I peer over my coffee mug at her, waiting to see if she'll chicken out again, or if she's going to finally take the final step and say what she's been thinking.
Just do it,her mind screams.Just do it, you fucking coward. Get it over with.
Her throat clears, and anticipation floods my veins.
"So I've been thinking," she starts.No fucking shit. Jesus Christ, just say it so I can show you how wrong you are."I don't think we should do that again."
With a raise of one single brow and a sip of the steaming beverage hiding my expression from her, I give her space to continue.
"I just think… that maybe… like, we got it out of our systems, right? And now that it's done, we can just... get over it," she shrugs as she says the words like they're an afterthought.
I have to fight the furious shiver that threatens to run through my body at the words she settled on. "Really?" I say non-committally instead, fighting to unclench my jaw.
"Yeah," she runs a steady hand through her ponytail, slicking it down and over her shoulder. "I mean, we're trapped here together."No, you are trapped."And obviously we're, like, attracted to each other, but the last thing we need is some kind of added complication."
Got it out of our systems?Absolutely fucking not. I'll never,everbe out of her fucking system, especially now that I know her blood and cunt both taste like the closest thing I'll ever get to paradise, like every part of her was formulated just for me, from the sounds of her screams to the exact makeup of the hot liquid pumping through her veins. I will fucking haunt her for the rest of her life, whether she's here or on the other side of the planet.
The least she could do is admit that we can't keep doing this because she's terrified of the possibility that she might enjoy herself here. With me. Instead, she uses flippant language, pretending that our one taste of each other wasn't enough to shatter whatever hold our self-preservation might have had over us.
Fury and indignation threaten to overtake sense, and I want to bend her over this table right fucking now and show her how wrong she is.
"Come here," I bark, setting the mug behind me on the table.
Instinctively, she takes a single step forward before she stops herself, unwilling to fall back into the role we both crave her in.
But I've never been afraid of a game of chase.
Without another word, I take the few steps to bring myself right in front of her.
Her heart rate skyrockets as she steps back, almost taking herself out of my reach.
With a deceptively gentle touch, I take her hand in mine, almost interlacing our fingers to keep her from going any farther.
I watch her mouth, the soft parting of her lips as she tries to keep her breathing steady. She knows better than to run, better than to awaken the monster, but that doesn't mean her instincts aren't telling her to try.
With my free hand, I reach up, wrapping that sleek ponytail around my fist once. Twice. Not pulling hard; just making it clear that Isla's every movement is under my command.
Not taking my gaze from her reddening face, I bring her hand in mine up and kiss the knuckles gently, chastely. "You don't want me to fuck you again?" I ask, leading her into the trap she has to suspect but can't possibly avoid.
Images of me doing just that flash through my mind before she manages to shake them away again, her reaction and mine equally visceral. But even when I know it's a lie, she shakes her head.
I mockingly pout and shake my head with her, letting her anger and humiliation start that fire in her stomach that I crave every second of the fucking day.
I extend her middle and pointer fingers, playfully biting the tips. Her heavy eyes watch the motion, captivated by it as I pull her closer, trapping her body against mine.
My voice falls quiet, taunting, "So youdon'twant me to have you sprawled out over your bed again? Dripping wet, legs shaking while I fill your little body over and over again?"
She barely manages to shake her head again, "N-no." The word is closer to a whimper than any intelligible language. In a move so sordid and filthy she has no fucking chance, I suck her fingers into my mouth, mimicking the commanding way I sucked on her clit until she squealed. Her lips wobble, the desperation between her legs growing, the dizzying scent of her wetness filling the small amount of space between us and giving away the charade even if her body language didn't.
My grip on her hair hardens, and she quietly moans, her free hand finding my chest, feebly pushing me away. With another dirty suck, I slide my tongue between her fingers, showing herexactlyhow I want to fuck that pretty cunt with my mouth again. Lines form between her brows, frustration and need winning out over self-preservation.
When I release her fingers from my mouth, I use my grip on her hair to turn her around and bend her over the cold steel of the table. A surprised gasp escapes Isla as I bend my body to cover hers completely, rubbing myself against her plump ass that I definitely didn't spend enough time worshipping when I frantically fucked her before.
"See, here's the thing, Isla," I tease, speaking against her ear before taking the lobe between my teeth. "I don't fucking believe you."
She whimpers again, struggling against me.
"Come on, baby, tell me to stop," I urge her, using my free hand to grip her hip, pinning her to the table.
