Chapter 4: Bitter taste of Regret
TAMARA.
Our eyes locked, brown clashing with dark green, my gaze glistening with tears while his remained dry and unreadable. This was Isaiah, my first love, the thief of my heart, body, and soul. He bore the same name, wore the same face, but the man standing before me was not him.
Not the Isaiah who used to chase me behind my father’s garden, laughter spilling from our lips. Not the Isaiah who brought me flowers every single day, or the Isaiah who defied his own father just to be with me.
No, the man before me, brooding, tall, dark, and devastatingly beautiful, was a shell of my Isaiah.
My heart shattered all over again.
Isaiah was the first to break the stare. He gently set the children down, then crossed over to his mother and grandmother, pressing soft kisses to their foreheads in greeting.
Noel tugged at my hand, confusion flickering across his features. I forced a tight smile, swallowing past the lump in my throat before lowering myself back into my seat.
“Are you okay?” he whispered.
I nodded quickly. “My lashes,” I lied. “They fell into my eyes.”
Ever innocent, Noel simply nodded.
Meanwhile, Isaiah moved around the table, greeting everyone, people leaning toward him as though his very presence was magnetic. My eyes betrayed me, tracking him of their own accord, refusing to look elsewhere.
When Lucy’s sister shifted from her spot in front of me, directly beside Lucy at the head of the table, it left Isaiah to sit there instead.
Now I had a full view of him. And worse, he had one of me.
“Do you two know each other?” Anna’s voice broke the heavy silence, her gaze darting between us after the awkwardness settled.
“No,” I said quickly.
“Yes,” Isaiah countered at the same time.
My head snapped toward him. He smirked, a defiant curl of his lips, pinning me with a look that sent goosebumps skating across my skin and an unwelcome flutter low in my belly.
Turning to Lucy instead, he let out a hollow smile. “I met her at the restaurant, Ma Anna,” he lied smoothly, his voice dripping with casual deceit. I didn’t fail to notice he didn’t call her grandma like everyone else.
Anna, too enchanted by his charm, didn’t question it. But I did. His smile was too practiced, too cold, too empty. Not the kind of smile my Isaiah would have given anyone.
Noel nudged me again, pulling my gaze reluctantly back to him. I had almost forgotten he was still there.
“You didn’t tell me, sunflower,” he murmured.
I parted my lips to respond, but a sharp snort cut across the table. All eyes turned toward the sound.
“Sorry, my bad,” Isaiah drawled, looking anything but apologetic. “I didn’t realize women were supposed to tell their boyfriends about every single person they met.” He spoke without even glancing our way, idly picking at his pasta.
Heat flamed across my cheeks, mortifying me, but Noel, he was livid.
“Maybe not every woman,” he snapped back, “but my woman tells me about everyone she meets.”
And he was right. I did. I always told him everything, every place I went, every person I crossed paths with.
Isaiah finally looked up, not even sparing noel a glance, his stare sharp as a blade.
“Does she now,” he murmured, stretching the words until they hummed with threat. “Hmm.”
The weight of his look rooted me in place, fear crawling down my spine. That stare carried knowledge, secrets, the kind that could tear apart everything I had built with Noel. And deep down, I knew it was true.
Noel had no idea. He knew nothing about my past with Isaiah. Nothing about him being my first love.
Because after the “incident,” after the news of his supposed death, I had sworn off men entirely. The grief had been unbearable. I had dragged myself to the cliffside more than once, ready to let go, ready to fall, until Magret always found me. She stripped the house of sharp objects, hovered over me like a shadow, never leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I hadn’t eaten. I hadn’t slept. On the worst nights, I pounded on Isaiah’s door until my fists bled, screaming for him to come out, refusing to believe he was gone. But always, his father answered, pity and contempt etched into his face as though I were the one who had taken Isaiah from him.
My parents eventually locked me inside the house, exhausted by my fits, my screams, my grief.
And now, now here he was. Alive. Sitting across from me, looking healthier, stronger, more alive than ever. Rage burned through my veins, tangled with the sharp sting of betrayal, the confusion of love, the ache of loss. Anger, resentment, hatred- all of it seared me as I stared at him.
Dinner carried on around us, laughter and chatter filling the air as everyone fawned over Isaiah, asking him questions, praising him. The comfort I had felt earlier at the table dissolved into nothingness. With him here, I was raw, gloomy, aroused, and furious beyond reason.
“Tamara, darling. Are you okay? You haven’t touched your food.”
Lucy’s gentle voice yanked me from my storm. I lifted my gaze to her, and in that moment, I felt the weight of every eye at the table pressing against me- including his.
I set my spoon down with deliberate calm, pasting on a brittle smile. “Could I be directed to the restroom, please? I think I ate something bad.”
Lucy’s face fell, horrified. “Oh no. Was it something we served you?”
“No,” I reassured quickly. “I’m sure it was from last night, Lucy. The food here is delicious.”
Her frown lingered, but she gave a firm nod. “The bathroom is upstairs, first door to your right. Go on, dear.”
I rose, my face tight with strained composure, every step away from the table heavy with the weight of eyes following me. But only one pair of eyes truly mattered. Only one gaze seared through me like fire, branding me all over again.
~~~~
I located the restroom and did all I had to do, including giving myself a pep talk; to not let Isaiah see how much he affected me, and not to give Noel or his family a reason to suspect there was something between us.
I pulled the door to leave, but it swung open abruptly, making a startled yelp escape my lips.
With my hand pressed against my chest, I looked up and met the darkest green eyes I had ever seen, staring down at me with a stormy, pissed-off look carved into his face.
Isaiah.
“W-What are you doing in here?” I breathed, still rattled.
