Rowan's hand hovered over the ignition, keys already in the slot.
The engine hadn't even turned over yet when Isadora still buckled in, still barely coherent suddenly lurched forward like gravity had reversed just for her.
Soft, vodka-warm lips pressed against Rowan's cheek.
Not a peck. A deliberate, lingering claim.
"You're mine," Isadora slurred against the skin, voice low and wrecked and possessive in a way that made the words feel like handcuffs.
"I hate everyone who thinks they can get to you. That lawyer fucker… anyone. They don't get to touch what's mine."
Rowan went rigid.
Every muscle locked at once spine straight, shoulders squared, breath caught somewhere between lungs and throat.
The cheek kiss burned like a brand; she could still feel the exact shape of Isadora's mouth there, the faint dampness left behind.
Her pulse hammered traitorously under her jaw, loud enough she was sure Isadora could hear it even through the fog of drugs and alcohol.
"Get. Back. In. Your. Seat," Rowan bit out, each word clipped and dangerous. She didn't turn her head. Couldn't.
If she looked at Isadora right now flushed, glassy-eyed, lips parted and still so close she wasn't sure what would break first: her restraint or something far more dangerous.
But Isadora didn't listen.
She never did.
With a clumsy, determined shift, Isadora fumbled at her own seatbelt until it clicked free. Before Rowan could react, one long leg swung over the center console.
Then the other. Isadora landed in Rowan's lap in a sprawl of silk dress, toned thighs bracketing Rowan's hips, chest pressed flush to chest.
Her arms looped around Rowan's neck like they belonged there, fingers threading into dark hair and tugging just enough to sting.
Rowan's hands shot to Isadora's waist on pure reflex intended to push her off.
Instead they froze there, fingers digging into the dip above her hips, feeling the heat of skin through thin fabric, the faint tremor of exhaustion and high wearing thin.
"Isa..." Rowan's voice cracked on the nickname she almost never used. She swallowed hard. "Get off me. Now."
Isadora only burrowed closer, nose dragging along the line of Rowan's throat, inhaling like she was memorizing the scent. "No," she whispered, lips brushing skin with every word.
"You came for me. You always come. Means you want this too… even if you hate admitting it."
Rowan's grip tightened not to push away anymore, but to hold her still.
To stop the slow, drugged rocking of Isadora's hips that was starting to feel less like accidental shifting and more like deliberate provocation.
"You're high," Rowan said, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. "You're drunk. You don't know what you're doing."
Isadora laughed softly breathless, broken. "I know exactly what I'm doing." One hand slid down, palm flattening over Rowan's racing heart. "This… this is racing for me. Not for some random date. For me."
Rowan closed her eyes for one dangerous second.
She could feel everything: Isadora's weight settling deeper into her lap, the way those strong abs flexed under her palms as Isadora breathed, the faint tremor in her arms that said the comedown was creeping closer.
She could smell the club on her sweat, perfume, cocaine's chemical edge and underneath it, something uniquely Isadora.
Something that made Rowan's stomach twist with want and guilt in equal measure.
"I should drive you straight to the ER," Rowan muttered, more to herself than to the girl in her lap. "Let them pump your stomach. Let someone else deal with this."
"But you won't." Isadora's lips found Rowan's earlobe, teeth grazing just shy of a bite.
"Because then you'd have to explain why your hands are still on me. Why you haven't shoved me off yet."
Rowan's exhale was ragged.
She finally opened her eyes and immediately regretted it.
Isadora was watching her. Even through the heavy-lidded haze, those dark eyes burned with single-minded focus.
Obsession. Ownership.
And underneath it all, something raw and terrified that looked almost like love.
Rowan's voice came out quieter than she intended. Hoarser.
"You're going to ruin me, Ravencroft."
Isadora's smile was slow. Triumphant. Heartbreaking.
"Promise?"
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then Rowan's hands still on Isadora's waist finally pushed.
Not hard.
Just enough to create space. Just enough to remind them both where the line was supposed to be.
"Back in your seat," Rowan said again. This time her voice shook. "Buckle up. We're going home."
"'Home'?" Isadora echoed softly. "Yours… or mine?"
Rowan's hands were already moving again firmer this time, palms flat against Isadora's ribs, ready to lift and deposit her back into the passenger seat like she was cargo that needed containing.
But before the push could fully land, Isadora surged forward.
Her mouth crashed against Rowan's.
Not tentative. Not teasing like the cheek kiss. This was desperate open-mouthed, trembling, tasting of salt and vodka and the faint chemical ghost of cocaine.
Tears were already streaming down Isadora's face, hot and fast, wetting both their cheeks as she pressed in harder, fingers clutching Rowan's coat lapels like lifelines.
Rowan froze. Completely.
The world narrowed to the wet heat of Isadora's mouth, the broken little sob that vibrated against her lips, the way Isadora's body shook in her lap like she was coming apart at the seams.
Isadora pulled back just enough to speak voice raw, cracking on every word.
"Why can't you love me like I do?" Tears kept falling, dripping onto Rowan's collarbone.
"I left everything for you. My family they hate me more now, but I don't care. I tried to leave the drugs… I swear I tried. I controlled my anger, I stopped breaking things, I stopped screaming at them… all for you. And you..." Her voice splintered. "You still look at me like I'm poison."
She kissed Rowan again.
Deeper this time. Hungrier.
One hand sliding up to cup the back of Rowan's neck, holding her there while the other fisted in her hair.
Tears slid between their joined mouths, salty and warm.
Rowan's hands still on Isadora's waist twitched.
She should push.
