“I don’t care if I have to fuck you for twelve hours straight, you're not leaving this bed until I hear those words come out of your mouth in person,” Isaac said that morning.
God, I miss him. His smell, his touch, but more than anything, his allure.
There is no chance I am going back to sleep now. My body is too wired with excitement, which is practically sparking out of me. With reluctance and a disappointed groan of frustration, I yank back my pale blue bedspread and flop my legs over the bed. My eyes catch sight of my cell phone sitting in a charging pod on my white bedside table.
“Five AM,” I mutter in disgrace. I haven’t been awake this early in years.
After leisurely stretching my strumming muscles, I scamper out of bed and pace toward my walk-in closet to find something to wear over my camisole and panties. In my dreary, half-asleep state, I trip over a pair of white running shoes left on my closet floor. My brows pull together as I stare peculiarly at my shoes. I haven’t been jogging in months. It wasn’t just Alex’s demanding work schedule that had my exercise regime lagging; it was Isaac’s sexual workouts. There were days I turned up to work feeling like I'd run a marathon the day before, all because of Isaac’s sexual prowess.
I could probably use a little bit of exercise. I haven’t been to the grocery store in over a month. So, I’ve been living off stale Frosted Flakes and my emergency stash of Snickers in my freezer for the past few days.
The cool, brisk air cuts through me like a knife when I first emerge from my apartment building. The sun hasn’t begun to rise yet, so the morning is still shrouded in a dark grayness. The only light supplied is by the moon above and the occasional street lights.
While putting on my earbuds, I catch the curious gaze of a security officer milling around in the lobby of my apartment building. Upon closer glance, I realize he is the gentleman who returned the elevator to the ground floor six weeks ago at Isaac’s request after our disastrous date with Tatiana and Ryan. The security officer watches me curiously. I can see when the recognition of our previous meeting dawns on his face. Winking cheekily, his lips curve into a broad grin.
Briskly shaking my head, I return his smile before twisting to face the nearly isolated street. There is a handful of cars on the road, apparently early morning commuters heading to work. The sidewalks are devoid of the regular foot traffic I am usually accustomed to.
A moan spills from my lips before they curve into an unbelievable grin. The very first song blaring out of my earbuds when I turn my iPod on is, Kings of Leon’s “Sex on Fire.” I’m freezing my butt off on a crisp fall morning, aiming to run out my sexual frustration, and the first song I hear is the one that makes my mind drift to Isaac any time I hear it.
Shrugging off karma biting me harshly on the ass, I jog down the street. It has been a few months since I’ve been on a run, but running is like riding a bike, you never forget how to do it. Soon familiar strides warm my muscles and increase the flow of blood through my body.
In no time at all, my sweatsuit is damp with a fine layer of sweat, and my heart rate has accelerated to a constant pounding rhythm. Running is nearly as good as dancing when I need a boost of adrenaline. Even though both activities are exhausting, my body thrums with adrenaline hours after. It is similar to how my body reacts after having sexual contact with the incredibly alluring Mr. Isaac Holt.
“Jesus, Isabelle, you are supposed to be running out your sexual frustration, not increasing it,” I mumble to myself.
My lungs can no longer fill with fresh air once I sprint up the grueling St. Thomas Street hill. It is the steepest and longest hill in the entire town of Ravenshoe. I stupidly decided to run up it to push my exhaustion to a new level.
Raising my arms above my head, I fight in vain to replenish my lungs with the crisp morning air. My hair is drenched with sweat so every strand is saturated from the roots to the tips. Even my socks are soaked through. While removing my jacket to relieve my overheated body, I yank out one of my earbuds. Birds chirping and traffic filters through my eardrums the instant the bud falls out.
Glancing around at my surroundings, it soon dawns on me I’ve been running a lot longer than I realized. My eyes bulge when I glance down at my iPod and notice it is nearly seven AM. I’ve been running for well over an hour and a half. No wonder my muscles are screaming in protest.
On the pleas of my aching muscles, I stroll back down St. Thomas Street. Deciding to enjoy the visual of the sun rising over the horizon, and birds chirping happily, I remove my earbuds and store them and my iPod in my pants pocket.
My leisurely pace halts the instant I arrive on the street where my apartment building is located. Although it could be a coincidence, my pulse intensifies when I spot a dark blue sedan parked half a block down from my apartment building.
“There are plenty of dark blue sedans in Ravenshoe,” I chastise myself.
I swallow harshly to eradicate a lump in my throat before continuing on my journey. My ears prick, straining to hear if the stationary vehicle commences following me. Only once I hear an engine roaring to life, do I pivot my head back to peer at the vehicle. A sigh of relief spills from my lips when a white Range Rover pulls out from behind the blue sedan.
My sigh turns into a squeal when I abruptly turn back around and crash hard into a firm andverywell-defined t-shirt-covered chest. A burning pain stings through my nose from the brutal contact, and my eyes get a sudden rush of moisture forming in them.
“Shit, Izzy, are you alright?” queries a voice I immediately recognize.
Lifting my tear-welling eyes, I meet the concerned gaze of Hugo. “I think your pec muscle broke my nose,” I murmur through my hand, which has shot up to rub the sting of my nose.
I glare at Hugo when he chuckles boisterously at my comment. He can laugh, but he’s not the one whose nose just ran into a solid brick wall. Once his chuckles die down, Hugo assesses my nose.
“I don’t think it is broken,” he murmurs, lowering his hands away from my face. “But you've already got a nasty bump forming.” His face grimaces as a cloud of guilt taints his eyes.
His eyes lift to look behind me before he murmurs, “Come on, let’s put some ice on it.”
Still holding my nose, I follow Hugo into the lobby of my apartment building. Upon entering, my gaze drifts back outside. The blue sedan is still parked across the street. My suspicious eyes dart between Hugo and the blue sedan.
“Why were you walking outside of my apartment so early?”
Hugo coughs while pushing the elevator button. “I live here,” he eventually responds.
My eyes snap to his. “What? For how long?”