Isaiah didn’t answer right away. He only pinned me with his stare, slow and consuming, then dragged his eyes down the length of my body before returning to my face. His expression stayed unreadable, but his eyes, they were hooded, sharp, and burning with anger.
“When did you start covering up so much, church girl?” he asked, leaning lazily against the doorframe, oozing the kind of confidence that had once undone me.
Butterflies swarmed in my belly at the sound of that nickname, his nickname for me, but the flicker of weakness was quickly drowned by anger, full and unrelenting.
“That is none of your business. Please move from the door.” I hissed.
I tried to step past him, but he didn’t budge. Not even an inch.
“I know what’s hidden underneath that heavy cloth, church girl,” he growled into my ear, voice low and rough, dragging across my skin like fire. “And the image is forever burned into my memory.”
Shivers shot straight through me, lodging between my thighs. I bit my tongue hard to keep from gasping—or worse, moaning. Anything to keep him from realizing just how much he still got to me.
“Then I suggest you soak your head in bleach so the image leaves your brain, Isaiah. Because you are never getting near me, or my body again.” I snapped, my voice steady even though my insides quaked.
Isaiah didn’t look offended. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, amusement sparked in his eyes, a wicked glint, and a smirk tugged slowly at his lips. The sight of it, of him, punched straight into my heart. He was even more beautiful now. More powerful. More muscled. And the thought broke me all over again. Why did he have to leave me? Why? The question was at the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it along with every other feeling I was having in his presence.
“Never say never, church girl.” His voice dipped lower, certainty dripping with every tone.
His fingers ghosted through my hair, not quite touching, but close enough to make me ache.
“I bet if I touched your pussy right now, it would be wet and throbbing for me. I know your body like the back of my hand.”
My entire body hummed with need, every nerve raw and desperate, my fingertips itching to touch him, my body begging to let him touch me. Because he was right. Ever since I heard his laugh, before I even knew it was him, my body had betrayed me, responded to him like a moth drawn helplessly to flame. It pissed me off. But I would rather die than let him know it.
“I’m guessing your arrogance didn’t die with you,” I spat. “Because it’s screaming so loudly right now. Touch me with even a seven-foot pole and I will snap it in half—then break your hand with it.”
Isaiah chuckled, the sound rich, dark, amused, mocking. My defiance didn’t scare him. It entertained him.
“We’ll see, Tamara. We’ll see.”
His hand slipped from my hair, but he lingered at the door, turning it open with deliberate slowness. He paused on the threshold, tilting his head back toward me.
“Meanwhile,” he murmured, eyes gleaming with something cruel, “continue imagining me when my brother fucks you, church girl. Because that is the only way you’ll ever cum.”
And with that, he left, leaving me standing there, breathless, shaking, and so wound up with desire that even the smallest shift of my legs made me want to moan.
I didn’t want to think about his last words, didn’t want to acknowledge how true they might be. Instead, I slammed the bathroom door shut, turned the lock, and leaned hard against it. My chest heaved. My pulse thundered. Then, trembling, I gathered my skirt, and pulled my dress up with shaking hands.
Sliding my panties to the side, my fingers found my warm, sensitive clit and, without thinking too much about it, I began to rub. A needy sound slipped from me as my other hand pinched at my nipples through the thin fabric of my dress, imagining, desperately, that it was Isaiah’s hands on me, Isaiah’s fingers inside me.
I was already so wet that sliding four fingers into my hole was effortless. Four, the same number of fingers Isaiah used to use to bring me to orgasm. But mine were too slim, too small and too shallow.
They couldn’t reach where only he could, where only he had ever touched.
Still, the pleasure throbbed hot and insistent. I pumped my fingers in and out, fucking myself with shaky desperation, circling my clit, teasing my nipples, moaning his name into the quiet bathroom air.
“I bet if I feel your pussy, it will be wet and throbbing for me. I know your body like the back of my hand, church girl.”
His words, low and filthy, replayed in my mind- and with one more flick of my clit, I shattered. The orgasm hit me hard, hips jerking against my own fingers, mouth parting on a muffled cry as I bit down on my lips to stop myself from screaming his name.
When the wave passed, the high drained, and all that was left was regret. Shame weighed down heavy in my chest. I pulled my fingers free, washing my hands quickly, berating myself in silence. Masturbating to my ghost. To a man who’d left me, destroyed me.
And then Noel, sweet, safe Noel, flashed across my mind. Our sex life might be as plain and uncolored as the dresses I wore, but he was kind, steady, good. My heart ached as guilt sank deeper. Did this count as cheating? Touching myself but only to Isaiah? Imagining only Isaiah?
A headache pressed at the back of my skull, a dull ache that grew with every thought. I shoved it down. I couldn’t unravel here. Not with Isaiah so close. Not with his family watching.
I fixed my hair and straightened my dress, though my legs trembled, wobbly beneath me, and walked back to dinner.
My eyes swept across the dining table immediately, stopping on the empty chair in front of me.
“Tamara, darling,” Lucy said the moment I stepped into the room, her voice full of practiced gentleness. “Forgive my son’s rudeness. He had to leave for some business.. I hope you feel better now.”
My throat tightened. My lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile, not really. “Yes, Lucy.” My hands fisted tightly around my dress as I walked toward my seat, the thought of him leaving again sinking like a stone in my chest. “I feel better. Thank you.”
Noel reached for me, his warm hand covering mine. I turned to him, heart heavy, guilt pressing even harder when I saw the worry carved into his face. “Do you want to leave?” he asked softly.
His care and his goodness, nearly broke me.
I forced a tight smile and shook my head, squeezing his hand. A resolve, sharp and unyielding, rose inside me. Isaiah might be back, but I would never let him take yet another thing from me even if I died trying.