Chapter 47
**Tom**
I shifted uncomfortably in the back seat, hyperaware of Isabella's presence next to me. The streetlights cast fleeting shadows across her face as we drove, highlighting the mischievous glint in her eyes.
"So," she purred, her breath hot against my ear, "want to pick up where we left off?"
I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "Isabella, I don't think-"
"Don't think," she interrupted, her hand sliding up my thigh. "Just feel."
The cab hit a pothole, jostling us closer together. I caught a whiff of her perfume - jasmine and something musky. My head was spinning, and I wasn't sure if it was from the alcohol or her proximity.
"We can't," I managed to croak out, even as my body betrayed me, leaning into her touch.
"Can't? Or won't?" Her lips brushed against my earlobe, sending a shiver down my spine. "Come on. Live a little."
I glanced nervously at the cab driver, but he seemed oblivious to our whispered exchange, focused on the road ahead.
"This is a terrible idea," I muttered, more to myself than to her.
I knew this was a terrible idea, but my willpower crumbled faster than a high-tide sandcastle. Isabella's fingers danced along my thigh, leaving fire trails in their wake.
"Your place or mine?" she whispered, her lips grazing my neck.
I groaned, torn between desire and common sense. "Isabella, we shouldn't-"
"Shh," she pressed a finger to my lips. "My apartment's just around the corner. But it's your call, Professor. We can keep this friendly... or we can have some fun."
The cab slowed to a stop, and I realized we'd arrived at her building. Isabella slid out of the car, leaving me with a choice that felt heavier than a stack of ungraded papers.
"You coming?" She leaned back in, eyebrow arched in challenge.
I hesitated, my hand on the door handle. This was my last chance to make the responsible decision: go home and forget this night ever happened. But as I looked at Isabella, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights, my resolve melted like ice cream on a hot summer day.
"Ah, screw it," I muttered, climbing out of the cab.
Isabella's face lit up with a triumphant grin. "That's the spirit!"
I stepped out of the cab, my legs wobbling slightly. Whether it was from the alcohol or the anticipation, I couldn't tell. Probably both. I fumbled with my wallet, tossing some bills at the driver.
"Keep the change," I slurred, hoping it was enough to cover the fare and then some. The last thing I needed was to shortchange a cabbie while stumbling into a bad decision.
Isabella grabbed my hand, pulling me towards her building. "Come on. Let's see if you're as good at anatomy as you are at finance."
"That's a terrible line."
"You loved it," she teased.
The elevator dinged, and Isabella dragged me down the hallway. She fumbled with her keys, giggling as she struggled to unlock the door.
"Having trouble?" I smirked, leaning against the wall for support.
"Shut up," she muttered, finally getting the door open. "After you."
I stepped inside, my eyes adjusting to the dim light.
I blinked as Isabella flicked on the lights, the sudden brightness throbbing my head. Her apartment came into focus - a sleek, modern space that screamed 'trust fund baby' louder than a drunken frat boy at karaoke night.
"Make yourself comfortable," she purred, sashaying towards the kitchen. "Want a drink?"
"Pretty sure that's what got us into this mess in the first place."
She laughed. "Oh, Thomas. Always the responsible one."
I wandered into her living room, eyes drawn to the new photos adorning the walls. Isabella was on a yacht, cocktail in hand, looking like she'd stepped out of a magazine. Another showed her skydiving, her face a mix of terror and exhilaration.
"Trying to give your parents a heart attack?" I called out, gesturing to the skydiving photo.
She reappeared, two glasses of water in hand. "Please. Daddy's idea of rebellion was wearing brown shoes with a black suit. He needs a little excitement in his life."
I accepted the water gratefully, gulping it down to quench my parched throat. My eyes roamed over Isabella's apartment, noticing the subtle changes since my last visit. The couch was new, a plush velvet monstrosity that dominated the living room. It was undoubtedly expensive, probably from some high-end designer boutique she frequented.
As I set the empty glass on the coffee table, I looked around Isabella's place. It was nice, I had to admit. Really nice. The kind of nice that made my luxury apartment look like a college dorm room.
"Like what you see?" Isabella asked, a smirk playing on her lips.
"It's... impressive," I managed, trying not to sound too awestruck. "Did you redecorate?"
She nodded, running her hand along the arm of the couch. "Just got this beauty delivered last week. Italian leather. Cost more than my first car."
I raised an eyebrow. "Your first car was probably a Ferrari."
"Lamborghini, actually," she laughed, patting the spot beside her. "Come on. Take a seat. I promise I don't bite... unless you're into that sort of thing."
I felt my face flush as I lowered myself onto the couch. It was sinfully comfortable, the kind of furniture you could happily spend an entire weekend on, binge-watching shows and ordering takeout. Not that Isabella seemed the type to do anything so pedestrian.
"So," I said, trying to keep my voice steady as she inched closer, "this is... nice."
"Nice?" She rolled her eyes. "Thomas, you're a professor. I'm sure you can come up with a better adjective than 'nice'."
"Luxurious? Opulent? Decadent?" I offered, my vocabulary apparently deciding to show up fashionably late to the party.
"Much better," she purred, her hand reaching my thigh. "Now, why don't you put that silver tongue of yours to better use?"
I swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of how close she was. The scent of her perfume enveloped me. Her fingers traced lazy circles on my leg, each touch sending sparks of electricity through my body.
"Isabella," I started, my voice embarrassingly husky, "we shouldn't-"
"Shh," she pressed a finger to my lips, effectively silencing my weak protest. "No more 'shouldn'ts' or 'can'ts'. We're both adults here, Thomas. And I think we both know what we want."
Her eyes locked with mine, challenging me to deny it. And God help me, I couldn't. The responsible part of my brain screamed at me to leave, call another cab, and go home to my sad, empty apartment with its decidedly less comfortable couch. But the rest of me? The rest of me was acutely aware of Isabella's warmth, of the way her body fit perfectly against mine, of the promise in her eyes.
"Thomas, you're miles away." Isabella's finger traced circles on my chest, her breath warm on my neck. "You still with me, or did you check out again?"
"Sorry, my mind..." I trailed off, my gaze drifting to the elegant curve of her neck. "You have that effect on me, I guess."
Her laugh was rich and low, a rumble that sent shivers down my spine. Then, her hand slid into mine, guiding it to her thigh. My breath hitched as I felt the soft, supple skin beneath my palm, her muscles tensing slightly at my touch.
"Tell me," she murmured, "do you want to go back to your place and play it safe? Or do you want to stay with me and explore something wilder?"
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