Every ethical alarm in her head screamed it: age gap, power imbalance, addiction, professional ruin, the girl was barely conscious an hour ago...
But the tears.
The broken, pleading way Isadora whispered against her lips between kisses.
The way her whole body trembled like she'd shatter if Rowan rejected her now.
Rowan's resolve cracked.
Not all at once. Not dramatically.
Just… quietly.
Her hands stopped pushing.
Instead, they slid up Isadora's back slow, careful until one palm settled between her shoulder blades, the other cradling the nape of her neck.
Not pulling her closer. Not yet. But not pushing her away either.
She let the kiss happen.
Let Isadora pour every ounce of her messy, obsessive, aching need into it.
Isadora made a small, shattered sound against Rowan's mouth like relief and grief tangled together and kissed her harder, slower now, like she was afraid the moment would vanish if she moved too fast.
Her tears kept coming, wetting Rowan's cheeks, her jaw, the corner of her mouth.
Rowan didn't deepen it. She didn't take control. She just… let it.
Let Isadora have this small, stolen piece of her.
When Isadora finally pulled back gasping, forehead pressed to Rowan's, tears still falling she looked wrecked. Beautiful. Terrifying.
"You didn't push me away," she whispered, voice small and wondering. Like she couldn't believe it.
Rowan's throat worked. Her own eyes were stinging now, though she refused to let the tears fall.
"I'm still going to drive you home," Rowan said quietly. Hoarsely. "And tomorrow… we're starting real detox. No shortcuts. No games. And if you ever pull something like tonight again..." Her voice hardened just a fraction. "I will walk away. For good."
Isadora nodded against her forehead small, frantic little jerks.
"I'll do it. I'll do whatever you say. Just… don't hate me."
Rowan exhaled shakily.
"I don't hate you," she admitted so soft it was almost lost under the low hum of the idling engine. "That's the problem."
She finally eased Isadora back into the passenger seat gentler this time.
Buckled her in. Wiped the tear tracks from her cheeks with the pad of her thumb, lingering a second longer than necessary.
Isadora caught her wrist before she could pull away.
"Stay with me tonight?" she asked voice small, vulnerable, nothing like the arrogant heiress who usually ruled rooms. "Just… stay. Please."
Rowan looked at her for a long moment the smeared mascara, the swollen lips, the glassy hope in her eyes.
Then she sighed.
"I'll stay until you're asleep," she said finally. "That's all I'm promising."
Isadora's smile was tiny. Tremulous. But real.
"That's enough," she whispered.
The engine idled low, a steady rumble under the quiet streetlights.
Rowan's hand was still tangled with Isadora's on the center console fingers locked, neither willing to let go first. The air inside the car felt thicker now, charged, every breath heavier than the last.
Isadora's tears had slowed, but her eyes still shimmered, dark and fever-bright.
She shifted again in the passenger seat, leaning closer until her lips brushed Rowan's once more soft at first, testing. Then deeper. Hungrier.
Rowan exhaled shakily against her mouth. "Isa… we can't..."
But Isadora didn't let her finish.
Her mouth slid away from Rowan's lips, trailing hot and deliberate down the line of her jaw, then lower over the sensitive skin of her throat, pausing where Rowan's pulse hammered wildly.
A soft, open-mouthed kiss there. Then another. Teeth grazed just enough to sting.
Rowan's free hand flew to Isadora's shoulder, gripping hard. "People would be watching," she rasped, voice strained, trying to cling to reason. "We're parked on a public street..."
Isadora lifted her head just enough to meet Rowan's eyes. A slow, wicked little smile curved her swollen lips, even through the remnants of tears.
"Glass isn't transparent, Doc," she murmured, voice low and rough from crying and want.
"Tinted black. And the car's soundproof. No one hears. No one sees." Her fingers traced the edge of Rowan's collar, slipping the top button free with practiced ease. "Just us."
Before Rowan could argue again, Isadora's mouth was moving once more down the column of her throat, over the sharp edge of her collarbone, then lower still.
Kisses turned to slow, wet drags of tongue against skin where Rowan's blouse gapped open. Each one sent a visible shiver through Rowan's body.
"Isa..." Rowan's protest was weaker now, almost a plea.
Isadora ignored it.
One hand slid into Rowan's dark hair, fingers curling tight at the nape.
Then she pulled not cruel, but firm, insistent guiding Rowan's head back until her shoulders hit the driver's seat cushion. Rowan's breath hitched as her body followed, reclining fully now, seat tilted just enough to make space.
Isadora moved with her fluid, predatory climbing fully over Rowan until she straddled her hips, knees bracketing Rowan's waist.
The silk of her dress rode up her strong thighs, abs flexing as she settled her weight.
She braced one hand beside Rowan's head, the other still fisted in her hair, keeping her pinned in place.
Rowan stared up at her chest rising and falling fast, eyes wide with a storm of conflict: want, guilt, fear, surrender.
Isadora leaned down slowly.
"You're shaking," she whispered against Rowan's lips. "Not from cold."
Rowan swallowed hard. "This is insane."
"Yeah." Isadora's mouth brushed hers again once, twice teasing. "But you're still here."
She kissed her properly then deep, claiming, tongue sliding against Rowan's in a way that made Rowan's hands finally move.
They landed on Isadora's hips, fingers digging in not to push away, but to hold on. Hard.
Isadora moaned softly into the kiss, hips rocking once in a slow, deliberate grind that dragged a choked sound from Rowan's throat.
When she pulled back just enough to breathe her forehead rested against Rowan's, noses brushing.
"Tell me to stop," Isadora said quietly, voice trembling now. "Say it like you mean it… and I will."