Coyote kept the devilish grin on his face, even though a flicker of doubt twisted inside him. Did I just screw everything up? But he chose to own it rather than apologize. No flinching, no retreat. She wants this, he told himself.
Isabella leaned back in her chair, a slow smile forming on her lips. "Do you think you can handle me, Mr. Watkins?"
Coyote's eyes dipped to her chest for a beat before rising to meet hers. "There's only one way to find out, Miss Cruz."
Without breaking eye contact, Coyote stood and walked around the table. Isabella turned toward him, still seated, watching him approach like prey watching the predator she hoped would catch her. He stopped in front of her, bent down, and let his hand trail down her chest before leaning in to kiss her.
Their lips collided—hungry and unapologetic. Isabella kissed him back just as fiercely, her mouth parting as Coyote slipped in his tongue, tasting her, exploring her, claiming her. One hand roamed to her chest, squeezing it firmly as their kiss deepened.
When they finally pulled away, both were panting.
"Coyote Watkins," Isabella said breathlessly, "I actually thought you were some stuck-up dude."
Coyote bit his lower lip and smirked. "I guess I'm not. At least not anymore."
Isabella arched a brow, her lips curving into a sardonic smile as she watched Coyote slowly peel off his jacket, then his t-shirt, stripping like a man who knew exactly how much power his body held. Sunlight kissed his skin, highlighting every sharp line of his lean, chiseled frame, broad shoulders, sculpted pecs, and the kind of abs that made Isabella's breath catch.
She stood, reached out, and ran her hands over his torso, squeezing his shoulder as if testing how real he was. Then she looked up into his green eyes, intense and locked onto her like a target.
Coyote pulled her closer, both hands grabbing her ass, kneading it in firm strokes that drew a low moan from her lips. The sound only fueled him more.
She could feel his hardness pressing against her. Intrigued, she slipped her hand down, trying to reach inside his pants, but the fabric was too tight. Sensing her intent, Coyote pulled away, unfastened his belt, and dropped his pants and underwear.
Isabella's breath hitched as her gaze dropped. Her eyes widened.
He smirked, reading her expression perfectly. That stunned look, he had missed that look.
"Now, I ask you, can you handle me?" Coyote said, his tone dropping into something darker, more primal.
Isabella didn't respond. She couldn't. She was too busy processing what she was looking at—wondering if he could possibly fit inside her. Damn. He is packing.
Without delay, she slipped off her blouse, revealing a lacy black bra that cupped breasts perfectly.
Coyote stepped forward, his nine inch snake swaying with each stride. He reached for her and unclasped her bra, freeing her breasts. She moaned as he took one into his mouth, sucking, licking, and squeezing with intensity. Her head tilted back, body arching into his touch.
Then, in one smooth motion, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the nearby couch. He laid her down gently, then peeled off her trousers and juice-soaked panties, revealing her glistening pussy.
Coyote licked his lips, admiring the sight. He slipped a finger inside her, his other hand still busy at her breast, squeezing and later titillating her hard nipple. Her body responded instantly—quivering with pleasure.
"Do you still think I can't handle you?" Coyote asked, his voice playful but firm.
Isabella could only moan, gasping for breath, her voice lost to the sensations coursing through her.
"Answer my question, Isabella," he said again, his tone now commanding, dark and full of heat. "Do you still think I can't handle you? Yes or no?"
"No… you can handle me. You can handle me," Isabella stuttered.
Coyote slid his finger out of her and licked it slowly, savoring the taste. "You taste so sweet—like maple syrup."
And with that, he buried his face between her thighs. His tongue moved with expert precision, teasing and lapping at her clit in slow, rhythmic motions. Isabella's moans grew louder, her entire body trembling as waves of pleasure rolled through her. Her muscles tensed, her breath hitched, and she gripped the back of his head with both hands, pulling him closer. Her hips bucked desperately against his mouth, chasing every sensation he gave her.
Coyote was lost in her taste, savoring the sweetness of her soaked folds. He flicked his tongue deeper, feeling her walls begin to clench and tighten. That was his signal, her body was ready. She's more than ready, he thought. Now I need to be inside her.
"Do you have a condom?" Coyote asked, his voice low and urgent.
Isabella, still breathless and trembling from what he'd just done to her, lifted a shaking hand and pointed toward a desk drawer a few feet away.
Without wasting time, Coyote stood, walked over, opened the drawer, and found a fresh pack of condoms. He tore one open, rolled it on, and turned back to face her.
She was still lying on the couch, legs parted, her chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. Coyote stepped between her thighs and bent down to her level, positioning himself at her vagina. His eyes met hers, locking in a heated stare.
Slowly, deliberately, he slid inside her.
Isabella's head fell back against the cushion, her mouth opening in a silent gasp as inch by inch, he filled her. Her fingers dug into the fabric beneath her, her lips parting wider as he pushed deeper. Her body stretched to accommodate him, and she could feel every thick inch settling inside, stuffing her completely.
Coyote didn't rush. He moved with intention, savoring the feeling of her wrapped around him, tight and warm. When he was finally buried to the hilt, he paused, taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks, parted lips, and the way her body responded to his.
She was breathless—utterly full—and he hadn't even begun yet.