Page 97 of Enigma: An Isaac Retelling
And I know just the man to answer her every desire.
“Isaac…” she murmurs on a moan when I nod, smile, then take another step closer. “We shouldn’t… we can’t… I…”
When I cup her jaw, she melts into my embrace. I had planned to remove Ryan’s kiss from her lips with my thumb, to scrub them until they were red raw, but instead, I use my tongue, teeth, and lips.
I kiss her how she deserves to be kissed. It’s a lusty embrace that causes an avalanche of moans, groping hands, and pleas for more. It also adds more wooziness to my head than the half a bottle of whiskey I downed during dinner.
As I tug Isabelle away from the wall so I can rub my thickened cock along the seam of her damp panties, the elevator dings, announcing we’ve arrived at her floor. Conscious the only other tenant on this floor is currently wrangling busy Friday night traffic, I walk Isabelle down the corridor of her apartment, uncaring that her dress is bunched around her slim waist and that my tongue is sampling every delicious inch of her mouth.
Hugo already resides in this building, but at my request, he temporarily moved onto the same floor as Isabelle so he can keep a better eye on her. With the other residences on this floor rehomed under the guise of renovations, we’re the only two people on this level.
The remembrance thickens my blood with adrenaline.
Now Isabelle can be as loud as she wants.
My lips only leave Isabelle’s succulent ones when my eagerness to fill her sees my hand slipping beneath her panties. “Hold on, baby. I’m going to make you scream my name here, then we will move to the bedroom so I can take my time with you.”
When not a single objection fires through her rich chocolate eyes, I slip two fingers inside her, groaning when evidence of her impending climax slicks my palm. I love how uncontrollable her urges are around me. One brush of my finger on her silky-smooth skin produces more of a seductive response than both Ryan and Brandon’s kiss. I merely need to look at her, and she gets wet, and the knowledge sees me pumping my fingers into her so hard and fast, within seconds, the moans I’ve been dying to hear the past two weeks rip from her throat.
Isabelle’s screams of ecstasy are lyrical gold to my ears. They have me mixing things up for the third time this evening. I need to feel her heat wrapped around my cock right now. I can’t wait a second longer.
I’m so fucking desperate, I more rip at the zipper instead of gliding it down. After shoving down my pants until they’re huddled around my ankles, I snatch up one of the condoms that fell from Isabelle’s purse during our stumble into her apartment.
After ripping through the foil packaging with my teeth, I commence gliding the lubricated latex down my twitching shaft. I’m so fucking hard, cum is cresting at the head of my cock, begging to be released. My urges have never been so perverse, but something much more urgent than a need to come arises within me when Isabelle pushes me away from her like nothing she’s done tonight has been of her own will.
“Get out,” she yells, her breathing hitched with anger instead of unadulterated adrenaline.
As confusion overwhelms me, my eyes bounce between hers. I am lost as to what’s going on and confused as to why she’s so angry.
“Get out!” she shouts again, her anger so evident it is present in both her shouted words and the salty blobs springing down her face.
When she bangs her fists on my chest, memories I try to keep buried resurface faster than ever. Her hands don’t go anywhere near my cheek, but I feel every slap she wants to inflict when the devastation in her eyes reaches a point not even a monster could ignore.
“Isa—”
Before all her name leaves my mouth, she slips under my arm, dashes into the bathroom, then locks the door behind her. I almost kick it down, the desire to act insolent the greatest I’ve ever endured, but the quickest flurry of black racing past Isabelle’s open apartment door stops me. Her newly assigned and hopefully temporary neighbor wouldn’t have made it halfway to Tatiana’s apartment building yet, and Hunter has this floor on lockdown, so who else could be tiptoeing past Isabelle’s apartment this late at night?
I hope they’re a ghost because with how hot my blood is, they may become one before the night is over.
39
“Ican’t bring up files that don’t fucking exist,” Hunter pushes out with a frustrated grunt before dragging his hand over his scruffy beard. “You asked me to turn off surveillance.” He glares at me like he’s forgotten our dynamic. I’m the boss. He is merely my employee. “I turned them off.” When my stare becomes too much for him to bear, he drops his hand from his face then breathes out with a heavy sigh. “Sorry. It’s just my…” He stops before admitting his new neighbor is giving him more than a headache. “I’ll scan all CTV cameras in the area for a man matching the description you gave me. Unless he’s a ghost, I’ll find him.”
Happy he’s finally thinking with the head on his shoulders instead of the less scrutinized one between his legs, I jerk up my chin in thanks before placing on my coat. A cool change has descended over Ravenshoe, but I’m skeptical it has anything to do with the weather.
The reminder has me shifting my focus off Isabelle for a second. “Did Keke make it home okay?”
Hunter raises his eyes from his laptop screen to me. “Yes, but it came with a warning.” He waits for me to grit my back molars together before finalizing his reply. “She doesn’t believe Col’s obsession with Isabelle will wane anytime soon.”
I work my jaw side to side before asking, “So now do you believe the person in the hallway outside of Isabelle’s apartment could be connected with Col?”
Hunter grimaces, then shrugs. “I’m still optimistic.” Before my anger can work from my stomach to my face, he adds, “Not because I don’t believe you, Isaac, but because not all the attention is on Isabelle at the moment.” Once he digs a sheet of paper out of his hideous hemp bag, he hands it to me. “It wasn’t that long ago you were hiding someone else from Col’s henchmen.”
As confusion draws my dark brows together, I lower my eyes to the document in front of me. It’s filled with gibberish code, but a handful of words between the sequences of numbers and dots stand out. They all say the same thing—Hugo Marshall. That’s the name Hugo stopped utilizing almost five years ago. Now he is known as Hugo Jones.
I shift my focus back to Hunter when he discloses, “It could be an innocent Facebook search, but since it occurred here instead of Hugo’s hometown as it has once a week the past five years, I need to keep a close eye on it.”
“You said Hugo’s true identity is tightly wrapped up.”
