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—Holly—
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“To Portland, or to the hotel with you?” I asked, breathless from how hard my heart hammered.
He shot me a quick smirk. “Both. Move in with me, Mama.”
“You’re insane. We hardly know each other.”
“And yet here I am in Gatlin Falls chasing your ass. I don’t chase women, Holly. Period. You’re the one and only exception.”
I spluttered through shocked laughter.
Isaiah chuckled. “If I’m honest, I can’t fucking believe it either. C’mon.”
Hand held tight in his, I hurried to keep up with Isaiah’s purposeful strides as he led me to his car.
Once again, life seemed chaotic and fast-paced with him. Yet after him appearing on the Trudy Kallant Show last night, I believed and trusted him.
We stopped beside a full-sized, late model SUV, and I burst out laughing. “Oh my god! It was you.”
The bewilderment on Isaiah's face made me laugh harder.
“What was me?” He pressed a hand to his sculpted bare chest while glancing up and down the street. Dark eyes then returned to me. “You’re trippin’.”
I snorted, then snickered at his rental again. “Me and Sawyer saw you drive past the restaurant twenty minutes ago. Well, we actually heard you first, and we were like ‘what a fucking loser, driving through town with his music obnoxiously loud’.”
Isaiah’s face darkened with indignation. “It’s loud or nothin’, babe. In all areas of my life. Including fucking. But you know that already. Now”—he set his hands on his taut waist and twisted toward the vehicle—“are you riding with me and my obnoxiously loud music, or calling your bro for a lift?”
I crossed my arms over my chest and sassed, “I choose Sawyer. He has better taste in music.”
With a possessive growl, Isaiah lunged at me and threw me over his shoulder without so much of a grunt of effort. The sharp slap he landed on my ass was dulled by my track pants, but the biting grip of his fingers on the back of my thigh wasn’t.
“I’mma teach you a little lesson about teasing me, Mama.”
The rear passenger-side door of the SUV whipped open, and I was unceremoniously dumped on the back seat. The leather beneath my elbows protested as Isaiah loomed in the doorway, leaning forward between my open knees.
“By the time we reach my hotel, your underwear better be removed,” he warned.
I nudged his solid torso with my foot. “What if I’m not wearing underwear?”
His sharp hiss had me snickering until a possessive finger pressed to the seam between my legs. Arousal immediately heated my core, and I froze. Breath. Muscles. Words... Everything.
“You’ve got approximately five minutes,” he warned, then stepped away and slammed the door closed.
By the time he’d slid behind the wheel, I’d removed my shoes.
Isaiah glanced back while buckling up. “What are you doin’ now, Mama?”
“What you told me to do.” I kicked my sneakers to the side, then lifted my hips.
“Christ,” he hissed. “Buckle up. I have a feeling my driving is going to be less than ideal.”
“Driving while distracted is extremely dangerous, Isaiah...” I snickered while shimmying out of my track pants and G-string, then flicked the skimpy excuse for underwear at him.
It landed on his arm then slid off slowly.
Wild, dark eyes burning with heat met mine through the rearview mirror. He held my focus while bringing my G-string to his nose and inhaling.
“Take it all off,” he demanded, voice rough and gritty and sending a flush of rose across my face.
Hesitation had my fingertips pausing on the hem of my hoodie until my gaze snagged on Isaiah’s.
“Do it,” he commanded, dividing his attention between me and the street as he pulled out. “I dare you to.”
Sufficiently taunted, I went against the screaming voice of rationale in my head and removed my hoodie then tank top. My bra unclasped and slid down my arms, all the while Isaiah repeatedly shifted his focus between me and the street.
I tossed the bra onto the passenger seat, then crossed my legs and arms. “Now what?”
“Touch yourself.” The low, hard edge to his voice sent a shiver down my spine.
Arousal compounded in my already aching core as I stretched one leg high and set it against the front passenger headrest. Skimming my fingers down my elongated calf, I inched toward my inner thigh.
“Like this?” I whispered, voice shaky and tight.
“Yeah, Mama. Spread those legs wider. I want to hear you finger fucking yourself.”
An illicit kick shot through me as I ghosted my fingertips across my heat. I sucked in a sharp breath at the second pass, then moaned as the weight of arousal pooled.
A reciprocated hiss of appreciation came from up front. The car then jerked to the side as Isaiah’s hand reached back for me.
“Ride my fingers, Mama. I need to feel you while I drive.”
Blinded by the thrill of our promiscuity, I dropped my leg, shuffled forward, and took Isaiah by the wrist. The car swayed again as Isaiah corrected his driving, and I was on the verge of guiding his fingers into my body when the high-pitched woop woop of a cop car siren immediately extinguished all arousal.
“Fuck. I’m getting pulled over,” Isaiah hissed as he signaled. “Get dressed, Mama. Hurry.”
My heart lurched. Fear gripped my stomach as I snapped upright. I glanced through the tinted rear window while hurrying to fight into my hoodie. My stomach dropped again, harder than last time, when I couldn’t get my arm through right away.
Horror then hit my gut like a tank when I saw who was approaching our vehicle.
“Oh fuck! Not again!” I cried.
