Chapter Eleven
Isla
M y hands shook as I checked the time again.
I was pacing barefoot on the hardwood, my breath feeling too quick, my skin alternately burning then icy, nerves splashing inside me in tides.
My blue dress clung tighter than I'd intended, making every inch of me feel more exposed, more seen, and the soft silk ribbon at my throat pressed like a promise.
I kept going to the mirror, fingers checking the bow, the embroidered “Adrian” pressing into my skin.
I straightened a vase, fluffing lilies that didn’t need it. I checked my phone—nothing. Pulled out lip gloss, put it away.
I wanted this so much—I wanted him so much.
I’d tried to distract myself by cleaning, arranging plates, and smoothing my dress. My thighs stuck to each other, and I’d blame the weather, but the truth was that my whole body was on fire.
I craved, I needed , the heat of Adrian’s hands, the burn of his gaze .
I kept picturing the way he’d looked at me in the club, that hungry, unashamed look that had seared down my spine and made me want things I’d never said out loud.
I’d barely slept, rolling in my sheets, wishing the pillows were his hands, his mouth.
My mind looped the same wicked what-ifs. What if he slams me back against the door? What if he bites down? What if the ribbon isn’t the only thing he’ll mark me with?
Then the doorbell rang.
I jumped, my heart in my throat. After almost two weeks of messages, tasks, and rewards, he was here.
My Adrian was here.
I smoothed my dress for the hundredth time, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and moved toward the door on legs that suddenly felt like water.
I opened it and collided with a force of nature.
Adrian filled the doorway like he was too big for this world. Six-foot-four of pure muscle and ink, messy brown hair slightly damp as if he'd just showered.
He wore black jeans that hugged his powerful thighs and a deep green button-up with the sleeves rolled to expose his forearms. The top three buttons were undone to reveal the tattoos that crawled up his neck and chest.
The shirt's color made his eyes even more vibrant, like dark emeralds catching fire. They burned, pinning me in place.
My whole spine vibrated with longing.
No shy glances down, no urge to duck away, just longing, raw and bright. I wanted him to realize exactly how badly I was unraveling from the weight of his presence.
I took a step toward him, heartbeat stuttering, the air between us practically trembling. His nostrils flared, and a slow, dark grin cut across his mouth.
“Angel.”
His voice was deeper and richer in person than over the phone .
His gaze dropped to the ribbon at my throat, and something darkened in his expression, hungry, pleased, and possessive all at once.
"Adrian," I breathed, suddenly unsure what to do with my hands, my face, my entire body.
He rested a strong forearm above my head, massive against the doorframe. "You gonna invite me in, or are we doing this in the walkway?”
He raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Not that I mind an audience. Blue looks real good on you.”
The world blurred. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink. He bent, his mouth grazing my ear, hot enough to make my thighs clench.
“You want me to lose control? Want me to make you mine so everyone out here would know?”
My brain emptied out, replaced with need. I wasn’t scared—I was soaked , helpless, ready. I pressed into his chest, hips tilting automatically, everything in me straining for contact.
He gave it, and hard.
Adrian crossed the threshold, bringing with him the scent of expensive cologne. His hand slid—big and greedy, fingers spreading shamelessly, spanning my waist, hauling me tight to his body.
I gasped, feeling the hot, rigid press against my belly.
“You’re starving for it. You want me, angel? Want someone who’ll ruin you?”
I answered without words. I arched into him, my mouth desperate.
He took my jaw, tilting my head back with commanding force, gaze locked to my lips.
“Mine,” he growled, mouthing the word against the corner of my mouth. Then he bit, hard enough to sting.
His other hand slipped down, grabbing a fistful of my thigh and yanking me flush.
I whimpered, shame abandoned.
His voice darkened, almost a snarl, “I haven’t even kissed you yet, and I already want to fuck you so hard the neighbors’ll hear.”
The laugh that spilled out of me was half-wild, and he grinned a dangerous, delighted, untamed grin. “Yeah, angel. You get it. This is what happens when you give a monster an invitation.”
Finally, with the front door opened wide for the world to see, Adrian kissed me.
It was not careful, it was not gentle—it was a hungry claim. I moaned into his mouth, desperately tangling my fingers in his hair, grabbing onto his shirt like I could bruise him back.
When we broke, breathless, he pulled back just enough to look down; he palmed my jaw, thumb still pressed against my lip.
“You want something to drink, or just my cock down your throat?” He tipped his head, playing the predator in a party hat. “Or both, if you’re thirsty.”
