CHAPTER 3 : Midnight Temptation.
742 Words
ISABELLA’S POV ~
The house was deeply quiet past midnight, the only noise being a distant sea’s relentless crashing on the cliffs far below.
Isabella rested on a king-sized bed in the guest room, a bit of the sheets was wound around her legs, and her skin was still tingling from the hug they shared in the foyer hours ago.
She could even recall the firm, hard pressure of Callahan’s member against her- the way he twitched when she moved in rhythm with him.
Just thinking about it made her thighs squeeze each other.
She didn’t rest; she simply couldn’t. Especially when all over this house, every part of him, his scent, lingered- oud and musk, a kind of dark and masculine odor underneath.
Besides, she knew he was downstairs, perhaps wide awake, as well, wrestling the very same fire she had lit inside her.
Isabella left her bed with only the pale pink silk boy-short panties she had packed for this kind of occasion and a cropped white tank ending just below the undercurve of her breasts.
Without a sound she went over cold hardwoods on bare feet, down a large staircase and finally, into the enormous kitchen.
The marble countertop was slightly shining under the weak light of the monitored lights in cabinets.
And there he was.
Callahan was at the furthermost end of the kitchen island, dressed just in low-hanging black sweatpants.
His skin was bare; he was shirtless.
His back facing her, with two broad shoulders and a well-shaped body moving gradually as he got water for himself from the filtered tap.
The waistline of the pants was so low that it revealed the deep V-lines disappearing under the garment. Every line of his abs was defined by the shade and the moonlight coming from the tall windows.
Still, he didn’t recognize her presence.
Isabella took a moment in the doorway, looking at him. The greying hair at the temples made him all the more attractive.
Forty-three years old yet his body suggested that instead of boardrooms, he may still be spending his mornings in the gym. He had such a tremendous effect on her that she immediately felt her core heating up.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” she said softly.
Callahan became tense. With complete control, he placed the glass down and then turned towards her. One of those long, hungry looks passed over her- the cropped top tightly held to the curve of her breasts, the n*****s already visible against the light cotton, the silk panties rising high onto her hips, and the lace trim barely covering the rest.
“Isabella.”
His voice was rough like he had been swallowing sandpaper before now.
“It’s late.”
“I know.”
She moved slowly, hips from side to side so the silk would make the slightest of movements.
“That’s why I came down. Thought maybe warm milk would do the trick.”
She immediately got on the kitchen counter next to him. Her legs dangled and, as a result of settling naturally, the thighs parted. The silk boy-shorts began to go up fast. One more inch and the smooth, bare lips of her p***y would be visible.
She knew it. He knew it.
Callahan stayed where he was. He couldn’t even breathe for several long seconds.
She simply stretched beyond him for a vacant glass from the counter, also brushing her breast against his bare arm without a second thought. Her n****e sliding over his skin, also through the fabric. Making him tense.
“You haven’t gone to sleep either,” she said while she was filling the glass at the same tap that he used. “Do you get bad dreams or something?”
His eyes went down. She had changed positions in just a minor way. The outline of her tender lips was revealed - quite full, glistening in the dim light. No hair at all. Totally bare. The way that she had prepared herself for weeks, fantasizing about just this situation.
Callahan grasped his glass in such a way that his knuckles became white; a visible twitch caused the front of his pants to jerk. Undeniably the thick outline of his erection was already hard and he had got to the point where the wide head was crystal clear and even there was a dark wet spot at the tip.
“Isabella,” he called out, a growl full of warning.
- Writer
