11. Chapter 11
Chapter 11
I saac locked the door behind him, flipping the deadbolt like it could possibly keep Rosie inside.
Like she wouldn’t just walk out the second she wanted to.
And fuck, maybe she would.
He wasn’t confident he could keep her here.
Yeah, he’d dragged her off the beach. Literally. But Rosie wasn’t some woman he could just boss around, talk into submission, charm into compliance.
If she wanted to leave?
She’d find a way.
His phone buzzed again.
Fucking Elodie.
He exhaled hard, pulling it out of his pocket, glancing at the screen.
Where are you?
What happened?
Did you get caught up with work?
He silenced the notifications, thumbs flicking over the keyboard.
Change of plans.
Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.
He hesitated.
Then, just to make it clear—
Go have fun without me.
A few seconds passed.
Then—
??
Okay then. Let me know.
He tossed the phone onto the counter, rolling his shoulders, trying to shake off the weird weight pressing down on his chest.
He needed to fuck.
And not Rosie.
Not her.
Not his so-called pity project.
Yeah, maybe he did feel bad for her.
A woman like her—gorgeous, talented, sharp as hell—who had spent her whole life fighting for every goddamn thing, only to still end up with nothing.
Shouldn’t he feel bad?
Is that wrong?
The thought made his skin prickle.
Made something in his gut feel too tight, too uncomfortable.
And he didn’t want to sit with it.
Didn’t want to admit it.
He rubbed a hand over his jaw, exhaling slow.
Rosie had stopped talking to him.
The guest room door was shut.
And he wasn’t about to be the asshole who knocked on it.
So—fine.
He’d leave it.
He turned off the lights, stripping off his shirt as he made his way into his own room.
Not exactly how he imagined his night going.
But whatever.
Guess tonight was gonna be a simple eat. Pass out. Done.
Except—it wasn’t.
Because he was lying awake.
Staring at the ceiling, muscles tight, chest heavy, mind spinning.
What the fuck was he even doing?
Rosie was here now.
In his house.
Probably still pissed as hell.
And why did that bother him so much?
Why did he care if she was mad?
Why did he care that she didn’t want to need him?
Why the fuck did he care so much about any of this?
Isaac gritted his teeth, exhaling sharply.
His cock was hard.
His whole body felt wound too tight, too restless. Abstinence wasn’t a thing for him. His hand slipped down, palming his cock through his sweats.
No relief.
Nothing.
His jaw clenched, frustration simmering just under the surface. Everything sucked. And for once, not even getting himself off was gonna fix it.
He let out a sharp breath, dragging his forearm over his eyes.
Fuck everything.
The night stretched long and unbearable, the weight of it pressing down on Isaac like a fever, hot and relentless.
He was half in a daze, somewhere between sleep and frustration, his body burning with too much heat, too much tension, too much fucking want.
At some point, he’d kicked off his sweats, leaving himself naked beneath the sheets, one hand still wrapped roughly around his cock, trying—**failing—**to ease the pressure building under his skin.
His jaw clenched, his breathing shallow, sweat dampening his hairline as he dragged his palm over himself again, harder, rougher.
Nothing.
No fucking relief.
Just torture.
Just blue eyes flashing in the dark.
Just cherry lips slick and parted, teasing in ways they never should be.
He groaned, shifting against the mattress, squeezing his eyes shut.
And then—
The door cracked open.
Isaac’s breath hitched, his body stilling.
A small, familiar silhouette, framed by the faint moonlight spilling in from the window.
Bare legs.
Oversized t-shirt.
Rosie.
Silent.
Still.
Only the sound of the ocean breeze slipping in through the open window, rustling the curtains, cool air dancing over his overheated skin.
She hesitated at the door.
Isaac swallowed hard, his voice low, rough, drenched in something dark.
“Come.”
His hand never left his cock.
His skin flushed, burning, aching.
She listened.
Jesus Christ, she listened.
She stepped forward, slow and deliberate, the pads of her bare feet soft against the floor.
Isaac’s pulse slammed against his ribs as she moved beside the bed, standing over him, hovering.
For a moment, she just stared.
At him.
At the way the sheets had slipped low, barely covering anything.
At the way his cock was thick, hard, straining against his stomach, swollen and aching for relief.
She reached for the sheet.
Pulled it down.
Isaac swore under his breath.
His cock bounced against his stomach, so hard it fucking hurt, the air cool against his flushed skin.
Her eyes darkened.
Lit up, like something new and wild had just settled behind them.
His voice came out low, almost strangled. “Definitely dreaming.”
