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Isla
The brush of his fingertips against my skin pulls me from the depths of sleep. His touch is gentle, yet insistent. I open my eyes and blink in the darkness. But his touch dominates my senses—hot, powerful, and stirring a longing deep within me. His hands roam over my ribs, down my side to my hip as if he's memorizing every curve.
I’d been so worried he’d judge me for being a virgin, but he’d merely brushed off my concern and showed me how my body can surprise me, and how he can coax endless pleasure out of me. The thought and memories fill me with a rush of excitement.
For a fleeting moment, I wrestle with the thought that I'd saved myself only to surrender to someone like Walker—a man whose world seems so wildly misaligned with mine. The man typically has a new woman every night, and now I’m that woman. Who will it be tomorrow?
But I’m not looking at tomorrow. Not right now. I’m going to enjoy my time with him and be grateful that he’s so good to my body.
Ant then there's the truth that is stronger than my doubts—the undeniable fact that with Walker, I’m safe. There are no facades, no lies in this space between us. He is authenticity in a world where men like Chase have given me nothing but lies, offering forever while chasing another woman.
“Isla,” Walker murmurs, his voice thick with sleep and I realize he’s not awake. His breath and skin are warm, and even in rest, his desire for me is unmistakable.
He's dreaming of me.
My heart flops around, and I can't help but shift closer, pressing a tender kiss to the tip of his nose. The corners of his mouth curl into the faintest of smiles, and I'm struck by how disarmingly peaceful he looks right now. The dominant force of nature is also calm in the vulnerability of sleep.
“I'm here,” I whisper. My response stirs something more primal in him. His hands tighten their hold on me, the movements growing more deliberate. His unconscious mind knows I'm close, and he reaches for me even in the depths of his dreams.
In the dim light, I study his features—the hard jawline softened by rest, the dark lashes that lay against his cheeks. This is Walker, unguarded. This is the man behind the walls, the one who has captured not just my body, but my very being.
And as his hands draw me closer still, I know I am exactly where I am meant to be. With him.
A surge of boldness floods me, and I sit up, reaching for his shoulder. With a gentle but firm nudge, I roll next to Walker's solid frame. With his muscled back now pressed to the bed, I throw a leg over his hips, moving the blankets between us. I feel the hard length of him between us, and I know exactly what I want.
My fingers tremble as they wrap around him. My heart slams so hard I’m surprised the sound doesn’t wake him up. Remembering what he’d done, I align our bodies. The feeling of him in my hand and pressing against me sends shivers racing down my spine like electric currents. In one breathless moment, I slide gently down on him. The sensations squeeze all the breath from my lungs, and I settle in place.
Walker's eyes open, stormy blue, still heavy with sleep even as he wakes. They find mine, hold them in a gaze filled with a hunger that matches my own. His hands hold me to him with a grip that speaks of possession and desire all at once. I see it—the recognition, the relief—when he realizes it’s me straddling him, as if he was afraid he’d wake to someone else. That look lingers with me, and I try not to read too much into it.
“Is this okay?” My voice is a whisper as fragile as the silence it breaks.
“Better than okay,” he rasps, his voice thick with desire. The words wrap around me like a hug and my desire rises.
Encouraged by his touch and words, I experiment with movement, swaying gently from side to side. The feeling of him inside me is stunning, a shock as I trace figure eights. Then I lift up, nearly losing him before sliding back down. Every time I sink onto him, the delicious sensation of fullness sends tingling heat throughout my body.
Every motion shoves me closer and closer to the pleasure he’d shown me before we fell asleep. Beneath me, Walker is unyielding, letting me do as I please and only helping me keep my balance. His eyes are dark with desire, and I know that this patience is not easy for him.
His hands wander upward from my hips, exploring me, skimming over my ribs to cup the curves of my breasts. His fingers pinch and caress, teasing my body and sending bolts of pleasure directly to my core as I gasp and try not to drown in all the sensations. My nipples pebble, aching for more, for everything and anything he offers.
“Isla,” he groans, and the sound of my name on his lips leaves me breathless. I love the way he says my name, the way he touches me as if he owns every inch of my flesh, the way my body wants to melt into him.
Without warning, his arms tighten around me, his muscles flexing as he moves us both. He shifts, moving backward until he presses his back against the headboard, and I'm drawn along with him, my body never losing contact with his. We're upright now, his chest a solid wall against which my sensitive skin brushes with each subtle movement. A trail of goosebumps scatter across my flesh. The change in angle makes everything feel more intense somehow, and I’m a prisoner to the desire coursing through me, demanding relief.
“Is this okay?” I whisper, my breath hitching as my movements bring new depth, and new friction.
“Better than okay,” he growls, his voice sending another shiver through me. His gaze is intense, locked on mine, leaving no room for doubt or fear—only the fierce hunger that seems to grow stronger with every movement of my hips.
The slightest rock of my hips sends sparks skittering across my skin and I can't help but chase the feeling, moving at a fast pace, trusting him to stop me if there’s a need to. This is all new to me, and it’s more exciting than I ever could have imagined. Who knew that Walker would be the perfect partner—guiding me, encouraging me, letting me find my own way to pleasure. And it's close, so damn close.
“You're incredible,” he whispers, his hands roaming over my body, touching every curve and dip with an intimacy that makes me weak. How does he make me feel like this? Perfectly imperfect, excited, hungry for everything he wants to do with me, to me.
I'm so glad Chase wasn't my first. I'm glad that Walker is. Because this man is the perfect first, and I can sort out what will happen with my heart later.
I wake as he lifts me into his arms, his lips touching my forehead. Opening my eyes, I glance at him, wanting to stretch my sore body as he holds me tight. There’s concern and affection in his face as he holds me, and it makes my heart swell. He carries me effortlessly, as though I weigh nothing, into the bathroom.
“Time to relax,” he says, lowering me into an oversized tub of warm water that laps at my skin and eases surface-level aches. He slides in behind me, and I lean back against his chest, closing my eyes as the last bit of pain from our passionate encounters begins to subside in the soothing hot water.
“Thank you,” I say, sinking deeper into the water—and into his arms. There's something about being here, in the privacy of the haze of steam and his comforting presence, that makes me feel safe and… loved? No, not that word. Treasured. With him, I am more than just Isla; I’m a woman who knows what she wants and takes it.
