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“Not in the house,” I snap. He ignores me and blows out a puff of acrid smoke. I squeeze my eyes shut before reaching over and grabbing a towel, wiping my hands off as I turn to face him. He smiles and inhales another drag, his fingers pinching it as he watches me. Taunts me.
Rolling my neck, I pray for some kind of divine intervention to come down and smite his annoying ass, leaving me to my peaceful existence.
When nothing happens, I grit out, “I assume you’re staying here tonight?”
Roman’s eyes narrow and flick from me, to Eve, back to me again. With a sarcastic sound, he jerks a nod toward the living room. “Chair seems as good a place as any.” He tilts his head to the side, his eyes twinkling as he waits for my reaction.
“Sleep on the couch,” I sigh, refusing to let him bait me anymore. I’m fucking exhausted.
With a disappointed click of his tongue, he pushes off the counter and makes his way toward the back door. I let out a relieved breath that he’s at least taking his bad habit outside.
“Thank you, Ro,” Eve says quietly just before he’s out of sight.
His steps falter by the table, and he looks down at her. I hold my breath when he scoffs and leans over. Her giant blue eyes stare up at him, and I take a step forward, ready to intervene.
Slowly, he pulls the cigarette from his lips and lets it hover over her glass. As if in slow motion, I watch as he releases it, letting the half-smoked stick fall into her sweet tea. With a smirk, he taps the now scorched wood with his fingertips, and makes his way out of the kitchen, leaving Eve gaping after him and me filled with more rage than I’ve felt in years.
The soft click of my bedroom door shutting sounds like a bomb, and I jolt upright. It’s dark. The sounds of night are spilling through my open window, intermingling with my ragged breaths.
Blinking rapidly to adjust to the darkness, I inhale sharply when I spot a figure hovering in front of the closed door. Visions of the past, of similar nights, fill my mind in a tsunami of memories, nearly choking me.
My mouth parts, Roman’s name already forming, but it dies on my lips as the figure steps forward.
“Eve,” the raspy note to Isaac’s voice sends a shiver of worry down my spine and I shove the blankets off, ready to go to him. “Stay.”
Swallowing, I watch as he steps into the moonlight streaking across my bed. Eyes wide, I look him over, concern and panic flitting through my already too-nervous body. I couldn’t sleep. I just kept replaying the events of today, letting them wear a hole through my brain.
He’s still wearing the same clothes he’d been in earlier, which is surprising since it’s been such a long day. His button-down is wrinkled, his jeans creased in such an un-Isaac like way that it makes my breath catch. More than that, he’s barefoot.
Isaac hates being barefoot.
But what really has me worried is the darkness in his gaze, the circles beneath his eyes and the overwhelmingly lost expression on his handsome face.
We’re falling apart with Roman back. Our previous peace, our comfortable routine, has been ripped apart like a tornado’s torn through our home.
My hand reaches out and my heart begins to thrash around my already aching chest. “What’s wrong?” I whisper.
It’s a stupid question, I know it is. So maybe that’s why he ignores both my words and my hand as he begins to unbutton his shirt. He steps further into the faint light, closing the distance between us, and I catch the sight of his jaw ticking, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his fingers shaking.
He looks strung out.
“Strip,” he commands, his voice dark and unlike anything I’ve heard before.
My head rears back, and my throat tightens. “Wh-what?” I stumble over the word, my tongue feeling too thick in my dry mouth. He throws his shirt to the foot of my bed and starts working on his belt.
“I said strip,” he grunts. He must see the shock on my face because he pauses, his eyes fluttering closed as he takes a long, deep breath. When he looks at me again, some of the coldness is gone. “Please, sweetheart.” Without another word, I reach for the tie on my cotton shorts and slowly tug them down my thighs.
Maybe it’s because he used the nickname I’ve grown to love so much over the years, the comfort of it a soothing balm to my frazzled nerves. Maybe it’s because his voice cracked on the word please. Or maybe it’s the raw desire burning in his gaze that lights a need deep inside me that I’ve grown to crave these last few weeks.
His jeans hit the foot of my bed, followed by his boxer briefs. Not even a second later, he’s on me, yanking my shorts and panties from my body with a viciousness that fills me with nervous anticipation.
I trust Isaac. I know he’d never hurt me.
But if he did, he’d make it so damn good, just like in Savannah.
The reminder of the way he fucked my throat, the way he spanked my clit while murmuring depraved words before ruthlessly pounding into me, has my now bare pussy growing damp.
He shoves my oversized t-shirt out of his way and settles between my thighs, letting the heavy weight of his body pin me to the mattress. My fingers skim his back, reveling in the feel of his smooth skin.
