Page 18 of Accidental Dad’s Best Friend (Unintentionally Yours #7)

Ethan

“ S low down,” I instruct Izzy over the phone. Meanwhile, I flip the bedroom lights on in search of pants. “What do you mean you think someone is trying to break in?”

“I heard a loud bang against the front door and then something cracked the window in the kitchen,” she rattles off, her voice cracking with tears.

“Is Jax okay?” I ask as I tug a shirt over my head.

“Yes, he’s still asleep.”

I feel a wave of relief, though I’m still on edge. “Okay good. Stay with him. Did you call the police?”

“No. I just called you.”

That makes me stop for a second. Izzy thinks someone is trying to break into her house and her first reaction was to call me. I almost smirk at that but then remember we are still in crisis mode here.

“Alright. Here’s what I want you to do. Stay with Jax, stay away from the perimeter of the house. And I’m going to call the police.”

“Okay,” she agrees shakily. I hate hearing fear in her voice. It’s enough to pump the blood through my veins so hard that my skin feels hot and tingly. The idea of someone messing with her and Jax has me seeing red.

“Just sit tight. They will be there soon and I’ll be there shortly after.”

“You’re coming over?” She asks.

“Yes. Of course I’m coming over. Sweetheart, someone tried to break into your house. I’m not going to just sit around while that happens. I told you I was going to protect you and that’s exactly what I am going to do.”

“Thank you.” Izzy says after a moment and my voice softens too.

“Always.”

We hang up and I grab my keys and my jacket, heading out the door.

While I was as gentle with her as I could manage, I am still seething.

The very thought of someone fucking with them is more than I can handle.

While I make my way across town, I checklist off who it could possibly be.

It’s a neighborhood with alarm systems and a heavy police presence, so that should rule out homeless people.

I think there is even a town watch so teenagers and drunks would be stupid to pull anything. Especially breaking a window.

I hone in on that detail. The kitchen window is on the rear side of the house.

All of the backyards are boxed in by each other.

Someone would have had to go down the side and hop the fence to get in.

Unless, they came from a neighbor’s house.

I scratch my chin at that. I can’t imagine that any of her neighbors are sketchy.

I may or may not have vetted them (without them knowing…) before moving her in there.

Aside from one place a couple blocks down that was between owners, no one looked conspicuous.

I pull up in front of the house, parking across the street from two lit cop cars. Izzy is standing outside, hugging herself and talking with one officer while another one inspects the house.

“No known enemies that you can think of?” The cop asks as I approach.

“I don’t think so,” she shakes her head. The very sight of her makes my stomach bottom out. She is pale, shaking and her cheeks are red from crying. Instinctively, I put my arm around her.

“We can keep an eye on the house,” the cop goes on and I grit my teeth. I can already tell that what they are going to do isn’t going to be enough to bring my blood down from a boil. “Maybe have someone circle the street again.”

Izzy nods and I want to press it. I want to give his cop a piece of my mind. But when she nuzzles into my chest, I realize she is exhausted. So I shove my anger back down my throat, away from my pulsing fists, and take Izzy back inside.

“I swear I’m not crazy,” she says, reaching for a bottle in the cupboard. I expect her to pull wine out. But it’s bourbon. It’s then that I notice she is still shaking.

“I never thought you were crazy,” I say, watching as she pours a little into a highball glass, the bottle clinking against the rim with her unsteadiness.

“The cops do. I bet the neighbors do too. All of them except Rosilyn anyways.” She brings the whiskey to her lips.

“Who’s Rosilyn?” I ask, bracing my hands on the counter.

Izzy swallows and nods her head to the side. “A friend of mine.”

“You have friends?” I ask and immediately realize I phrased it wrong. “I mean, you’ve made friends since moving back over here?”

Izzy takes another sip. “Her son goes to school with Jax. Then I realized we live just up the street from each other. She’s sweet. A little chaotic but I guess that’s single moms in a nutshell.”

“Hmm,” I let out, reaching for the whiskey bottle. It’s not that I mind her having friends. But I do worry. I worry about her trusting people she doesn’t fully know. I worry about Liam and how crazy he might be if he suspects anything at all.

“Jax is over there now,” she says and I stop mid pour.

“When the cops arrived, Rosilyn came over. She was worried when she saw the lights. Then Jax woke up and saw Luca and he asked if they could have a sleepover. I wasn’t sure at first but I’m nervous.

Someone broke our window, you know? So I said yes. ”

I take a sip of the bourbon and nod. It drips down my throat like hot honey and eases my nerves just a hint. “So you’re alone.”

It’s a statement, not a question.

