Chapter 5 Isaiah #2
The wet strand of hair clinging to her cheek trembles as she inhales.
The towel shifts on her chest, slipping a fraction, revealing the soft glow of damp, flushed skin.
A drop of water rolls from her hairline down the slope of her jaw, over the delicate angle of her throat, and disappears into the shadow at the edge of the towel.
I track its path with my eyes, and her pulse leaps under her skin like a startled bird.
“Isaiah…” she murmurs—my name a warning, a plea, a confession all in one. Her voice is thick with conflict, with the dizzying pull of wanting too many things at once.
I step closer—closer than I should, closer than she should let me—until my chest nearly brushes hers, until the warmth of her skin seeps into me like a burn.
“Angel,” I call back, my hand slowly brushing a damp strand of hair behind her ear. The movement is gentle, almost reverent, but it hits her like pressure against a bruise. Her eyes flutter half-closed before she forces them open again, stubborn to the last.
“You’re shaking,” I murmur.
“I’m cold,” she fires back, but the sharpness is gone. The clothes slip from her hands without her realizing, falling to the floor in a soft, defeated heap.
“Then let me warm you up.” I lean in until my forehead almost rests against hers, until our breaths catch and break in the same space.
My hands find her face, my thumbs stroking the high bones of her cheeks.
I don’t kiss her mouth. Not yet. That’s a different kind of surrender.
Instead, I lower my head, my lips finding the frantic pulse at the base of her throat.
It beats against my mouth like a trapped bird. So alive. So desperate.
A shudder runs through her, a full-body tremor that I feel deep in my own bones. Her head falls back, offering more of her neck to me, and a low, guttural sound scrapes out of her. Defeat. Relief.
“I’m obsessed with you Angel,” I murmur against her skin, my voice thick. “I need you. Asher needs you. Xavier needs you. You drive us fucking insane. You know that?”
My hands slide down, over the proud line of her shoulders, down the taut muscles of her arms. She’s a fighter.
I can feel the history of every victory and every loss written in the corded strength beneath her skin.
I worship it. I kiss a path down her sternum, my tongue dipping into the hollow between her collarbones.
I drop to my knees on the floor. The discarded clothes are a soft, forgotten rug beneath me. I look up at her, my gaze travelling the length of her torso, the fierce cut of her hips, the powerful, sculpted lines of her thighs. She is a goddess carved from willpower and sweat.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” I breathe, my hands smoothing up her calves, feeling the muscle flex under my palms. “Look at you. All this strength… and it’s all for me to cherish right now.”
Her stomach clenches as my fingers hook into the edge of the towel. I press my mouth to her lower abdomen, kissing the tight, quivering muscle there. She gasps, her fingers finding my hair, not pushing me away but tangling in the strands, holding on.
“Isaiah…”
“Tell me,” I say, my voice a low command against her skin. “Tell me what you want.”
She’s silent for a beat, the only sound her ragged breathing. Then, the whisper is torn from her. “You. Please.”
It’s all I need. I pull at the knot of her towel, leaving her completely bare before me. The air is thick with the scent of her—clean sweat, her perfume, and the unmistakable, musky sweetness of her arousal.
I guide her back until her legs press against the edge of the bed. “Lie back,” I instruct, my voice rough with want.
She obeys, sinking into the mattress, her eyes dark pools of need watching my every move. I push her thighs apart, settling between them. The sight of her, glistening and open for me, is almost enough to make me come undone. So beautiful. So ready.
I don’t dive in. I take my time. I start with the inside of her thighs, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, feeling her jump under my mouth. She’s trying to be quiet, biting her lip, but her hips make tiny, involuntary circles, begging for contact.
“Don’t hold back,” I growl. “I want to hear you. I want to hear what I do to you.”
I finally lower my mouth to her center. A slow, flat stroke of my tongue from bottom to top.
Her back arches off the bed with a sharp cry. Her hands fist in the sheets. “Oh, God!”
Yes. The taste of her explodes on my tongue—salty, sweet, utterly intoxicating. I focus on her clit, circling it with the very tip of my tongue, flicking it lightly. Her legs tense around my head, her heels digging into my back.
“You taste like heaven,” I moan against her, the vibration making her whimper. “You’re so wet for me. So perfect.”
I slide two fingers inside her, and she is so hot, so tight, she grips me like a fist. I curl them, finding that rough, spongy spot deep within her. Her entire body seizes.
