Chapter Twenty-One
Walker
My front door swings open, but I’m in a rush I’m not used to experiencing. I step into the shadow-dappled foyer, the lingering annoyance from that drawn-out meeting dissolving like mist under the sun's dying rays. But it's not the sunset that warms me—it's her. Isla, draped across my couch as if she's always belonged there, gazing through the windows at the brilliant horizon.
“Hey,” I say, my voice softer than intended. She turns, and the setting sun catches in her eyes, lighting them aflame with colors that outshine even the sky.
“Hi,” she says in response, her voice a whisper lost to the vastness of the room.
I move to her side, fueled by the sight of her here, in my home. Dipping down, my arms sweep around her delicate frame, and I pull her against me and stand back up. Her body trembles, a quiver that reverberates through my chest. Those wide eyes catch mine—fear, excitement, longing all swirling in their depths.
“I missed you,” I murmur against her hair, and without another thought, I begin to move. Her gasp is music to my ears as I carry her toward my bedroom, each step intensifying the thundering in my veins.
I step past the threshold, and the last rays of sunlight cast a golden glow on her. The cool contrast of my bedroom walls—the black and white hint birch trees that fade into the paint—frame her like a living piece of art, enhancing her natural beauty. My fingers itch to free her from the confines of her clothing, to explore the softness of her creamy skin.
“You’re beautiful.” I breathe out, barely recognizing my own voice it’s so thick with desire.
“Walker.” My name on her lips is a plea wrapped in innocence.
Just as I'm about to give in to the temptation of undressing her so my eyes can trace her perfection, a knock rings out in the quietness of my room where the only sound is our breathing. I growl an impatient sound, but know I need to respond. “Come in,” I say as Isla and I put a little distance between us, not that space cools my deep burning desire for her.
“Your phone, sir.” Evie's voice doesn’t belong in the charged air of my bedroom as she steps in, placing the forgotten device on a nearby table. “And dinner?” Her gaze sweeps over Isla, one eyebrow arching in silent inquiry.
“She hasn't eaten,” she adds pointedly.
“I wasn't hungry.” Isla’s soft, shy voice does things to my insides, and her eyes still lock on mine. But then she shrugs, mischief playing at the corners of her mouth. “I was waiting for you.”
I sense the comment means more than it seems on a surface level, and my mouth waters for her. “Please tell Charles to make a meal for two,” I tell Evie, dismissing her with a wave. The house manager nods, a knowing smirk on her lips as she exits, closing the door behind her.
“Where were we?” I ask, turning back to Isla, who smiles playfully at me.
“I think we were getting ready to eat,” she says, stepping out of reach as I try to pull her into my arms.
I can’t stop enjoying the excitement in her features as we sit at the dining table, the plates of salmon and rice before us a testament to Charles’ culinary skills. Each bite is rich with flavor, the spices perfectly balanced, but I might as well be eating dirt, because it's Isla I hunger for. My gaze lingers on the curve of her lips, the gentle tilt of her head as she takes a forkful of food, unaware of the intensity of my desire for her.
“Walker, this is delicious,” she says, a soft smile gracing her face.
“Charles is incredible at his craft.” I couldn’t agree more, though I barely taste the meal. Every cell in my body screams for a different kind of feast. One where her moans are the only sound and her body is my meal.
Dinner passes in a blur of half-eaten food and unspoken desire. She’s so soft and delicate, her cheeks pink and her eyes dancing as we discuss things neither of us care about – how the bar did in our absence, the nature of my meeting, the beauty of my home.
And as night envelops the world outside my penthouse in darkness, the real hunger within me roars to life with a newfound heat. Without another word, I stand and extend my hand to her. She places hers in mine, trust shining in her eyes, and I lead her to my bedroom.
The door clicks shut behind us, sealing us away from the world. Her chest rises and falls with each breath, anticipation painting her cheeks rosy pink. My fingers tremble slightly, betraying the extraordinary amount of self-control I’m exerting as they reach for the first button on her shirt. It parts easily under my touch, revealing the smooth skin beneath.
“Walker...” Her voice is light and shaky. “I've never done this before.”
At first, I think she means that she’s never slept with a boss, then my brain makes the leap. My hands still, and I meet her eyes, seeking the truth in them. “Never?”
She shakes her head, her eyes wide pools of honesty and a hint of fear. “I haven't done more than kiss.”
Desire wars with the need to worship her within me. I want her with an urgency that borders on primal, yet the knowledge of her innocence urges me to be cautious, to be tender, to make sure this is the experience of a lifetime for her. Leaning forward, I press my lips against hers and feel her melt into me.
