Page 29 of Breaking Isolde
“I never wanted to be.”
“You’re better,” I tell her, and mean it. “You’re the only one who’s ever gotten this close to the truth.”
Her lips tremble, but she doesn’t look away. Not even when I lean in and kiss her. Not brutal, not savage, just a claiming—a press of mouth to mouth, my hand still tight on her throat.
She tries to bite me. I expect it, and turn my head so her teeth graze my cheek instead.
She twists, tries to knee me, but I’m heavier, stronger, and I pin her in place with my body. Her breath comes ragged, desperate, but her eyes are full of hate, not fear.
I break the kiss, my mouth at her ear again. “Next time you want to investigate a crime in the middle of the crime scene, don’t leave the evidence out in the open.”
She grunts, twists and before I can clock it, her fist has swung into my temple.
My head snaps sideways, vision going bright white at the edge. Blood fills my mouth, copper and salt, and I can feel where I bit my tongue. I laugh, shaking the sting off, and slam my weight down over her.
Her back hits the mattress with a bounce. She scrambles again, but I catch both her wrists and pin them above her head, splaying her helpless. Her hair fans out under her, the color bright in the cold light. Her chest heaves.
“Get the fuck out of my room,” she spits, raw-voiced, every muscle flexing against my hold.
I lean in, lowering my face so close she can’t miss the blood I drag over my teeth with my tongue. “Not happening.”
She jerks, twisting hard, and nearly rolls us both off the bed, but I recover and crush her back down. My knees straddle her hips, locking her in place. There’s no question of my advantage—herwrists are delicate, the bones sharp under my grip, and she’s pinned with nothing but her own fury for leverage.
She tries to claw me, but with her arms above her head, all she manages is to rake the back of her hand down my forearm.
“You’re already mine, it doesn’t matter that the Board wants me to wait for you… you’re mine, sweet little one.” I whisper against her ear. I let the words crawl in, sick and sweet. “You can hate me, you can fight me, but you know the rules. Once it’s written in the book, the only escape is death.”
“Then kill me, you fucking freak. I’ll never be yours.”
I grin before licking a line up her cheek, causing her to shiver. “Oh Isolde. You can hate me, you can fight me, hell, try kill me, but at the end of the day, you feel exactly what I do, don’t you? That sick fascination. That tie. The pure want when we touch. No matter what’s in your pretty little head, you want me, you want me to destroy you, to fear you, to love you and to worship you.”
She bucks up, trying to throw me, but all it does is press her hips flush against mine. The friction is an explosion and I’m lost—her thin pajamas, my jeans, the space between us reduced to nothing.
She feels it too. I know because her eyes go wide and she goes still, like she’s only just now realizing how close we are. I see the moment the fight leaves her, replaced by something darker, needier.
I press my mouth to hers, hard. The angle is off, our teeth clack, but I force her lips open and shove my tongue in. She tries to bite, fails, and then goes limp for a split second, letting me taste her—salt, mint, warmth.
She makes a muffled sound, more protest than surrender, but it’s drowned out by the wet slap of our mouths colliding.
I break the kiss and watch her face. Her skin is flushed, the color rising high on her cheeks, almost feverish. Her lips are smeared with my blood, but she licks it off, not even realizing she’s done it.
“You want me to stop?” I ask, voice hoarse.
She bares her teeth, hissing, “I want you to fucking die.”
“Liar.”
I move one hand down, sliding to her throat. I don’t squeeze—just rest my palm there, feeling the hammer of her pulse.
I move, keeping her pinned. With my knee, I force her legs apart, pushing until she has no choice but to spread them for me, sliding my body between her thighs. She’s barefoot, toes curling against the sheet, the muscles in her calves rigid.
I start grinding, slow and deliberate. My cock is hard, straining in the denim, and I rub it against the heat of her through the thin fabric. The first motion makes her whole-body jump, like she’sbeen shocked. The second has her gasping, her hips betraying her and pushing back.
She tries to twist away, but I use the weight of my body to keep her in place. I drag my face down to her throat, breathing her in, then bite down just hard enough to leave a mark. She arches, a sharp involuntary jerk, and I feel the shudder run through her.
“You’re wet for me, aren’t you?” I taunt, voice low in her ear.
She shakes her head, a tiny desperate gesture, but I know the truth. I can feel the heat radiating up from her pussy, can see the flush spreading down her chest.