Then she climbed onto the bed. Slow. Deliberate. Straddling him, thighs settling over his lap, sitting back just enough to keep him from losing his goddamn mind.
Her hands were small, unsure, inexpert. But she still wrapped one around his cock, still dragged her fingers up his shaft, feeling the heat, the weight, the thick pulse beneath her palm.
Isaac groaned, his head pressing back against the pillow, his hips twitching up into her touch.
“Fuck,” he muttered, jaw clenched, muscles locked.
Her lips parted.
Fingers tightened, tested.
He gritted his teeth, his voice all wrecked and ruined. “Yeah, definitely fucking dreaming.”
And then she shifted, rising her hips up and pulling his cock towards the opening of her pussy. The moment Rosie lowered herself onto his cock, Isaac forgot how to breathe.
Forgot everything.
The world collapsed to this.
The stretch of her, the slick, slow glide of her body taking him into her pussy, inch by inch, so tight and hot and perfect that he swore he saw white.
His fingers dug into her thighs, gripping hard, his entire body locked up beneath her.
“Jesus Christ,” he gritted out, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
Rosie made a soft, whimpering sound, her hands bracing against his chest as she sank lower, taking him deeper.
Isaac groaned, his fingers flexing, fighting the urge to just grip her hips and drive himself up into her.
But he didn’t.
Because this—this was hers.
She was taking what she needed.
And fuck if that wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
Her eyes fluttered shut, lips parted, breath uneven, her head tipping forward as she rolled her hips, testing, adjusting.
His cock throbbed, twitched, burned inside her.
He sucked in a sharp breath, watching her lose herself, watching her ride him like she wasn’t the same quiet, careful Rosie he’d known all his life.
No.
This Rosie was hungry.
She wanted.
She was taking.
And it was wrecking him.
“Fucking hell, Rosie,” he groaned, dragging a hand up her spine, feeling the warmth of her, the heat pooling at the nape of her neck.
She circled her hips, slow and teasing, making him hiss between his teeth.
“You feel…” she trailed off, voice wrecked, eyes dark and heavy with something new.
Isaac swallowed, his throat tight, muscles trembling with restraint.
“Yeah?” he rasped, voice like gravel, rough with need. “What do I feel like?”
Her lashes fluttered.
She bit her lip, hard.
His cock twitched inside her.
She gasped, rolling her hips again, harder, chasing something she clearly hadn’t felt before.
Isaac saw it, fucking felt it, the way she was unraveling on top of him.
His hands slid up, gripping her waist, thumbs tracing the curve of her ribs.
Her shirt was in the way.
His lips parted, desperate to see, desperate to touch.
And fuck it—he wasn’t a saint.
With a rough tug, he grabbed the hem and pulled it over her head, tossing it somewhere he didn’t care about.
Rosie gasped, body flushing under his gaze, her arms twitching like she wanted to cover herself.
He didn’t let her.
“Don’t,” he muttered, dragging his hands up the softness of her stomach, cupping her breasts, thumbing over the peaks.
She arched into him, moaning, her thighs squeezing tight against his hips.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, lifting himself up just enough to drag his mouth over the curve of her breast, sucking, biting, teasing.
She shuddered, trembling against him, her fingers gripping his hair, hips rolling faster, rougher, chasing the friction.
His control snapped.
“That’s it,” he gritted out, his grip tightening, guiding her, making her take him deeper, harder, pushing her closer.
She was gasping now, breath hitching, hands bracing on his shoulders.
“You like this?” he muttered, dragging his lips up her throat, biting, soothing with his tongue.
She nodded frantically, unable to speak.
“Yeah, you do,” he growled, gripping her hips, driving up into her, meeting her pace.
She cried out, wrecked, desperate, wild.
And fucking hell, she was stunning like this.
Eyes dark, lips swollen, completely undone because of him.
She wasn’t some pity project.
She was his equal, his match, his undoing.
And she was about to fucking break.
“Come for me, Rosie,” he whispered, nipping at her jaw, voice thick with promise. “Come on my cock, baby.”
Her whole body tensed.
And then—
She shattered.
And Isaac was so fucking close, his entire body shaking, muscles locked tight, barely holding onto the last thread of restraint.
Rosie was wrecked beneath him, her body still shuddering, thighs squeezing tight around his waist, her chest rising and falling in desperate, gasping breaths.
But he wasn’t done.
“Not fucking finished with you,” he growled, gripping her thighs and flipping her onto her back before she could even catch her breath.
She let out a sharp gasp, her blue eyes wide, glassy, lost.
“Isaac—”
“Shut up,” he muttered, grabbing her legs and pulling them high around his waist, spreading her open beneath him.
