Chapter 20
Wes
Ifollow Isla from the room as her ex stares at me with a smug smile plastered on his face.
My hand forms a fist. He talks like a man who’s never been clocked before, and I’d gladly be the one to take that on, but not if it will upset Isla.
She asked to make our relationship believable, but my behavior had nothing to do with fulfilling that promise. I want to defend her, to shut down any disrespect thrown her way. I won’t tolerate it.
“Isla, I—”
“Not yet,” she cuts in, as we pass through the foyer to the opposite side of the house.
We pass room after room, filled with pristine decoration, the likes of which I’ve only seen in movies. It’s hard to imagine growing up in a place like this, cold and stiff like a museum.
My nerves ratchet the longer she remains quiet. Did I take it too far? I don’t think she’d object to anything I said, but she could think I overstepped. I spoke up not because Isla can’t handle the situation, but because she shouldn’t have to listen to that garbage.
Isla finally opens a door, holding it open for me to enter. I remain silent, waiting for her to tell me off for what I said and did, but she only stares.
Fuck. She’s so damn beautiful, biting her lip as her eyes devour me.
How that dipshit could reduce her value down to whether or not she bore him children is beyond me.
He expected her to set aside her dreams to fulfill his.
Whatever love existed between them, I’d bet my entire life savings that it wasn’t the real deal.
No person could throw away another so easily if it were.
And I would never speak about my ex-wife like Chip talked about Isla.
I break the silence. “You’re killing me, Covington. Say something. Yell at me if you need to, but for the record, that fucking asshole deserved a lot more than I said a—”
Isla pushes off the door, taking a few steps forward until she’s leaping into my arms. My hands land on her ass, securing her to me. She wraps her legs around my body while she presses her lips against my neck.
“Not mad then,” I rasp, walking forward and spinning us until my back hits the wall.
“Not mad,” she murmurs. She traces her tongue along the length of my neck. “Turned on.”
My pulse hammers faster with every passing second I have her in my arms. Isla shifts, and her dress rides up higher. When I go to smooth it down, my hands connect with lace, rough against her soft skin, and I groan, imagining how incredible she must look in it.
She takes my earlobe into her mouth, sucking lightly and applying a tease of teeth. I’m instantly hard. Isla’s hand brushes against my crotch, and I hiss.
“I like finding out what you’re into,” she murmurs.
I gently guide her head back far enough so our eyes meet. She’s drunk on me, pupils like saucers overtaking the blue shade I love.
“I like everything you do, Red.” I release a slow, uneven breath, barely holding myself together. “Far more than I should.”
I turn us around, pushing Isla’s back against the wall, and slam my mouth against hers. She gasps, but takes no time to respond, lips locking on mine. My other hand skims up her body, beginning at her exposed thigh. She shivers against me.
“Wes,” she moans, her sneakers digging harder into my back, pulling me closer.
I want her to get everything she wants. She deserves to have someone say yes, again and again, for no other reason than she asked.
And yet, the inconvenience of where we are prevents me from fully giving into this moment.
“Isla, wait.” I rip my lips away from hers, delighting in the pink, swollen sight I leave behind. “Where are we?”
“Music room. Brooks went through this drumming phase when he was in middle school.” She flashes me a mischievous grin. “It’s soundproof.”
“Isla.” A tortured warning.
“What?”
I glance to the side, finally taking in our surroundings.
A drum kit sits in the center of the room, a couch against one wall, the other filled with assorted musical instruments.
Any other day, I’d kill to play those and show off my musical talents to impress this woman, but I’ve got other things on my mind.
“I want to take my time with you.” I run a finger along the smooth skin of her jaw.
She loosens the grip of her legs and slides down the wall until her feet reach the floor. “I can solve that problem.”
Isla and I walk back into the silent dining room, hand-in-hand. She didn’t bother to smooth down her hair, so it’s clear we did more than talk. Not that I care what these people think of us.
She hovers behind her seat and glances briefly at me before turning to her mother, “We’re going to take off.”
“Now?” Isla’s mother asks.
The Covingtons thought they could invite Isla’s ex and his mother to dinner and that she’d sit there as if it didn’t bother her. Screw that.
Her father’s strong voice booms across the room. “Isla, your mother worked hard on this dinner.”
“And I’ll be sure to enjoy the leftovers, if you want to send them home with us.”
Her mother lets out a heavy sigh. “Isabella, we haven’t seen you in a year. What daughter does that to her family?”
“Can’t you see what you’re doing to your mother?” her father chimes in again.
No one at this table considers Isla’s feelings, aside from Brooks. But he’s been mostly silent since we arrived. He’s as fucked up over this family as Isla.
“If you can’t manage to sit at the same table as me, I can leave,” Chip says, but it’s not kind. He’s trying to manipulate her to stay.
I hope I run into him in a dark alley one day.
I clear my throat. “Isla’s not the one with the problem. I am.” Her head snaps toward me, but nothing on her face indicates she wants me to stop talking, so I continue. “I can’t listen to your bullshit any longer.”
I face Isla’s mother, then slowly turn my head toward her father.
“It’s up to her who she sees. Isla made it clear she wants nothing to do with this joke of a man”—I nod in Chip’s direction, but don’t give him a modicum of my attention—“who prioritized himself over his wife. It’s embarrassing to watch him insult her because he can’t have her anymore, but it’s infuriating to watch her family join in. ”
“Hold on,” Chip shouts, trying to defend himself. “I don’t—”
“You do.” I stare him down and take the time to enunciate every word so he doesn’t mistake that I’ve clocked his little boy routine for what it is.
“Otherwise, you wouldn’t have brought your mommy here tonight.
I get it. It would suck to lose someone as incredible as Isla.
