Isaia: Chapter 21

I wake up to heat.

Not just warmth from the sheets—this is something primal, alive, coursing through me in waves that drag me out of sleep and into something electric.

My mind is foggy, slow to catch up, but my body? My body is fully awake, my thighs trembling as a flicker of wet, insistent heat drags over my pussy.

What the⁠—

“Isaia,” I gasp, bolting upright. My head jerks down, and there he is—between my legs, eyes blazing as he feasts on me, his mouth doing unholy things that ignite a devastating flame of pleasure. “Isaia, what are you⁠—”

“Shh.” He doesn’t stop. Not when I try to press my legs together, not when I grab a fistful of the sheets, my eyes rolling closed.

The roughness of his jaw against my thighs sends shivers through me, a friction that sharpens the heat deep in my core. Big hands grip my flesh, fingers pulling my panties to the side, his mouth moving against me, wet and relentless, his tongue sweeping over my clit like he’s starving for it. For me.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I pant, throwing my head back, grabbing his hair. Not to pull him away. To push him closer.

“Taking what’s mine.”

There’s a sharp rip, and my panties loosen against my skin. The heat of his breath, the scrape of his stubble—it’s too much and not enough all at once.

“And you’re going to let me.” With a rough hand, he grabs my knee and forces it upward and to the side, spreading me wide.

“I don’t—” Whatever protest I think I have dies on my tongue as he flattens his against me, dragging it in one long, slow stroke that has me arching off the bed.

A gasp escapes me, high and breathy, my thighs trembling as he does it again, and again, and again.

“You let him into your house.” Venom drips from his words, hands tightening on my thighs, his grip bruising. “You let him eat off the counter where I tongue-fucked you for the first time. You let him drink my fucking bourbon, Everly.”

“What?” My brain is too foggy, too consumed by the relentless pull of his mouth to process what he’s saying. “Who?”

“Anthony.” The name is a snarl, dark and furious, before his tongue circles my clit, and I cry out, my hips bucking against his face. “I watched you. Watched him. Sitting in here like he belongs.”

“Oh, my God,” I gasp, his tongue sweeping over me again.

I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Just feel. Fuck. I should hate this—his anger, his audacity—but all I can do is tremble under the weight of his words, the way he takes what he wants and makes me crave every second of it.

“I saw you, how fucking at ease you were with him.” He sucks my pussy lip, then bites, and I cry out. “You drive me fucking insane, Everly. Watching you laugh with him like you weren’t made to cry for me.”

His mouth leaves me, and I almost sob at the loss.

“Isaia, please…”

He looks up, his face shadowed, his lips slick with my arousal, and there’s murder in his eyes. “I wanted to kill him. The second he walked out your fucking door, I wanted to rip his throat out with my bare hands.”

I’m trembling, my body strung tight. “Anthony…he’s⁠—”

“—nothing,” Isaia cuts me off.

“Not you.”

His eyes flare as he pauses like his heart just fucking stopped, and I weave my hand through his thick hair, then grip it tight. “Anthony is…not. You.”

A deep, low growl vibrates up is chest, rough and dangerous, like a warning and a promise all at once, and his mouth is back on me, stealing my breath.

The sharp pull of his lips, the wicked flick of his tongue, drags me to the edge, over and over again, and I’m writhing above the sheets, wanting more. Wanting it all.

“Say it.” His breath is hot against my core. “Say you’re mine.”

“Isaia,” I pant, trembling, and his teeth scrape against my clit, pulling a sharp cry from my throat.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours.” Those two words spill out of me, and the second they do, he moans against me, low and guttural, like I’ve given him exactly what he’s been craving.

“That’s right, baby,” he murmurs, dark and triumphant. “Mine. All.” Lick. “Fucking.” Lick. “Mine.”

My body shatters, a fiery wave of pleasure igniting deep and surging outward, detonating with heat that has me screaming his name, my thighs shaking as my back bows off the bed.

But he doesn’t stop, his tongue working me over with unyielding precision, wringing every last quiver, every desperate gasp, until I’m left trembling and undone. But it’s not enough.

The pleasure is blinding and consuming, yet it feels hollow, the ache inside me growing, clawing at my chest, my stomach, my very soul.

I need more. I need him. Not just his mouth, not just his hands—I need all of him, every inch, every brutal, unrelenting part of him driving into me, claiming me, ruining me for anything or anyone else.

The words burn my throat, fighting to break free. Don’t say it. But I can’t stop them from spilling out. “Isaia…please.”

“What do you want, baby girl?” His lips trace the sensitive crease where my thigh meets my pussy, sending a moan rushing from my throat.

“You,” I gasp, the single word breaking free as my nails dig into the sheets.

“Where do you need me, Everly?”

My heart pounds, my blood burning as the words tear from me. “Inside me.”

For a moment, the room is silent but for the sound of my ragged breathing, and then he smiles—a dark, dangerous thing that sends a shiver racing down my spine.

“That’s my good fucking girl.”