*Isabella's POV*
Noticing the heat rising in my cheeks, Jacob took the hint and switched gears.
"How come you never come here? Aren't you from around here?" he asked as our pace slowed, his voice casual but curious. "No, I'm from Indiana. I came here for college," I replied, brushing some hair out of my face.
"You're parents still back in Indiana?" he asked, glancing at me. "No. They're dead." I said it flatly, with a shrug, as if tossing it out into the cold air could make it weigh less. Jacob stopped mid-step. Shock flickered across his features before morphing into something softer, almost guilty. "Oh shit—I'm sorry I asked," he said quietly, suddenly nervous.
I forced a small shrug, keeping my eyes fixed on the waves rolling in. "Don't worry. It's fine." It's not fine, but what the hell else was I supposed to say? "You know… my mother…" he began, but his voice trailed off, ending in a heavy sigh. His eyes stayed locked on the dark horizon, something unspoken weighing on him. We stood there in silence, the kind that pressed down on your chest, awkward and raw. The ocean roared in the background, filling in for words neither of us seemed to have.
Finally, I broke it. "Jacob, I'm sorry. I'm… I'm not good at this stuff." The words came out stilted, rough, like they were scraped from somewhere I never let people see. He turned to me then, the cocky grin gone, replaced by something startlingly gentle. "It's okay," he murmured, and before I could think, he tugged me closer. His arms wrapped around me, strong and grounding, his breath warm against my hair.
"Come here, sweetheart." Sweetheart. Yeah, right. If only he knew. I wasn't some sweetheart—I was just a fucked-up, heartless bitch who never seemed to care enough, never seemed to know how. And yet, pressed against him, I almost let myself believe it.
The drive back was a blur. Jacob had a way of erasing heavy moments, like nothing dark or broken could exist in his world for too long. Before I knew it, he was back to cracking jokes, teasing me, brushing my knee with his hand every time he shifted gears like he was testing how far he could push me. And damn it, every touch sent sparks through me, no matter how much I tried to act unfazed.
By the time we got home, I was exhausted but wired, strung out on the high of his presence. The second we stepped inside, he wandered toward the kitchen, casual as ever, while I leaned against the counter. "Do you have any wine? A glass would do," I asked, trying to sound composed.
"I think Damien's got a whole wine cellar downstairs," Jacob said with a smirk, opening the fridge. Then, without warning, his tone shifted, lower, rougher. "But tonight I don't want wine."
I tilted my head, curiosity and nerves colliding. "Then what do you want?" He turned, eyes dragging over me slowly, deliberately, making my skin heat under the weight of his stare. His gaze lingered on the oversized black hoodie wrapped around me like a shield.
"I want…" He let the words hang, his voice dipping to a whisper as he stepped closer. "…my hoodie back." The corner of his mouth curved into a sinful smirk. "Take it off." The way he said it—commanding but soft, playful but dangerous—made my heart slam against my ribs. I could feel my cheeks burning as I tugged the hoodie off and shoved it into his hands. But he didn't even glance at it—he just tossed it to the floor like it didn't matter, his eyes locked only on me.
Then his hands were on my waist, warm, steady, pulling me closer like I belonged right there. His voice dropped low, soft enough to send shivers down my spine.
"You're so fucking beautiful, Isabella. I wanna kiss you." His finger tilted my chin up until I had no choice but to look into his eyes—intense, dark, like he was already devouring me in his head. My heart thudded painfully hard against my ribs.
"Well… don't let me stop you," I whispered back, my voice trembling but laced with daring. And that was all it took. In one swift motion, Jacob scooped me up like I weighed nothing and set me down on the counter, the cold granite shocking against my thighs. His big hands settled on my hips, holding me firm, steady.
For a second, he just stared at me, his brows furrowed, lips parted—like he was at war with himself, like part of him wanted to slam the brakes and the other part wanted to lose control completely. But then something flickered in his gaze, something darker, hungrier, and it swallowed every trace of hesitation.
I didn't give him time to think. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I dragged him down to me and crashed my lips against his. The kiss was hard, messy, desperate—my silent way of telling him I didn't want doubt, I didn't want restraint. I wanted him.
He responded instantly, groaning low in his throat as his lips moved against mine, rough and eager, like he'd been starving for this. His hands tightened on my hips, dragging me right to the edge of the counter until I was flush against him, every line of his body pressed into mine.
I gasped against his mouth, overwhelmed, shivers racing down my spine, heat pooling low in my stomach. My fingers itched, restless, and before I could stop myself, I started roaming—tracing the hard planes of his chest, sliding down his abs, desperate to feel more. My hands fumbled at the hem of his shirt, and in one breathless, reckless movement, I yanked it up and over his head, tossing it aside without a second thought. "Fuck…" I whispered under my breath, taking in the sight of him—broad shoulders, carved muscles, skin warm under my palms. And before I could process anything else, he was back on me, kissing me like he was determined to ruin me. To make me his...tonight.