An amused expression crosses my face when Isabelle swings her eyes from the quiet road to me. Her brows are pulled together, and her teeth are raking her lower lip. “My apartment is that way.” She hooks her thumb over her shoulder before she returns her hand to join her other one fiddling with the hem of her sweater.
She’s nervous, and I find her fidgeting endearing enough to ease her curiosity instead of doubling it. “We’re not going to your apartment.”
My grip on the steering wheel tightens when she gabbers out, “You said you were taking me home.”
“No. I said I’m taking you home. I didn’t say whose home we were going to.” After turning in the direction I’m signaling, I announce, “I’m taking you to my private residence.”
In less than a hair’s breadth, Isabelle’s pleased face morphs into shock. “Where did we just leave if that isn’t your home?” Her back molars crunching together project over the noise of my tires rolling over the asphalt when she spits out, “Was that your fuck pad?”
I snap my eyes to hers, unsure if I should relish the disdain on her face or remove it with my tongue.
I decide both options are on the cards when she repeats, “Was that your fuck pad?” Her voice is stronger this time around but also brittle enough to advise me she is close to cracking.
After taking a moment to clear my voice of controversy, I disclose, “I don’t call it that, but I guess most people would see it that way.”
“How many other women have you slept with in that bed?” The color drains from her cheeks as her eyes pop out of her head. “Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. I already feel sick enough.” She returns her eyes front and center before demanding, “Take me home.”
“Iamtaking you home.”
“No.” She shakes her head so fast it whips up the delicious scent of our intermingled smells, but fortunately, it’s also tainted with too much anger to physically motivate me. “Take me back tomyapartment.”
“No, Isabelle,” I bark out before a single objection can fire through my stubborn head. “You are mine. Which means my home, my bed, my rules.”
Mine!my head screams on repeat.
When she glares at me like I’m the madman I’ve tried to keep her clear of the past several weeks, I mutter, “Don’t look at me like that, Isabelle…”
Before I can finish my demand, she rolls her eyes before returning them to the starry sky. Usually, I’d relish her stubbornness—I may even encourage it—but when the moon reflects a vast amount of wetness in her eyes, nothing but unbridled guilt swamps me.
With my head as shut down as my heart, I slam on the brakes before pulling my car to the side of the road. In a quick unclasp, pluck, and yank maneuver, I pull Isabelle across the middle console until she is straddling my lap. Remorse unlike anything I’ve ever experienced crashes into me when my hands fail to keep up with the tears trickling down her face. Some of that regret belongs to Ophelia, but not all of it is for her. I’ve said from the get-go that Isabelle is different, so it was wrong of me to treat her as anything but.
Desperate for forgiveness, once I have her tears cleared away, I seal my lips over her luscious mouth. Within seconds, the stiffness weakening the subtle movements of her lips is pushed aside for vehement lust. She returns my embrace lick for lick until she eventually grabs hold of the reins so she can push it to a never-before-reached level. It is a kiss to end all kisses, an exchange so blinding I’ve never felt more powerful than I do right now.
Long after the windows have fogged from our heated exchange, I pull back. While tracing my thumb over Isabelle’s kiss-swollen lips, I confess my sins, “I shouldn’t have taken you there, but I needed to be sure you were mine before I fully let you in.”
I’ve never been so forthright, but I see the exception occurring more often when the most blistering smile lifts Isabelle’s flushed cheeks. She curls her hands over my jaw before she reacquaints our mouths. This kiss is urgent and greedy. It demands perfection and convinces me a long, hard fuck is necessary to finalize its brilliance.
I’d take up its suggestion now if it weren’t for a tap on the frosted glass next to my head.
“Move along,” Jimmy, a Ravenshoe PD veteran, demands before tapping his baton onto the driver’s side window of my new ride for the second time. When I glide down the window, his eyes bulge, and his throat works hard to swallow. “Oh… good evening, Mr. Holt. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this was your vehicle.”
Despite the annoyance heating my veins, my voice comes out friendly when I reply, “That’s okay, Jimmy, it’s new. I’ve only taken her out a handful of times.” Jim isn’t a bad guy. He’s a valuable member of the community, and Ravenshoe benefits from having men like him residing here. Furthermore, the longer my deep, penetrating voice rumbles through my body, the closer together Isabelle’s thighs become.
My cock is pressed up against her glorious backside, and try as she may, she can’t ignore the thickness her squirms instigated.
“How are Marisha and the kids?”
Jimmy smiles, pleased I remembered his wife’s name. It was a close call. I’m good at recalling the names of people I’ve met, but Marisha isn’t on that list. She’s been mentioned in passing, but we’ve never formally met. “They’re good. Bobbi just made the varsity team.”
When Jim becomes distracted by someone pulling over a couple of spots behind me, Isabelle uses his distraction to her advantage. She grinds against my cock, hardening it so fast it hurts.
After hissing through her frisky tease, I ask Jimmy, “What is it?” My voice gives no indication about the surge of blood flooding the lower half of my body.
“Nothing,” he replies after a couple of seconds of delay. “But there’s no harm checking.” He shifts his eyes back to me. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Holt.” He glances past my shoulder to Isabelle slowly clambering back into her seat, “And Ms…”
Not keen to offer an introduction, I dip my chin in farewell before gliding up my window until the tinted glass creates a barrier between us. With Jim’s focus on the no-doubt delinquent a few spots back, he cites no objection to my rude dismissal. While I pull back onto the almost desolate road, he paces toward the dark blue sedan with his hand hovering above his gun.
We’re half a mile down before I murmur to Isabelle, “You’ll pay for that tease later.”
