Isaia: Chapter 24

I always read about the heroes watching the heroines sleep, admiring how beautiful they look painted with moonlight that filters through the slits of faded curtains like it always knows to leave the perfect little gap to create the most romantic moments. How the hero’s internal monologue tells us how deeply and profoundly he’s fallen in love with the woman of his dreams.

This is not like that.

There’s no romantic glow of moonlight slipping through anywhere. It’s overcast outside and there’s just this gloomy gray stuttering splashes of shadows over his face. And I’m not thinking about how I’ve fallen irrevocably in love with this man.

My thoughts are more along the lines of scattered sentences that don’t make any sense.

Lying there, tangled in the sheets, Isaia looks like a pagan god—dangerous and devastatingly beautiful, sent to break hearts and defile virgins. He’s all sharp edges and sin, keeping every nerve in my body strung tight.

There’s a reason I’m a twenty-one-year-old virgin. Was a twenty-one-year-old virgin. Men who showed interest in me always disappeared the next day. My stepdad won’t admit it, but I know it’s him. Virgin daughters are a prized commodity in his world.

Shit.

I didn’t plan for this. For him. But in hindsight, what did I expect when it comes to a man like Isaia? He calls me troublemaker, but he’s got trouble and mayhem imprinted in his bones.

He’s sprawled in my bed, my fingers twitching to smooth the crease in his brow. But touching him feels too intimate, too dangerous, like crossing a line I can’t redraw. Instead, I pull the sheet over my chest, biting my thumbnail.

My pulse pounds as memories flood in—his hands, his mouth, the way he claimed me until I forgot where he ended and I began.

I hug my knees, my stomach twisting. This is every shade of complicated, and last night shouldn’t have happened. But I wanted him. Still do. And the way my blood hums when I look at him? That’ll never stop.

God, this is a mess. Instead of worrying about the aftermath, I wonder what he thinks of me now. The Del Rossa brothers have a reputation—seasoned pros at driving women insane, letting them lose their minds one thrust at a time. And here I am, entry-level experience, wondering if I even passed the first test.

The man had my soul leave my body three times last night and barely broke a sweat. Now, I’m sitting in bed next to him, biting my thumbnail because I’m worried I gave him below-average satisfaction.

With a soft groan, Isaia stirs, his arm stretching across the bed, the one with the broken clock tattoo. His eyes flutter open, heavy-lidded and hazy with sleep, and when they lock onto mine, my breath catches.

“Have you slept at all?” he murmurs, a deep rasp that curls through the quiet room.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s a stranger in my bed. Naked.”

“I’m not a stranger.” His low, gravelly voice, thick with sleep, slides over me like silk. “And you’re naked, too.”

“Only because you said you’d cut off anything I tried to wear to bed.” I shift, clutching the sheets tighter. “And I prefer not to risk being mutilated in my sleep.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and rich, and it does something to me. “There are far more fun things I’d like to do to you with a knife than to maim you.”

Heat floods my face—and it’s worrying that I don’t find that statement more disturbing.

I rake my hand through my tangled hair, a complete mess at the mercy of this man. “What does it mean?” I ask, and he raises a brow. Finally, I gather the courage to touch him, tracing the letters inked on his forearm. I feel him stiffen just a little. If I weren’t so hyperaware of him, I’d miss it.

“Memento Mori.” His voice is a low hum that sends a shiver down my spine. “Remember…you must die.”

The words hang in the air, heavy, charged, and my hand stills, resting over the dark script. “That’s…not comforting.”

His lips twitch, not quite a smile. “It’s a reminder.”

“Of what?”

“That every choice, every moment, could be your last.” His words press down on me, heavy, too much truth for one man to carry.

My eyes drift back to the tattoo, and suddenly, it feels like more than just ink. It’s a promise. A warning. A glimpse into a part of him that rarely surfaces.

“I wouldn’t want to be reminded of that every day.” I pull my hand away, the sudden absence of his warmth leaving me cold.

“And why’s that?”

“I’d like to think we savor moments because they’re extraordinary. Not because they’re our last.” My eyes flick to his tattoo, then back to his face. “I don’t want to live like I’m constantly running out of time. I want to appreciate things because they matter now.”

