“Isadora.”
His voice was thick with sleep when he said her name, his throat rough, lips cracked from how hard he’d kissed her the night before.
He shifted on the bed, stretched out an arm across the sheets like he could find her again in the heat they shared. But there was nothing. Just cold silk and empty air.
His brow creased.
“Isadora,” he said again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
His hand slid lower, fingers brushing against the faint damp spot where her thighs had soaked into the mattress. His c**k was hard. Rock f*****g hard. Morning wood didn’t even begin to describe the brutal ache pulsing between his legs. He groaned, deep and guttural, dragging his palm down the base of his shaft as it twitched against his stomach.
“f**k,” he growled, teeth clenched. “Where the hell did
