“No, you don’t.”
Isabel dove forward, chasing Victoria’s pussy, relentlessly sucking and licking until Victoria finally came again, squirting, gushing directly into Isabel’s mouth. Victoria dug her heels into Isabel’s back, riding those waves until she crashed and fell backward onto the couch.
Isabel stood but firmly held Victoria’s legs on the couch, keeping her in a backbend that would’ve made her high school cheerleading coach proud. Victoria looked up at Isabel towering over her, her face wet from her juices and the rain.
Isabel whispered low, “Delicious.”
Victoria shivered as Isabel swiftly pulled off the last of her own clothes, swinging her leg over and straddling her face. As Isabel lowered onto Victoria’s tongue, she grabbed Victoria’s legs andpulled them over her shoulders. Grabbing her ass tightly, Isabel growled into her pussy.
“Again.”
Completely upside down, Victoria kneaded Isabel’s hips as she licked and sucked, determined to drive Isabel over the edge, as well. For each lick, each probe of her tongue, Isabel did the same to her. Victoria felt the blood rush to her head in her upside-down position, and she felt as if she nearly blacked out in pleasure and sensation.
As Isabel got closer, her hips frantically bucking against Victoria’s face, she began to smack Victoria’s ass. Over and over. Each slap stung, but the pain pushed Victoria into a frenzy. Isabel started to orgasm and screamed her pleasure into Victoria’s pussy, the vibrations of which sent Victoria over one last time.
The cabin was quiet now, except for their breathing.
Victoria’s pulse was still hammering, the echo of every shudder and gasp ricocheting in her chest. Her skin was flushed and slick with sweat that was cooling too fast in the damp air, leaving a prickle of cold over her arms.
She pulled in a deep breath and immediately regretted it — Isabel’s scent still lingered on her skin, on her hair, and in the air between them. It was intoxicating and infuriating all at once.
She pushed herself upright, reaching for her blouse where it hung, half-damp, over the back of the chair. Neither of them spoke as they dressed. The sounds of fabric being pulled over skin, the dull thump of boots on the floorboards, and thesoft creak of the wood under their movements filled the space instead.
Victoria kept her eyes down, focusing on every small task — smoothing the collar of her shirt, fastening the buttons one by one, sliding her damp feet into her boots. It was easier than looking at Isabel. Easier than confronting the molten mixture of heat and anger still curling low in her stomach.
Anger at herself.
Because as much as she wanted to tell herself she shouldn’t — couldn’t — like this, she did. She liked the way Isabel took control, the rough edge in her touch, the way she made surrender feel inevitable.
And that was the problem.
By the time she’d pulled her jacket back on, her jaw was set so tight it ached. She turned toward the window, needing something else to look at, and felt her stomach sink.
The rain had stopped. Completely.
Sunlight filtered weakly through the trees, glinting off wet leaves and the puddles scattered across the clearing. It had probably stopped a while ago. She didn’t know how long.
The realization made heat rise in her face — not from the storm, but from the truth that they’d been so lost in each other she hadn’t even noticed.
Her voice, when it came, was cold and clipped. “We should go.”
She didn’t wait for a reply. She just moved to the door, the air between them heavier now than the storm had ever been.
10
ISABEL
The bullpen’s fluorescent lights hummed mercilessly overhead, washing everything in an unforgiving white glare. The air carried the sterile tang of burnt coffee and printer ink, punctuated by the shrill ring of phones and the steady murmur of voices trading updates. Isabel sat at her desk, pen in hand, the Harper file spread open in front of her. Pages of witness statements, timelines, scraps of evidence—they should have demanded her full attention. Instead, the words swam uselessly on the page, blurring into the shape of Victoria’s mouth against hers.
She pressed the pen tip too hard into the margin of her notes, leaving a dot of ink that bled into the paper. The drive back from the cabin replayed in her head like a punishment. Silence so thick it smothered. Isabel had tried—God, she had tried—to bridge the gap. A hand out, fingers brushing against Victoria’s sleeve, a touch light enough to be ignored if unwanted, heavy enough to sayI’m still here with you.But Victoria had drawn away as though Isabel’s hand were fire, her eyes locked on the dark road, her jaw clenched.
Then, the moment they parked at the precinct, Victoria had been gone. Door open, her stride brisk and unyielding. No glance back. No word. Nothing. Isabel had sat behind the wheel, her pulse still pounding with the echoes of the cabin, trying to decide if she was a complete fool.
A phone rang nearby, sharp enough to make her flinch. An officer’s laugh cut across the bullpen, followed by the scrape of a chair against the floor. Isabel forced her eyes back to the file. Photos of Chloe at the gala—her long scarf looped loosely around her neck. The fibers they’d found at the cabin matched in color and weave. They couldn’t prove it yet, not without Chloe herself to compare against, but the likelihood gnawed at Isabel’s chest. Chloe had been there.
She shifted to a different page, a statement from the caterer the syndicate had bribed that night. Nervous handwriting full of crossed-out words, she’d sworn she hadn’t known the plan. She’d claimed she only agreed to smuggle in the equipment, too scared to say no after being paid. Isabel scrawled a note in the margin, circlingscaredtwice. People always had a reason. Fear, greed, desperation. She knew what fear could make someone do.
But even as she tried to sink into the work, her mind slid back where it didn’t belong.
