6
Nathaniel’s POV.
I had always prided myself on my self-control. Years of discipline, of restraint, had built a wall between impulse and action. But with Isla, that wall was crumbling. Every smirk, every teasing glance, every f*****g challenge she threw my way chipped away at it, until I was left with nothing but raw, unfiltered need.
She didn’t play fair. She never had.
I watched her from across the living room, sipping my whiskey, pretending I wasn’t affected by the way she stretched out on the couch, her bare legs on full display. She was wrapped in one of my shirts, the fabric hanging off her shoulder, barely covering anything.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
“I should be mad at you,” she murmured, flipping lazily through a book she wasn’t actually reading.
I arched a bro