His expression softens just a fraction, but his intensity never wavers. “That’s the thing. Moments like this matter because they don’t last.”

“That’s… really morbid.”

“Reality often is.”

I shift uncomfortably, my fingers curling into the sheet around me. “I’m just saying maybe not everyone needs a constant reminder of their impending doom. Some of us like to focus on the here and now without thinking about how it could all end at any second.”

His head tilts slightly, considering me. “And how do you appreciate the now if you forget how quickly it can be ripped away?”

“I don’t need a death sentence hanging over my head to appreciate life, Isaia.” My tone sharpens. “I’d rather enjoy the moment for what it is—not because it’s a countdown to the end.”

“Spoken like someone who hasn’t faced her own mortality.”

“Maybe not,” I admit, “but I’d rather live like there’s more to look forward to than just…nothing.”

His hand brushes mine, his touch grounding me despite the chill running down my spine. “Not nothing,” he murmurs. “Just the inevitable.”

“You should try living like the inevitable isn’t breathing down your neck. You might actually enjoy it.”

His lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile but close enough to send a shiver of awareness racing through me. “You’re bold for someone who spent last night trembling under me.”

A surge of warmth floods my system, and all those insecurities I managed to forget for five seconds come rushing back, and I’m suddenly squirming to get some distance between us.

Isaia notices, and he snakes an arm around my waist, pulling me closer. My gaze is flying everywhere except at his gorgeous face.

With his thumb on my chin, he forces me to look at him. “Everly?”

“Isaia?”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” It’s a clipped lie.

“You’re overthinking.”

“What would I be overthinking about?”

“Us.” He brushes his lips lightly against mine, making me shiver. “And I don’t like it.”

Before I can respond, Isaia kisses me, stealing the air from my lungs. The kiss starts slow, gentle, like he’s tasting a memory, making sure it’s real, that I’m real. Then it carries into something fierce, unapologetic—just like him.

His hand moves to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, holding me where he wants me, and I clutch his shoulders, my nails digging in as his tongue claims me with rough, possessive intensity. He kisses like he owns me, branding me from the inside out. And I let him.

Everything inside me lights up. Kissing him, touching him, feeling him—it’s a high like nothing I’ve ever known.

He moves against me, making me aware of how hard he is.

“You feel that?” he murmurs against my lips. “That’s the only thing you should be thinking about.” I gasp as his teeth nip my bottom lip, sending a jolt of sensation down my spine. “And how fucking amazing it feels to have me deep inside you.”

His hand slides lower, gripping my hip, his thumb skimming bare skin, making me moan.

“Everly,” he groans, “I told you I’d let you heal before I take you again. But keep making those sounds, and I might have to break that promise.” He continues down my neck, kissing along my collarbone, setting every inch of skin he touches alight.

“Isaia?” I breathe, barely able to form the word.

“Yes, troublemaker?”

I swallow hard, my heart pounding. “Let’s say I’m…” His hand cups my breast, and my eyes flutter shut. “Overthinking something.”

“Out with it,” he demands, then laps his tongue all around my nipple in slow strokes.

“Oh, God,” I moan. “Yes…well, about last night. You know…I’m not exactly what you’d call…at your level of experience, and⁠—”

“Stop,” he cuts me off, his tone firm, commanding as he looks at me. “You think I give a fuck about your experience? About what you think you’re supposed to be like in bed?”

“I just want to be…you know, good. For you.”

His eyes narrow, the weight of his stare pressing down on me like a physical force. “This isn’t about performance. This isn’t some fucking game where you get graded on how well you fuck, Everly.”

I try to look away, but his hand moves to my jaw, gripping it firmly and forcing my gaze back to his.

“Let me make one thing clear. I don’t want polished. I don’t want practiced. I want you. Raw, unfiltered, exactly as you are.”

My breath hitches, and his eyes flick down to my lips before dragging back up, his expression hard, unrelenting.

“I want to feel every fucking second of you learning what you like. What makes you gasp, what makes you beg.” His hand is on my throat, resting there lightly, his thumb brushing over my pulse. “Besides, the idea of teaching you, showing you how to fuck in ways that you can’t even imagine,” he leans in, his lips hovering over mine, “it gets my dick harder than it’s ever fucking been for any woman.”