“Yes,” she says, rounding to my side of the counter. She’s in cotton shorts and a pink and black Sex Pistols t-shirt. Her hair is messy and her eyes are puffy from crying.

“Do you actually listen to the music you wear around?” I ask.

Izzy giggles a little, looking down at the shirt. “What do you mean?”

“Sex Pistols. Van Halen. The Rolling Stones. I’ve seen you wear all these shirts and I can’t help but wonder if you just thought they looked cool or–”

“You mean Nirvana’s not a brand?” She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and I blink. Then a grin spreads across her cheeks and she nudges me.

“Brat.” I shake my head and finish off my whiskey.

“Of course I listen to them. I grew up on them.” She teases me and I find myself smiling again.

Then I find myself hard. Despite all of this, I can’t help but want her.

I don’t know. Knowing someone was fucking with her and the kid, knowing she was alone and afraid, it makes me want her even more.

I want to claim her. To make her mine so anyone on the outside looking in will know who she belongs to.

Looking down at her, I think Izzy might be thinking the same thing. She’s looking up at me with blue, doe eyes, biting her bottom lip. I pull her against me and kiss her. I haven’t had her since I found out about Jaxon. But it doesn’t change anything. She’s still Izzy. And I still want her.

“I want you,” she says as if she stole the words from the tip of my tongue.

I nod and pick her up, carrying her to the bedroom.

It’s not without some struggle, though. Not because she is heavy (she’s not), or because I don’t know where I am going (I do.

I picked the place. I know the layout). But I keep tripping over things.

“What the fuck was that?” I bark out.

But Izzy just giggles. “A remote control car I think.”

“Jesus,” I shake my head but there’s a smile in it.

When we finally get past the trail of toys, I toss her on the bed.

Then I crawl on top of her, caging her in.

Our mouths meet again and we kiss deeply, hungrily, greedily even.

Hot, wet, soft, all the things I have been craving.

Dreaming about. Fucking myself with my own hand to.

All women are soft. That’s what makes them so delicious.

But this woman…her lips are so full, so sweet, so incredibly innocent that I almost feel bad nibbling on them.

Emphasis on almost. Because this girl also has a dirty side, something else I have had wet dreams about, and I’ll be damned if I’m not going to live out those dreams.

I tug the t-shirt from her head and toss it aside, kissing her once more on her sweet mouth before devouring her neck and burrowing my face in the swell of her breasts. She is wearing a sports bra of all things and I scowl at it. It’s a cock block and I want it gone.

“This has got to go,” I demand, running a finger under one of the straps and letting it snap.

While she wrestles with it, I strip myself down before grabbing her again. Her eyes land on my cock, full, hard and ready to go. A bead of precome drips from the tip, down the side of the shaft and she watches it with a wild hunger in her eyes.

“Do you want it?” I ask.

She nods.

“Then take it.”

Izzy leans down and her hair falls around her head. I pull it back from her face and hold it in my fist. If she’s going to suck my dick, I want to watch.

And she does. Fuck me does she ever.

Izzy takes me firmly in her palm, the girth of my dick dwarfing her small, feminine hand.

Fuck. seeing her pretty little pink fingernails wrapped around me is enough to end me.

Then she parts her lips and licks starting at the base and sweeping all the way up the length of me, catching the drizzle of my desire for her on the way.

She lets out an mm sound before wrapping her lips around the tip and sucking.

“Oh fuck, that’s it. Good girl.”

I have to brace my hands behind me, fisting the sheets in my hands. Beads of sweat are already pouring down the nape of my neck. I’m going to come. And I’m not ready. As good as this feels– and trust me, it’s fucking good– I don’t want it like this. I want to come with her moaning.

I take her by the hair again and pull her head back. Then I hold it, forcing her to look up at me. “Do you want me inside you?”

She nods as best she can with my fist around her hair and I get on my knees. Then I grab her by her waist and flip her onto her hands and knees, yanking her hips back against me. With my hands digging into her soft, pink, perfect ass that just won’t quit, I drive myself inside her.

“Fuck!” She lets out and I realize she is biting the pillow.

“Too much?” I ask. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

But she giggles half heartedly. “You’re not hurting me. The only way you could hurt me is if you stopped.”

I can physically feel the blood in my veins run dark at that. A heat rises inside my chest, shooting to every part of my anatomy and I thrust my hips against hers again. With quick, rhythmic movements, I grind into her. Over and over and over again.

Fucking her has been good every time. But something about this angle, about the way she is bent over, taking it from me as I rail moan after moan out of her sweet little mouth, well, that's enough that it doesn’t last long.

Can’t last long. They say men at my age have low libido.

That they have trouble getting up and getting off or some shit.

Clearly those men have never fucked Isabelle Sloane. And they’re never going to.