AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“If you're jealous, just say that,” Cara says, turning her attention to me with a look that tells me she truly believes I’m jealous of the guys who get to look down her shirt.
“Trust me, if I was jealous, you'd know.” The words roll off my tongue, cool and steady. Surprise flickers across Cara's face before I shift my gaze away. I’m not interested in her theatrics.
Liam catches my eye, his expression almost disbelieving. His silent question is clear—why stoke the flames? But he doesn't understand. Cara's little games are wearing my patience thin, and I'm done.
As the dust settles and Cara retreats, I turn my attention back to the floor, my gaze always drawn to Isla. She moves with grace, unaware of the power she holds, her delicate scent drifting to me as she passes. It's floral, subtle, and intoxicating.
Then, like a snapped string, she slips. Time slows, every detail is magnified—the way her arms flail, her sharp intake of breath, the sudden hush that falls over the room.
Instinct takes over. I lunge forward, my arms wrapping around her just in time. Her body presses against mine, soft and warm. We're a tangle of limbs, a perfect fit.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper, more to myself than her.
Her eyes lift to meet mine, wide and shimmering, full of heat and excitement. For a moment, we're suspended in time, the noise of the bar fading into nothingness. I struggle to tamp down the desire coursing through me, the primal urge to claim her lips, to make her mine in every way imaginable.
Holding Isla in my grasp, her slight form molds to the hard lines of my body, fitting like she's custom-made just for me. A surge of protectiveness wells up as I lock eyes with her. “If you keep winding up in my arms, I’m going to think you belong there,” I growl.
Her breath hitches, and a flicker of pain shadows her gaze. It's a stark contrast to the warmth radiating off her skin, which is now pressed so intimately against me. Her eyelashes flutter, her attention flitting down to my lips before snapping back to hold my stare. It's a silent confession, a whisper of shared longing that hangs heavy between us.
I take in the subtle quiver of her pulse at the base of her throat, a delicate beat beckoning me closer. The vibrant green of her tank top clings to her curves, accentuating every dip and rise of her figure. The subtle, yet perfect arch of her breasts pulls my attention, but I don’t dare look with her watching me. My fingers itch to trace the lines of her, to explore the softness hidden beneath that thin fabric. And those lips—full, pink, tempting—beg to be kissed until we're both gasping for air.
The heat of her body seeps into me, confusing my senses. She inhales sharply, and it's like an invitation. The neckline of her shirt dips, granting me a glimpse of the swell of her breasts, the creamy expanse of skin that my whole body craves. My gaze lingers, not afraid of her knowing I want her now, noting the pebble-hard points pressing against the cloth, betraying her body's reaction despite the black bra strap playing peekaboo at her shoulder.
“Are you okay?” I ask, though what I really want is to lean in and taste the sweet spot where her heartbeat flutters like a trapped bird under my watchful eye.
“Y-yes,” she says, but her body tells a different story—one of passion and need mingling with uncertainty, a potent mix that has me teetering on the edge of self-control.
In this charged moment, surrounded by the clamor of the bar, everything else blurs. There's only Isla, her warmth, her scent, and the unmistakable excitement that simmers in the space between us.
Her exhale tickles my neck, the sound dangerously close to a moan and leaving me gathering every bit of self-control so I don’t lose it, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her home like the cave man I feel like I am in the moment. I’m not aware of the world around me—there's only Isla, her breath a delicate touch that stirs the air between us. I drink in the sight of her—lashes dusting her skin, cheeks flushed with a rose-tinted glow that speaks of desire and innocence.
“Careful now,” I say as every fiber of my being rebels against the thought of releasing her. My arms cradle her close, a protective circle from which I can't imagine letting her escape from. She's perfection personified, and I have no right to be touching her, let alone thinking thoughts about what I’d like to do to her if we were alone right now.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice a soft tremble that dances down my spine, igniting a passion that only she can satisfy.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, delicate yet desperate, as if I'm the only thing keeping her upright – and I just might be. I should set her free, but my hands, arms, and mind betray me, one hand pressing against the curve of her backside, feeling the warmth of her through the black jeans that mold to her form. They're soft, these jeans, yet they amplify the contours of her body, contours I ache to explore.
“Are you steady?” I ask. I’m mostly making an excuse for continuing to hold her, as if I’m afraid she might fall when I let go. But if she says yes, I'll have to let go, and the very thought tightens my grasp.
“I think so,” she says, her voice unsure as if she worries she might fall… or she wants me to keep holding her. Her eyes are warm like hot chocolate on a cold winter day, deep and dark, begging me to do things that keep me rooted in this spot, trying to ferret out all her secrets. I can sense her reluctance to leave my arms in the way her body molds to mine, a perfect fit that feels impossibly right. The weight of her in my arms feels like coming home, and I wonder what could be if I just dared to cross that line.
“Okay, good,” I say. The words are a lie, because nothing about this feels good. I don’t want to let go, and her grip on me doesn't loosen. Neither does mine on her. We're locked in an embrace that we don’t seem to know how to exit. My gaze traces her collar bone, loving the way she looks today, even in her casual attire. I can see she’s wearing makeup, but only a touch. She’s so fresh-faced and perfect I want to ruin that innocence.
“Really, I'm okay,” she says, her tone more insistent this time. But her breath catches as my hand caresses the small of her back, tracing patterns that weren't meant to be drawn in such a public place while she regains her footing. I love the need in her eyes, love knowing she’s affected by me, by my presence.
“I’m glad,” I say, my voice rough with hunger. For another heartbeat, we remain frozen, our bodies bound by the tingling electric current that pulses through us both. But duty calls, and with a reluctant strength, I ease her away from me just enough to look into her eyes.
“Be more careful,” I say, the command almost sharp. But instead of taking the words to heart, she nods, her cheeks growing more red. And as my arms open just enough to let her take a single small step away, an unexpected and unwelcome chill seeps into the space she occupied, leaving me cold and wanting more than I could ever take from her. But that doesn’t mean I don’t plan on trying.
Releasing her is the last thing I want to do, but reality snaps back with the murmur of voices around us. Each inch of distance between us feels like a mile.
My fingers unclasp from around her waist, and immediately, I miss the feeling of her in my arms. I mask the extra time holding onto her with a show of concern for her balance, my hands hovering as if to catch her if she stumbles again. But she doesn't falter; she's steady on her feet.
A flush creeps up her neck as she hurries to turn back to her duties, but she hesitates. There's a shift between us now, and in the aftermath, my mind races. How can something so simple as catching her change everything?
“I'm so sorry, I should have been more careful,” Isla whispers, her gaze locked on mine. Her eyes, wide and shimmering, betray a tremble and something that sends a jolt through me—a cocktail of longing and want.
“Shh,” I say, reaching out without thinking. My finger presses gently against the softness of her lips, silencing her apology. I feel the thrum of her pulse beneath my touch, a rapid beat that matches my own racing heart. She inhales, the hollow at the base of her throat deepening as her lashes lower as if she’s looking at my finger touching her face.