A shiver races down my spine, intensity radiating off him, a dark heat that wraps around me and pulls me under. He’s not asking for permission. He’s claiming me, piece by piece, with every word, every touch. And I’m overwhelmed with how deep it burns, how much I want him to consume me. It’s unnerving, and I have no idea what to do with all of it—all these feelings I’m having for a man who is everything I thought I never wanted.

Controlling. Possessive. Powerful.

And he’s a Del Rossa. A prince of the Dark Sovereign. A man who lives by no rules but his own.

Oh, God.

Panic sets in, his eyes still on me, unblinking, dark and assessing, and it’s too much. Too intense. So, I withdraw, a poor attempt at removing myself from a situation that’s already past the point of complicated.

“I need to take Luna for a walk.” I throw off the sheets and scramble out of bed, my feet hitting the floor.

His gaze is hot on me as I grab the nearest shirt—his shirt—and pull it over my head. It smells like him, and for some reason, that makes my hands shake more.

“Everly,” he drawls, a hint of warning laced beneath the calm, “you’re running.”

“I’m not running,” I lie, my back to him as I grab my pants and quickly slide them on. “I just—I need to take Luna out before she starts whining.”

Sensing the rising tension, Luna perks up from her spot near the bed. Her tail thumps once against the floor, then she stretches, letting out a small yawn.

“Everly, what’s happening right now?”

I disappear into the bathroom, yanking off his shirt and slipping on my own before walking back into the room. God, I can still feel him between my legs with every step—the pressure, the ache. It’s all there.

“Nothing’s happening. I’m taking Luna for a walk.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Isaia gets up, and—yep, there it is. His cock, hanging thick and heavy between those powerful thighs, looking as unapologetically impressive as the rest of him.

Of course, it is.

Because why wouldn’t it be? Everything about him screams dominance and control, and even his dick looks like it knows its place—front and center, commanding attention.

I shake my head lightly. “You don’t have to.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” He pulls on his pants—thank God. “I’m coming with you.”

“Isaia, please.” I place my palm on my forehead, eyes closed. “I need to clear my head. I just…I need to breathe.”

He slants a brow. “And you can’t breathe when I’m around?”

“No. No, I can’t.”

“What?”

“It’s just, you’re this intense…I dunno—force. I can’t think straight when you’re near.”

“Good. I don’t want you to think straight.” There’s the faintest hint of a dark smile playing on his lips. “I want your thoughts tangled up in nothing but me.”

“Is that normal, though?” I look at him. “This…whatever this is between us, is it normal for me to be so consumed by it? By you? I don’t think it is,” I continue to ramble. “It’s this live, throbbing thing that’s constantly there, under my skin, like I can’t escape it. Can’t escape you. Even when you’re not here, Isaia, it’s like you’re…everywhere. In my head, my chest, my veins, and I⁠—”

His hand brackets the back of my neck and pulls me close with so much force our lips crash, air leaving my lungs with a violent gasp.

All my thoughts crumble with every sweep of his tongue, deep, demanding, claiming my taste like he’s starved for it. It’s a fiery kiss that has my knees weak, this thing inside my chest pounding against my ribs like it wants out and into him.

The grip he has on my neck tightens, his other arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me close, so close I can feel his heart beating. It’s a wild rhythm. Powerful. A symphony to my blood.

I’m panting when he breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against mine.

“You feel it, don’t you?” His fingers brush my face, his thumb tracing my jaw with possessive tenderness that makes my chest hurt. “That pull? That ache? Like no matter how much we take, it’ll never be enough?”

“Yes.” My whisper is barely audible, my lips trembling. “I feel it.”

“Then stop questioning it.” He traces my bottom lip with his thumb. “Stop running from it, and just let it fucking consume you.”

Every word sinks into the depths of my soul. “You have no idea how hard it is to keep my head above water when it comes to you,” I murmur.

“Then don’t. Drown with me, Everly Beaumont. Let it pull you under. Let me pull you under. Because there’s no coming back from this, from me.” He places a kiss on my forehead, letting it linger like he’s sealing a promise, a claim that goes deeper than words ever could. “Go ahead, troublemaker. Walk your dog, pretend to clear your head. But you’ll still end up back where you belong. With me.”