"Dante, don't..."
"Your body is talking to me right now, Isabella," he interrupted, his hand moving down between her legs. He pushed under her shirt, and his fingers found her clit directly. She hadn't bothered with panties, hadn't been bothering with much of anything since blocking his number. "It's telling me that you want this. That you want me. That nothing has changed between us."
Isabella's knees nearly buckled as he rubbed slow circles around her clit. Each touch sent electricity through her body, making her forget why she was so angry, making her forget the fact that he'd lied to her, used her, recorded her.
"Get out," she whispered, but it came out like a plea. Like a prayer. Like the last defense of a woman who was losing the battle with her own body. "Leave my apartment, Dante. Please. I don't want you here."
