Isabella’s pov

I stayed straddling him, hands flat on his chest, feeling his heart still slamming under my palms.

He was hard again already, the thick length of him pressed right against my wet folds. Neither of us moved for a long minute.

The only sound in the apartment was our breathing and the faint tick of the clock in the kitchen.

“You’re not leaving,” I said.

“I should.”

“But you’re not.”

His hands slid up my thighs and gripped my hips. “No. I’m not.”

I lifted up just enough to notch him at my entrance and sank down slowly.

The stretch pulled a low groan out of both of...