“Right there! Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop!” she begs, her voice breaking.
I devour her. My tongue works her clit in frantic circles while my fingers pump into her, matching the rhythm of my mouth.
Her pleas become incoherent, a stream of curses and my name.
I can feel her climax coiling, tightening like a spring.
Her abs are rigid, her thighs shaking violently around my ears.
“Come for me, Valentina,” I command, my words muffled by her flesh. “Let me feel you come on my tongue. You’ve earned it. You deserve this.”
It’s the praise that shatters her. A raw, broken scream tears from her throat as her orgasm crashes over her.
Her body convulses, her inner muscles clenching rhythmically around my fingers, her hips bucking against my mouth as she rides out the waves of pleasure.
I don’t let up, licking and sucking her through it, drinking every last drop of her release until she’s whimpering, oversensitive, pushing weakly at my head.
I crawl up her body, kissing my way over her stomach, her ribs, taking a taut nipple into my mouth and sucking hard.
She cries out again, her sensitivity skyrocketing.
I finally claim her mouth, letting her taste herself on my lips and tongue.
She kisses me back fiercely, hungrily, her arms wrapping around my neck.
I free myself from my pants, my cock springing out, hard and aching. I position myself at her entrance, the head pressing against her slick heat. I look down into her dazed, blissful eyes.
“I need to be inside you,” I rasp. “I need to feel all that strength wrapped around me. Can I? Tell me yes.”
“Yes,” she gasps, her eyes fluttering shut. “Please, Isaiah. Now.”
I push in. One slow, inexorable thrust that makes us both cry out. She is still pulsing from her climax, impossibly tight and hot. I sink into her until I’m buried to the hilt, our hips flush. I still, letting us both adjust to the incredible feeling of being joined.
I open my eyes to see hers looking up at me, wide and vulnerable. I brush the hair from her forehead. “You are magnificent,” I whisper, and begin to move.
It’s not a frantic pace. It’s deep, reverent. Every thrust is a worship. I kiss her shoulders, her neck, her mouth, whispering praise into her skin. “So strong… so beautiful… taking me so well… my powerful, perfect girl.”
She meets every thrust, her strong legs locking around my waist, pulling me deeper. The sounds are obscene—the wet slap of our bodies, our mingled groans, the creak of the bed. She claws at my back, her passion tipping over into a slight, delicious pain.
I feel my own end approaching, a tidal wave of pleasure building low in my gut. But I’m not ready for it—not yet. I want this to last. Every second, every breath, every heartbeat. Valentina’s body is mine to worship, and I’m not done showing her just how much she means to me.
My pace slows, my thrusts growing deeper, more deliberate.
I press my forehead against hers, our breaths mingling as I whisper, “You’re incredible.
Do you know that? Every part of you… it’s like you were made for me.
” Her eyes flutter open, glazed with pleasure, and she nods, her lips parting in a silent cry as I hit that spot inside her again.
Her hands grip my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin, but I don’t care.
The pain is nothing compared to the ecstasy of being inside her, of feeling her body tighten and pulse around me.
“That’s it,” I growl, my voice rough with need.
“Take all of me. You’re so strong, Valentina. So fucking strong. Let me feel you.”
Her hips rise to meet mine, her legs tightening around my waist as she pitches closer to the edge. I can see it in her face, in the way her mouth opens wide, her back arching off the bed. “Isaiah,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “I’m close. I’m so close.”
“Then let go,” I command, my voice a low, desperate rumble.
“I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.” My hand slips between us, finding her clit and circling it with a firm, steady pressure.
Her entire body trembles, a strangled cry tearing from her throat as she shatters beneath me.
Her inner muscles clamp down on me like a vice, pulling me deeper, impossibly deeper.
The sensation is too much, too perfect. I bury my face in her neck, my hips snapping forward as I lose all control.
My release tears through me like a storm, white-hot and consuming.
I groan her name against her skin, my body shuddering with the force of it.
For a moment, there’s nothing else—just her, just us, wrapped in each other, completely undone.
When I finally come back to myself, I’m still inside her, both of us trembling and slick with sweat. I press a tender kiss to her collarbone, my lips lingering against her skin. “It doesn’t matter who, or what you choose,” I murmur, the words soft but fervent. “I choose you, okay? You.”