11
Isabelle
An appreciative groan erupts from my throat as I snuggle into a smooth and soft texture. I don't know what thread count these sheets are, but they're the softest sheets I have ever laid on. I'll have to remember to thank Regina for replacing my bedding, as these sheets and comforter make me feel like I'm sleeping on a cloud.
After pulling my arms out of the quilt, I have a long and leisurely stretch. My muscles feel exerted, but that's expected when you spend hours dancing in four-inch heels.
When I sluggishly open my eyes, I come face to face with my disheveled reflection.
Oh, shit, where the hell am I?
I quickly sit up, causing a rush of dizziness to cluster in my head. My hands dart up to rub my temples, easing the furious pounding that makes it feel like my brain is escaping my skull.
Once the urge to vomit passes, I glance around the starkly decorated bedroom. The space is vast, but it is cold and sterile. I'm on the right side of a king-size four-poster bed. Other than the bed and two mahogany night stands, the room is empty. There are no photos or knickknacks on the bedside tables that would indicate whose bedroom I am in, and no paintings adorn the walls. Other than the mirror on the ceiling, the room is as basic as they come.
When I peel the dark sheets away from my body, I discover I’m wearing nothing but a small, white V-neck cotton shirt. I don’t need to run my hands down my body to know I am braless. Not just because I can feel the heaviness of my breasts, but because I didn’t have a strapless bra to wear with my strapless dress last night. But even more concerning than the fact I don’t have a bra on, is the fact I’m also not wearing any panties.
Oh god, Isabelle, what did you do?
I dive out of bed and yank open the top drawer on the bedside table, hoping it may give me some indication whose bedroom I am in. Other than a large, open box of condoms and a bottle of lubricant, the drawer is empty.
I pull on the hem of my shirt, vainly trying to cover my buttocks as I rush to the other drawer. Inside this drawer is an extensive collection of ladies' panties. On close inspection, I realize they don't look recently washed.
Bile rises from my stomach to my throat as I slam the drawer shut. The chance of me being sick doubles when a door creaking open echoes through the room. I jump back into the bed to cover my naked derriere with the super soft comforter and sheets.
My heart pounds louder than my head when Isaac strolls into the room wearing nothing but a small white towel. My eyes open wide as memories of last night come filtering back in. Him pulling me into the manager’s office. Me sucking on his thumb like it was my last meal. My eyes pleading with him to take me on the very desk we were standing next to. Just one look into his entrancing gray eyes, had me throwing caution to the wind.
I remember Brandon’s disappointment when I said I had to go. I made a pathetic excuse about being sick in the bathroom stall and that I was too embarrassed to stay. Harlow offered to drive me home, but she had been drinking just as much as me, so I asked Brandon to call her a taxi.
My stomach swirled as I walked toward the exit of the club, but it wasn’t from nerves; it was in excitement. Isaac was standing at the entrance door. His lips crimped when he spotted me sauntering toward him. It was raining, so his bodyguard sheltered us with an umbrella as we hopped into the back of a waiting BMW 4WD.
“Hugo,” I murmur under my breath.
That was what Isaac called his driver when he instructed him to lose the tail.Lose the tail.Does Isaac know we are following him?Oh shit, did the surveillance team capture me with him last night?
My panicked eyes dart to Isaac, who is watching me curiously. I try to keep my eyes secured on his, but the urge to run them over his body is too strong. In nearly every photo I’ve scanned of him in the FBI database, he’s wearing a suit. Although there has been the occasional photo of him in gym shorts and a shirt from when he goes jogging, I’ve never seen him like this, so up close and personal. His body is. . .perfect.
When my eyes return to his face, I realize I'm not the only one assessing desirable assets. Isaac's heavy-hooded gaze has lowered to my chest, his gaze so molten it activates every one of my hot buttons.
Spurred on by confusion, I yank up the comforter to cover my thrusting chest. Amused by my attempt at modesty, Isaac chuckles a deep, throaty laugh.
“Don’t you think it’s a little late to be shy, Isabelle?”
He paces to the corner of the room.Although I’m petrified I’ve thrown my career down the toilet from sleeping with this man, my body still shudders from my name rolling off his tongue.
Once he reaches the side of the room, he presses his palm on the white painted wall. My interests pique when a secret door pops out two seconds later. I’m so intrigued, if I weren't half-naked, I'd love to discover what is hiding in that secret room.
Plastic ruffling filters into the room when Isaac walks out with a dry cleaning bag in one hand and a pair of polished black shoes in the other. I sigh. I was anticipating something more extravagant than a hidden wardrobe.
An improper gasp escapes my lips when Isaac commences dressing in front of me. Against the screamed demands on my inner vixen, I dart my eyes away, only glancing back for the occasional peek.
Holy fuck.
I don’t usually swear, but there are no other words to describe Isaac’s. . . umm. . .well-endowedpackage.
When he catches me staring at his junk, he winks. Slapping my hand over my mortified face, I turn my eyes to the wall, embarrassed he busted me ogling him like a virgin who’s never seen a penis before. I’ve seen them before—plenty of them.
Well, not plenty, but I’m definitely not a virgin. I just haven’t seen any penises quite as handsome as his.Can you call a penis handsome?
