecting the cum.

“Clean it up, baby.”

He radiates with sexual intensity, authority, and I part my lips, taking his thumb in, my tongue swirling over it as I suck gently, relishing his taste.

I didn’t think it possible, but his eyes darken even more, the satisfaction in them shifting to something more dangerous, more consuming.

“Good. Fucking. Girl.” The words drip with heat, sending a shiver racing down my spine.

His hand grips my jaw, tilting my face up as his thumb leaves my mouth with a slow drag. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he rasps, like a confession before he sears me with a kiss that sucks the soul right out of my marrow. It’s not gentle—it’s consuming, claiming, a clash of teeth and tongues that leaves me gasping for air and aching for more.

His hand tangles in my hair, holding me in place as he devours me, the taste of him still on my tongue, mingling with the bourbon and something darker, something purely Isaia.

By the time he pulls back, I’m trembling, my skin alive with every lingering trace of his touch, and my body is begging for him.

Needing him…to be inside me.

My knees ache against the floor, but I don’t care. Not when he’s looking at me like that. Like he owns me. Like he’s already claimed every part of me.

“Are you aching for me?”

I lick my lips, barely managing to whisper, “Yes.”

“Good,” he murmurs, like he already knows.

I’m whimpering as his thumb brushes over my bottom lip before he leans in, pressing the lightest, most devastating kiss against my trembling mouth.

“Now, go to bed, and dream of me fucking you until you’re nothing but a trembling…mindless…beautiful mess beneath me.”

He pulls back, his dark gaze lingering for just a heartbeat longer before he straightens, his presence towering, commanding. Without another word, he turns and strides toward the door, his movements fluid, his dominance etched into every step.

“Sleep tight, troublemaker.”

I sit there, trembling, the room achingly quiet now. My lips are still tingling, my body thrumming with the phantom echoes of his touch.

He’s gone, yet he’s still here—wrapped around me, clawing at my mind, marking me in ways I can’t undo.