Isla’s POV
When he says come here, my body moves before my mind does. It’s not obedience, It’s instinct.
Heat spreads through me like a slow spill of liquor—warm, reckless, and impossible to stop once it starts. My feet carry me toward him, but I don’t rush. I let my hips sway just enough to be intentional, to let him see that I’m choosing this. That I’m not being pulled.
Zayne watches me like a predator who already knows the hunt is over. His eyes don’t roam, they lock on mine.
The moment I step into his space, the air thickens. His hand comes to my waist, not grabbing, not gentle either, just firm enough to remind me exactly where I am. Exactly who I’m standing in front of.
“Slow,” he murmurs. I smile despite myself.
I lift my hands and rest them against his chest, feeling the so