He slammed into her, deep, rough, unrelenting.
Rosie cried out, head snapping back, eyes rolling.
“Yeah,” he groaned, watching her unravel, watching her come apart again, helpless against the way he fucked her. “You love this, don’t you?”
She nodded frantically, no words, no air.
“That’s right,” he muttered, gripping her throat lightly, forcing her to look at him. “Gonna admit it, Rosie? Gonna tell me how long you’ve been dreaming about me fucking you like this?”
She let out a broken moan, her hands grabbing desperately at his arms, his shoulders, anywhere she could hold on.
“Tell me,” he demanded, punctuating the words with a brutal thrust.
She whimpered, body jerking, breath shaking.
“Isaac,” she gasped, eyes so wide, so exposed, like this was too much, like she couldn’t keep it in anymore.
His rhythm stuttered.
There was something there, something deeper, something real.
“Say it,” he gritted out, voice low, dangerous, raw.
Rosie bit her lip, her whole body trembling.
“You wanna know?” she whispered, voice wrecked, challenging.
Isaac’s jaw clenched, his hips snapping forward so deep she gasped again.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I wanna fucking know.”
She swallowed hard, eyes locked onto his, and then—
“I’ve wanted you since high school.”
Isaac froze.
His entire body seized.
Rosie was panting beneath him, face flushed, pupils blown wide, glistening, gorgeous, everything he’d never let himself see.
And his world fucking tilted.
His chest caved in, pressure unbearable.
“Rosie,” he rasped, voice nearly breaking.
But she shook her head, biting her lip, her hands slipping up to grip his face.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Please.”
And Isaac fucking lost it.
Isaac was fucking drowning in her.
The way her body wrapped around him, soft and tight and perfect, the way her breath hitched with every thrust, the way her nails dug into his skin, desperate, needing him to give her more.
And Jesus, he did.
He buried himself deep, his rhythm turning slower, harder, driving into her like he needed to burn the shape of himself into her forever.
Because she had been his all along.
And he had been too fucking blind to see it.
His forehead dropped to hers, his breath ragged, uneven, messy, their bodies slick with sweat, every inch of her fitting against him like she was made for him.
Rosie moaned, her thighs squeezing tight around his waist, her hands gripping the back of his neck, holding him to her like she couldn’t bear to let go.
“Isaac,” she whimpered, her lips brushing his, breathy, needy, his name like a prayer.
He swallowed hard, hips grinding into her, deeper, deeper, deeper.
She let out a soft, desperate sound, her eyes fluttering open, blue and burning.
His heart slammed against his ribs. His grip tightened on her thighs, her waist, anywhere he could touch.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
How had he not seen it?
How had he spent years thinking she was just his best friend, just Rosie, just part of his world without realizing she fucking wanted him?
That she had wanted him forever?
Something deep in his chest cracked open, something hot and sharp and all-consuming.
And suddenly, he was gripping her face, crushing his mouth against hers, kissing her like he was trying to make up for every wasted fucking second.
Her lips parted instantly, letting him in, letting him own her, ruin her, give her every fucking thing she had ever wanted from him.
She moaned into his mouth, her body arching, her hands sliding down his back, over his ass, pulling him into her, dragging him deeper.
Isaac groaned, his control snapping, his thrusts turning messy, erratic, everything tightening, burning, coiling.
“Fuck,” he gritted out, his whole body locking up, his cock throbbing inside her.
Rosie cried out, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her mouth brushing his jaw, her breath hot against his skin.
“Come inside me,” she whispered, wrecked, wanting.
And he did.
With a deep, guttural moan, his body jerked, pleasure slamming through him so hard he thought he might fucking break.
He buried his face in her neck, gasping, his whole body shuddering, his release surging through him, deep and raw and unrelenting.
Rosie held him through it, her fingers stroking his hair, dragging down his back, grounding him.
And Isaac?
Isaac felt fucking ruined.
Not just by the sex.
Not just by how goddamn good she felt.
But by the weight of the truth settling deep in his bones.
And he had been so fucking blind, so selfish, so stupid, wasting his time with shit that didn’t mean a damn thing. He swallowed hard, still inside her, still breathing her in, still wrapped in the heat of everything they’d just done.
His fingers curled into the sheets, his jaw clenching, his mind spinning. He needed to say something. But what the fuck could he even say? He had spent his whole goddamn life running from commitment, from the idea of being tied to anything, anyone.
He just slid to the side, holding her face, staring into her pretty blue eyes like they’d tell him what to say. She was always the wise one.
And he was just a fucking idiot.