“Then we'll take our time,” I whisper between kisses, feeling her respond, her body inching closer to mine.
With slow, gentle hands, I continue to undress her. Each button slips free, revealing more of her—her perfect breasts, the gentle tuck of her waist, the soft flare of her hips, the creamy skin of her thighs. The sight of her, so vulnerable and trusting, nearly undoes me.
“You’re beautiful,” I say, tracing the outline of her collarbone with my fingertips as goosebumps race across her flesh.
Her hands find mine, guiding them with silent permission to her ribs, her waist, her hips.
The room fills with the sound of our breathing, the soft rustle of clothing falling to the floor. Our hearts beat a matching rhythm, and I find myself longing for a new beginning. And as I explore the softness of her skin, I memorize every sigh, every shiver, every inch of her with my tongue, my lips, my touch.
The moment I lay her down, the world outside our embrace fades to nothing. My lips trace a fiery path from her neck, feather-light kisses down to her bellybutton, then lower, enjoying every bit of her. Each taste of her sweetness sends shivers through me as she trembles beneath my touch.
A moan escapes her lips as I part her with my tongue. Sliding from her entrance to the bundle of nerves, I feel her shiver. She comes alive under my mouth, gasps and moans leaving her with every motion of my mouth.
But I’m not in a hurry. I kiss, nibble, taste, and tease, loving her body and how responsive she is to me. Her sweet juices add to my desire, and I press my palm to my achingly hard cock as if I can ease the need to bury myself inside her.
“Please…” She breathes out, her voice a fragile thread of need as her back arches in a silent demand for more, though I doubt she knows exactly what she wants. Her fingers rake through my hair, guiding me, and I follow her lead without hesitation, loving every reaction, every hitch of her breath.
Knowing that I’m the first person to do this, to taste her, touch her, to make love to her feels like a responsibility I need to take seriously, but as every little motion and sound she makes threatens to undo me, I find myself holding on in hopes I can truly awaken her deepest desires.
Wrapping my arms under her thighs, I grip her hips, loving the way she moves, her hips tilting and moving in a way that tells me she wants me to move faster, go harder, to bring her to the heights of pleasure. And I listen. With my tongue on the most delicate part of her, I tease her body, making demands I have no right to make, but want all the same. She whimpers, her motions almost too quick, and I press her hips down, holding her captive in place. With a yelp of excitement, she doesn’t even try to struggle. Instead, she lets me hold her as her breathing increases and her back arches.
When she finally breaks, crying out softly, her body shakes with the force of release, and her hands tug my hair as if demanding I come closer. She won’t have to ask twice.
Rising above her, I shed the last barriers between us. My shirt hits the floor, followed by my pants. Her blurry gaze drinks in the sight of me—raw, unguarded, open—and I see the hunger there, wide-eyed and pure.
“Please,” she whispers, her voice laced with awe, and it's all the affirmation I need.
“Yes,” I say, my voice rough with emotion.
I kiss her again, tasting the sweetness of her lips, letting her feel the weight of my need. There's a tremor in her limbs, an enticing mix of anticipation and desire, and it spills from her in wordless whispers against my skin.
“More,” she begs, though the specifics are left unspoken.
I align myself with her, sliding up and down her slick warmth to gather up the moisture we’ll need for the next step. But my motions leave her squirming and moaning again. “You're so warm,” she murmurs as I continue trailing the tip of myself up and down her, before teasing at her entrance. She tries to pull me in, but I back up, continuing the up and down dance, swirling gently around her button before moving back as if I’ll enter her now.
I can sense her impatience growing, but her body tells me she’s ready with the rising level of moisture.
“Relax for me, Isla,” I whisper, pressing into her with a gentleness that belies my own raging want. She tightens up for a heartbeat before melting and welcoming me fully, her body yielding to mine.
When I’m fully buried within her, I stop, taking a moment to stroke her face, loving the light in her eyes and the way her breathing catches. There’s something in her expression that’s so perfect, so delicate, so beautiful I wonder how the hell I can ever walk away from this woman.
Her nails dig into my shoulders as I move, slow and easy, backing out before pushing back in, loving the slickness of her body as we slide together, the way she urges me in, and begs me not to go. Her soft whimpers turn to sounds of delight, filling the room, filling my senses, becoming the heartbeat of my world.
I’m trying to keep control, trying not to lose myself in her, trying to hold back from taking her in the most primal way. But I manage, and even as her scent fills my nose, her body welcomes me, and I feel like I’ve finally found my way home, I realize that there’s no turning back now.
