Her lips part on a surprised inhale. But what did she expect? That I’d make it easy for her? Isabel doesn’t want easy. Easy is all she’s had before now, I bet.
“What more do you need?” she challenges boldly. “I just admitted I want you.”
I hmm, disinterested. “Not good enough.”
Her eyes narrow. “Seriously? If you were decent, you’d help me out of the kindness of your heart.”
I drag my finger along my lip as I stare at her. “You want decent?”
Her gaze tracks my movement, giving me my answer.
Didn’t think so.
“How badly do you want to finish that bucket list? Badly enough to come over here and beg?”
Her eyes widen, and I watch with curious fascination as her pupils dilate. Oh, Isabel.
I see her breath quicken, her hand slip from the door handle. She toes off her sandals, and before I have to ask a second time, she climbs across the center console and lets me capture her waist and guide her down to my lap.
“There, you jerk.” She swivels her hips, trying to get comfortable.
My seat is big enough that we fit, just barely.
“Are you proud of yourself for getting me here?” she adds. “I bet it’s been painful for you since yesterday. I almost feel bad.” She shifts on my lap, driving me crazy.“Almost.”
“You’re meant to be begging me,” I tease, cupping the back of her head. I bring her toward me until my face is pressed into the crook of her neck. Her perfume is already a familiar comfort.
Her small hands flatten against my chest, fingers digging in.
“You know what? I don’t feel like it,” she says with a playful edge. “I don’treallyneed you. I’m sure I could check off those tasks with any guy on the island.”
I lean back and look at her. Flushed cheeks and wide eyes tell me too much; Isabel doesn’t have a poker face.
I tease the hem of her dress up her thighs. It doesn’t take much until I see her panties: pale blue whisper-thin fabric between her toned thighs. It barely covers her, and even though I’m dying to touch her, I don’t. Not with the way she’s acting. Instead, I bunch her dress up around her waist and leave it.
My eyes capture hers again. “You forget you’ve already shown your hand. You want it to be me.”
She relents, letting her fingers skim down the front of my shirt, over my stomach and abs, until she reaches the button on my jeans. My muscles leap reflexively. She gently grabs me through my pants and rubs up and down. For a short moment, I close my eyes and let her, concentrating on the feel of her hand on me, so eager, so obvious.
When I open my eyes, she freezes. Her gaze is locked on my face. She’s watching what she’s doing to me, enjoying my reaction to her.
“Sigue. Keep going.”
Her jaw locks for a moment, a brief pause, and then she does as I ask, using both hands to unbutton and then unzip my jeans.
“People can see.”
“The windows are tinted.”
That’s all the assurance she needs before her hand sneaks down the front of my pants. The moment her warm palm takes hold of me, my hips buck up against her. I’m a teenager again, so fucking turned on I’m about to lose control before we’ve even started.
“Does this count as begging?” she asks in a quiet, shy voice, stroking up and down, nice and slow. “I think it does.”
I didn’t realize my eyes had fluttered closed again, but I open them and inhale a long, shaky breath, willing my resolve to settle into place, though it feels more liable to shatter. She shouldn’t affect me like this, over something so simple.
And yet…
Her thumb rolls over the tip of my length, and I shudder. Herresponding smile makes me certain she wants what I want: the heart-pounding thrill of the chase, to be awash in this consuming desire, the resulting crash and burn.
