Isla's Pov
I hated that I was still breathing heavy.
I hated that my lips felt swollen, and my skin was flushed, and my mind was a blur of his touch, his mouth, his voice saying my name like a threat and a promise all at once.
And most of all?
I hated that he was in my space like he owned it—leaning against the damn wall, shirt half undone, like this wasn’t a total violation of logic, sanity, and personal boundaries.
“You’re staring,” Dario said lazily, arms crossed, eyes on me like he could read every thought I didn’t say out loud.
“I’m judging,” I shot back.
He smirked. “You judging always looks like you’re imagining me naked.”
I turned on my heel. “Please. You’re not even top ten in my mental hit list of people I’d sleep with if the world were ending.”
“Impressive list. Anyone
