When my eyes lock with Isabelle’s partway through my endeavor to strip out of the clothes suddenly making me feel hot, the unease heating my blood cools. She isn’t looking at me like I’m a monster who purchases children on the black market. She actually looks a little gluttonous.
And her smugness amplifies when I ask, “What do you want to know?”
After raking her teeth over her lower lip, she blurts out, “What did you think when I tumbled at your feet at the airport?”
I suck in a relieved breath before exhaling it with a string of words. “You continue to surprise me every day, Isabelle.”
Her brows stitch together. “Why, what type of question were you expecting?”
The beep of the microwave saves me in more ways than one. When Isabelle’s eyes slide to the dinging contraption, I slip Callie’s sale document into the top drawer before removing our late dinner from the lifesaver.
Once I have it sitting between our plates, I reply, “To be honest, I thought your fall was a ruse to gain my attention.” My next comment makes me sound like a chauvinistic pig. Rightfully so. “I’ve become accustomed to the tactics women use to secure my devotion these past few years.” I scoop a generous helping of lasagna onto Isabelle’s plate before confessing something I had no intention to share until the quirking of her lips encouraged an honesty I was beginning to question. It’s been a rough couple of weeks that have seen my hands stained with more dirt than I ever thought possible. “But the instant your big, beautiful eyes looked up at me, I knew it wasn’t a ploy. You were truly embarrassed and seemingly unaware of who I was.”
“I didn’t have a clue who you were until after I arrived at Ravenshoe.”
Her reply doesn’t shock me. I built my empire around Ravenshoe, and although tidbits of information extend to the other regions of America, it’s usually more on the gossip pages than the financial reports boring accountants regularly read.
Isabelle’s job title has me wondering how much she knows about her family legacy. Did she pick a mundane, often thankless job to keep her out of the limelight, or does number-crunching get her off?
While recalling the screams of ecstasy that tore from her throat only hours ago, I realize it isn’t the latter. Isabelle may be many things, but a boring accountant who gets hot and bothered over a spreadsheet is not one of them.
When I catch Isabelle’s curious gawk, I shift the focus back to me. It’s easier than endeavoring to work out her every quirk. She wouldn’t leave my bed for days since the only time she is being totally forthright is when we’re messing the sheets. “I guess I allowed my stellar reputation in Ravenshoe to get the better of me.” I grab a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator. “I’m certain everyone in Ravenshoe knows who I am, but you’ve humbly reminded me there’s a whole world outside of Ravenshoe that doesn’t have a clue about some arrogant businessman named Isaac Holt.”
A chuckle rumbles in my chest when she mutters, “Their loss.”
But before I let the tension in the air get away from me, I nudge my head to Isabelle’s plate of food. “Eat, Isabelle. You’ll need your energy.”
She hides her smile with her fork before she digs into her meal.
We eat in silence for the next couple of minutes before we ease into a conversation that is as natural as the heat on Isabelle’s cheeks when she catches my admiring glance. We talk about many things. The weather. My brother. Even Cormack and Harlow slip in a couple of times.
Then, as a second glass of wine trickles into Isabelle’s stomach, we switch the conversation to one that is far more teasing. We speak about our time atMummo Kotiand our thrilling jet-ski ride before we veer our focus to the stimulating events that occurred after that.
To my utmost surprise, our conversation never dips into negative territory. Isabelle doesn’t bring up Col or the deceased girlfriend I’d rather not talk about. She references the meal we shared at my first Italian restaurant, her wish to learn a foreign language, and how she wants to helm our ride the next time we go out on jet skis.
It’s clear from the lack of embarrassment on her face while discussing her carnal desires that her needs are almost as insatiable as mine, and the reminder has my impatience growing to a point I can no longer ignore.
After waiting for her to swallow the chunk of lasagna in her mouth, I toss our dirty dishes into the sink, pluck her off the stool, plant her backside onto the counter, then grumble about her decision to wear a pair of jeans to dinner.
The setting is extremely casual, but the rigid material isn’t as easy to shred off her body as her panties, which I do two seconds after tugging her jeans to her knees. When I bury my head between her legs, Isabelle secures a tight grip on the edge of the counter. Her knuckles go white when I drag the tip of my tongue up her slit before circling it around her clit.
“Oh, god,” Isabelle pants, her words quivering as much as her thighs when I slip a finger into her drenched center. “That feels so good.”
As she weaves her fingers through my hair, securing my mouth to her pussy, I tease her clit with back-to-back rapid-fire flicks of my tongue. It only takes two hard strikes to send her freefalling over the edge. While whimpering my name with a husky moan, her thighs clamp around my head, and the most fucking seductive thing I’ve ever tasted coats my tongue.
“Eyes, Isabelle,” I demand when the quivers wracking havoc with her body have her dying to flop her head back to peer at the ceiling.
When she locks her eyes with mine, the wetness between her legs amplifies, and her taste becomes more ardent. “Good girl,” I praise before licking up every drop of her goodness before it gets close to reaching the glistening countertop.
Over the next several minutes, I plunge my tongue in and out of her along with my finger, lick her drenched slit, and toy with her clit until her wish to climax again returns more potent than ever.
I love how insatiable we are for one another and how one exchange would have never been enough. It was foolish of me ever to believe otherwise, and I won’t make the same mistake any time soon.
While watching lust burn through Isabelle’s eyes, I tug down the zipper in my pants, then pull my cock out of the tight opening.
“Oh my god,” Isabelle garbles out between big breaths when her eyes lower to drink in the stroking movements of my hand. “Are you…” Her pussy clamps around my fingers as the rocking of her hips double. “That’s so fucking hot.”
When her confession causes my cock to leak with pre-cum, I stroke it a handful more times before gathering up the sticky droplet pooling at the tip with my thumb. While flicking Isabelle’s throbbing clit with my tongue, I smear my precum onto her lip before dipping my thumb into her mouth. The moan she releases is felt by both my mouth and tongue. She’s on the verge of coming again, and it is a combination of my taste and watching me stroke my cock pushing her there.
