Page 119 of Resisting Isaac

The trust. The need.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” I let loose a string of filthy sentiments about her tight greedy pussy and she comes, fastand hard. The tight clench of her internal muscles and the deep mewling sound telling me she’s lost in it.

She’s not the only one.

I’m in trouble. Deep trouble. Because now that I’ve taken her bare, I’m addicted.

Her body trembles, small quivers after the aftershocks of her orgasm that pull mine from me.

We both cry out when my release shoots deep inside her body.

I roll us so she’s on top of me, so I don’t crush her.

She kisses me like she’s ravenous for my skin, my lips, my jaw line, my neck.

I grin at her and jerk my chin toward her notebook. “You can add ‘Isaac Logan is insanely obsessed with me’ to your list. Along with, I am the hottest fuck of his life ever and always will be.”

She laughs lightly, then rests her head on my chest.

“I’ll get right on that. As soon as I can move.”

Whatever is happening to me, it feels like falling. Like jumping out of plane going a million miles an hour.

I just hope like hell when I crash to the ground, she and I land in the same place.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

elena

Everything is happening so quickly—my world is in danger of spinning off its axis.

Dinner with the Logans last night was mostly Isaac touching me inappropriately under the table, Ivy suggesting changes to the script and filming schedule to accommodate my pregnancy, and everyone giving Eli James hell over the fact that he still cannot ride a horse for shit.

Laurel Logan learned how to make my favorite dessert, capirotada, and she included cinnamon apples and candied pecans that almost had me in tears.

The woman takes her desserts very seriously.

Sutton had to work at a new nanny gig for a neighbor, and I even missed her mile-a-minute questions.

Afterward Isaac convinced me to go to his place, where Rowdy and Blue dead-eye stared at me until I let them herd me to bed.

It was all very…domestic.

A life I could see myself in if this were real.

But I have to keep reminding myself that it’s not.

Isaac insists on rubbing my lower back because I was onmy feet a lot today. Then he moves onto massaging my feet because he’s obviously trying to ruin me for all other men.

I’m propped on pillows in his bed, surrounded by the scent of him, blatantly eye fucking him because he’s shirtless in those damn gray sweatpants and more handsome than any man has a right to be.

When he catches me ogling him, he smirks. “See something you like, spitfire?”

I try to play it off. “Just wondering what our kid is going to look like.”

He grins. “Probably like a barrel racer or a cowboy that gives us heart palpitations to pay us back for all the hell we’ve given our parents until we’re old and gray.”

I snort. “It’s not like we’re going to grow old together. We’re not really married, remember?”