“Don’t stop,” she whispers, and I’m not about to do so.
My restraint is stretched to the limits as her moans give way to cries of pleasure and maybe a hint of pain, her obvious joy and excitement triggering my primal instincts. All traces of the tenderness gives way to an urgent need, a passion that consumes me whole. I'm claiming her, body, and with each movement, she's claiming my very soul.
“God, Isla,” I groan, feeling her move beneath me, her hands on my shoulders, her legs tucked behind my thighs to keep me from leaving. The sensation of her skin against mine is better than I ever imagined, the sweet scent of her desire is heady in my nostrils, and the sounds she makes—those breathless little moans—are the most exquisite noises I’ve ever heard.
Isla is unforgettable. I've had countless encounters with women whose names and faces I’ve forgotten. None stuck to memory, none of them mattered, but Isla… I’ll never forget her, and I don’t think I can let her go.
She moves, her hips rising to meet each of my thrusts. Her fingers trace paths of fire along my back, pulling me closer, deeper. Our hearts go rounds like fighters in a boxing ring, and her gaze holds mine, alight with a wild excitement, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from our kisses.
The world beyond this room, beyond the pleasure of this moment in her arms, fades away until there's nothing but Isla and the need that roars through me, urging me to possess her completely.
“You're mine,” I growl, the declaration coming from somewhere deep in my chest. Her response is a soft whimper of consent as her body yields to my claim.
“Say it,” I command, my voice a low grinding sound that vibrates between us.
“I'm yours,” Isla whispers, the words sending a shockwave of possession through me. My movements become more insistent, pressing into her with a hunger that feels bottomless, endless, impossible.
“Since the first moment I saw you,” I say, my lips brushing against the tender skin of her neck. Every cell in my body screams that I belong to this woman, that we are bound by something far stronger than mere physical attraction. “You were mine.”
The realization hits me like a thunderclap—I'm addicted to Isla. There's no turning back, no possibility of erasing the mark she's made on me. She fits against me as if molded for my embrace, and the thought of wanting her again, even now, ignites a new blaze within me.
“Yes,” she whispers, and my heart throbs.
As she pushes her head back into my bed, I scrape my teeth on her throat, enjoying the way her body moves with mine, surrenders to me, and begs for more. With every push and pull, with every shared breath and whispered word, we're changing both our worlds forever, and there’s no going back.
The tension coils in her like a spring wound too tight, and I sense she’s teetering on the edge of pleasure. My lips taste the soft spot under her ear, the vibration of her windpipe as she moans, the goosebumps racing along her flesh. “Let go,” I whisper, my voice rough with need. “Come for me.”
A gasp rips from her lips, a delicate sound that tightens my grip on sanity. Her body clenches around me, a vice of warmth and pleasure, and my vision gives way to darkness, pricked by blinding dots of light. She arches her back, her breasts pressing to my chest and the rippling deep in her core drag my own release front and center even as I try to hold back.
But she’s not letting me be in control, whether on purpose or by accident, I don’t know, and the gripping of her body severs my ability to wait.
“Isla,” I growl as pleasure crashes over me, a burst of sensation that drowns out thought and reason. I spill into her, waves of relief chasing the pulsing tide of both our bodies.
Gently, I ease myself down onto her, her small frame nestled beneath mine. Sweat beads on her brow, evidence of the passion we've shared as I study her face. Her wide eyes, glazed with satisfaction, search mine, seeking reassurance after everything we’ve just shared.
With careful tenderness, I trace a fingertip along her eyebrow toward her dampened hairline, savoring the silkiness of her skin. Pressing a feather-soft kiss on her forehead, I can’t hold back the internal joy I feel. She is mine.
“Mine,” I murmur again, more to myself than to her.
She blinks, then a smile breaks across her lips like sunlight after a heavy rain. “Yours,” she whispers, her body melting under me as I continue kissing her. My body stirs, already ready for her again, though I worry about hurting her. I want to ask if she needs anything, to take care of her, but I also don’t want to overwhelm her.
Isla is perfection, and I don’t want to lose her before I’m ready to let her go. But that’s the problem…. I don’t know that I can ever let her go.
After the moment we just shared, the excitement I’ve never experienced before, the comfort in her arms and the pure pleasure she unleashed in me—she’s mine and I’m never letting her walk away. I can’t. I won’t. And I’m going to have to figure out how to make her okay with that.
I didn’t want to admit it before, but I’m in love with her. I want her like I’ve never wanted anyone else.
And I will let nothing stand between me and making her mine in every sense of the word.