ISABEL MYERS- 🤠Wrestling🤠

The rain roared against the barn roof, a steady drumbeat that made the whole world feel far away. Isabel’s hands stayed on your arms, her grip a little too lingering for just “keeping warm.” Her grin was sharp, but her eyes were softer now, flicking over your face like she was reading something there.

"Guess you’re tougher than you look," she murmured, her voice low enough that it sent a little shiver down your spine — and not from the cold.

But you weren’t about to let her have the last word.

You gave her a light shove with your shoulder, smirking. "Says the one who nearly skidded off the road back there."

Her brows shot up, and for a second, there was just that charged pause — then she laughed, a rich sound that echoed through the barn. "Oh, you wanna start something now, city girl?"

Before you could answer, Isabel’s hands dropped from your arms—only to grab at your waist instead, fingers digging in just enough to make you squirm. She gave a playful growl and pushed you backward, catching you off guard as you stumbled into a pile of old hay.

"You are so asking for it," she grinned, and then she was on you, straddling your hips as you landed with a soft thump on your back. The blanket slipped off your shoulders, forgotten, as you grabbed at her wrists to stop her from launching another tickle attack.

Your breath came quick, half from laughing and half from the sudden closeness. Isabel’s hair was falling around both of your faces, damp and messy, and her weight pressed you down into the hay. Her hands wrestled with yours, trying to pin them above your head, but you twisted under her with a breathless laugh.

"You fight dirty," you panted.

Her grin turned a little wicked, her eyes dark with mischief—and something else. "Yeah? Didn’t hear you complaining."

The struggle slowed just a fraction, your bodies still tangled, her thighs tight around your waist to keep you from bucking her off. Her face was close now, too close, breath fanning warm against your lips as you both hovered there, caught between roughhousing and… something a lot hotter.

Her fingers tightened around your wrists, just enough to make you feel the strength in her grip. "Say uncle," she challenged, voice husky, her smirk daring you to submit.

But you could see it in her flushed cheeks, the way her gaze flicked again—lips, eyes, lips—that maybe winning wasn’t the only thing on her mind.

Outside, the storm raged on, but in here, the air between you crackled with something just as wild.