The way he looked at me, wild, unblinking, a shade too dark to be sane, stripped me open.
I giggled, high and jittery, from nerves and adrenaline. “Both?”
He grinned, loose and rowdy, the boyishness in him somehow made obscene by all that underlying violence.
“Someone’s high on me already, hmm?”
Then, as if he couldn’t help it, he leaned in, nipped the edge of my jaw, and whispered, “Let’s get you hydrated, and then I’ll show you what happens to good girls brave enough to open the door for me.”
He herded me to my fridge, not bothering with personal space, crowding me with every predatory inch of himself. “Kitchen, pretty girl. I need you prepped for marathon mode.”
His big hand anchored in the small of my back, heat rolling off him in waves.
The apartment shrank, blurred at the edges, a world reduced to Adrian’s presence shadowing me closely.
His fingers grazed the top of my ass, making my insides coil even tighter with need.
He popped open the fridge with one hand, pulled out a juice box, and glanced at me over his shoulder.
“So these are the famous Crew juice boxes.” He waggled a straw at me, low and teasing. “Apple or lemonade? ”
I couldn’t stop giggling, couldn’t stop trembling. “Apple,” I squeaked, not trusting myself for anything more eloquent.
“Good choice.” He stabbed the straw in and handed it over. “Drink. I want you nice and hydrated.”
He watched as if entranced as I drank, fully crowding me against the counter, hand caging my waist.
Every swallow, his eyes tracked my throat like he wanted to rip the ribbon away and mark me properly, again and again.
“The faster you drink, the faster I get to ruin you,” he murmured, palms bracketing my hips now, thumbs stroking the plush curve right above my thighs.
I drank, throat bobbing, and his thumb traced the ribbon possessively.
Somehow, the air thickened even more, oxygen sticky with tension and the promise of everything I’d been aching for since that first night.
He licked his lips slowly, already taking me in.
“That’s my girl. Hydrated and obedient. You’re going to last through everything I put you through tonight.”
I finished the juice, nearly breathless, and he took the empty box, setting it aside without looking away.
“I want you,” I managed.
He inhaled like he wanted to drag me straight into his lungs. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, angel. I get started and I don’t wanna fucking stop.”
He dragged his nose along my jaw. “You’re soft everywhere; I want teeth marks, finger dents, sweat running down these perfect curves. I want you to remember my hands every time you shift in your chair tomorrow.”
His hand cupped the undercurve of my ass, squeezing until I squirmed, helpless to stop the needy sound pressing out of me.
“You’re killing me,” I whispered.
“No, angel,” he crooned, lips ghosting my earlobe, “I’m keeping you alive . You ever pass out from too many orgasms? I want to do that to you. I’m gonna have you begging for breaks and then for more.”
He meant every word, laughing as he kissed me, frantic and rough. His hands framed my waist, gripping at every inch of my softness like it belonged only to him, like he was savoring a meal.
He lifted me, easy, like my body was made for his hands alone, and the marble counter was suddenly cold against my bare thighs.
His breath coiled heat on my neck. “God, Isla, all these curves… What am I supposed to do but mark every single inch?” He said it like a blessing, tracing the dip of my waist out to the line of my thigh.
He knelt, a man so dangerous down at my feet, palms on my knees, pushing slowly until my legs spilled open for him.
My heart was thundering in my ears, and my panties were Niagara Falls.
“You like being watched, yeah?” His tone, all dirty-knowing and proud, made me wetter.
His tattooed fingers locked around my ankles, splaying my knees wide until the kitchen lights bared all of me for his devouring eyes.
“You didn’t care when I was watching you with those venomous bitches in the café, did you?”
My brain was melting. “I liked it,” I admitted. Under his stare, I liked it so much I wanted to die.
He grinned widely and a little unhinged, licking up the inside of my calf, teeth scraping skin. “You pretty little masterpiece,” he muttered, making me needy and desperate.
He nipped at my skin, and I jolted, unable to stop the mewling hitch in my breath.
His eyes caught mine, black-green, wild as anything. “You want more? You want it rough?”
His growl was an animal, a lover, a king on his knees. “Be polite, ask for your ruin.” He squeezed the plush of my thigh, staking his claim with every touch.
A shiver raked me, hot and helpless. “Please… give it to me.”
The air thrummed as I spoke it. A secret given, a dare accepted .
His smile went feral. “My good girl begs so sweet.”
He took my foot, his big, inked hand gentle on my ankle.