I hope I never have to find out what that’s like. But she made her decision. Move on.”
Isla’s hand slips into mine, and I clasp it like it’s the precious gift it is. I don’t want to end up like Chip, full of regret and longing for a woman I’ll never have again. And if I don’t make a move, that’s exactly where I’ll end up.
I can be the guy who deserves her. Tonight I proved that to myself. Now, I need to prove it to her.
“You’re right. You should leave,” Isla’s father commands in an icy tone.
“Don’t talk to her like that,” Brooks states, voice low and firm. His stare remains fixed on his father. An entire conversation passes without either of them saying another word. Whatever their baggage is, it’s heavy.
“We are.” Isla puts a hand on her brother's shoulder. “It’s fine, Brooksy. I'll see you at home.” She bends down to whisper something into his ear, and he nods.
She turns to her parents. “I won’t be back unless you make changes to our relationship. I have to do what’s best for my mental health, and subjecting myself to nights like this isn’t good for me. I’m sorry that it has to be this way, but you’ve made your choices. This is mine.”
She turns on her heel, leading me out of the house the same way we went in, except we’re not the same. Neither of us is pretending about anything; I’m certain of it.
Isla steers me in the opposite direction from where we parked the car.
I follow as she leads us around the side of this absurdly huge building through an iron gate.
The enormous backyard with its fireplace, waterfall, and pool could feature on an HGTV show about entertaining in the summer.
I still can’t believe she grew up in a place like this.
“You said I could choose what we do after this,” Isla says as she opens the door to the pool house, a standalone building fifty feet back from the main house.
She turns on the lights, which are on dimmers, and keeps them at a low setting.
“No one comes out here except for parties. It’s just us, and I need to show you exactly how much it means to me that you had my back. ”
“That’s not why I said what I did. You don’t owe me.”
“I know,” she says softly. Her hands fumble with my belt, periodically brushing against my hardening dick. “And you know that’s not why I’m offering, why I’m desperate to wrap my mouth around you.”
Fucking hell, she’s making it hard for me not to give in to her. But I don’t want to be another guy in her history who takes what he wants without being attuned to her needs.
My hands land on hers, stilling her movements. Gently, my fingers nudge her chin up, an invitation to look at me. Isla’s eyes slowly rise to meet my gaze.
“Unless this isn’t something you want.” She bites her lip, and my gut tightens.
“I can’t think of a single situation where I wouldn’t want your mouth on me, Red. But you’re not kneeling on this cold, hard floor. Follow me.”
I tug her hand, leading her over to the couch and guide her onto it.
Isla Covington is going to put her mouth on me, and I’m going to be ruined for anyone else.
Hopelessly lost to the figure skater who steals my breath, to the woman with the smart mouth who has no problem putting me in my place.
The idea terrifies and drives me fucking wild in equal measure.
She undoes my belt, then frees me of my pants and boxers in one motion. My cock springs free, bobbing in the space between us. The head glistens, desperate for release after weeks and weeks of relentless agony from Isla winding me up.
Her fingers spread the bead of wetness down my length while she pumps me. Every movement drives me to the edge of losing the last shred of control.
“I like your noises,” she admits, tightening her grip until another groan spills from my lips. “Don't hold back, Wes. It’s turning me on more.”
Her next move makes it impossible to hold back. Her mouth engulfs my cock—hot, tight, and so fucking soft. My grunt echoes around us, and Isla hums her approval. My hand grips the back of her head, wanting to keep her in place, desperate not to lose this euphoric feeling.
Isla controls the pace, her moves deliberate to maximize my torment. Each time, my hips jerk, she slows us down until I gain my composure before she quickens her pace again.
I’m so fucking desperate for relief that I’m turning into a whimpering mess each time she takes away the pressure I need.
But each time she starts taking my cock again, sliding her mouth up and down my shaft, I’m grateful that she’s prolonging this for me.
I’m unraveling at the seams, but I don’t want this to end.
Isla pulls back with a loud pop, holding my dick in front of her mouth. “Take over, Wes,” she commands, as she shifts onto her back, hanging her head off the edge of the couch. “Use me.”
I drop to my knees in front of her. “Dammit, Isla. I didn't expect you to be so willing to please me.”
My discipline pales in comparison to hers, my hips thrusting in and out of her mouth as I chase my release. Isla’s legs fall apart, her hand sliding her dress up and dipping into the black lace on display. It’s the perfect tease, keeping me from seeing all of her like I so desperately need to.
My hips jerk, pulling my cock out of her mouth before I blow. “Oh, my…fuck, Isla. I can’t—”
“What’s wrong?” She rolls over, scrambling into the position she started in.
“I’m losing my mind watching you touch yourself. I need to taste you.” The desperation in my voice echoes the pounding deep in my gut, the barely contained need for her.
Her eyes drop to where I’m pinching my cock, trying to stave off my orgasm. “But you’re still—”
“I can wait.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” I ask, needing to know that she’s agreeing because she wants this, too.
Isla scoots forward until her hips border the edge of the couch.
She lifts her dress clean over her head, giving me my first full view of her body.
I drink her in, all lean muscles, soft creamy skin, and a scattering of adorable freckles.
Her naval ring shimmers in the moonlight, and this time, I can admire it without needing to avert my gaze.
Matching black lace undergarments, the only fabric left on her, are obscene.
“Fuck, you’re incredible,” I sigh, advancing toward her on my knees. I place my hands on her hips and kiss her. Isla’s breathless sigh sends another bolt of longing straight to my cock.
I reach around her, unclasping her bra and sliding the straps down her arms. My hand lands on her stomach, pressing gently until she’s lying flat.
I drag her panties down her legs and smirk up at her, tapping my shoulders. “Knees here, Red.”