Page 69 of Breaking Isolde
“Do you wish I was her?”
"I couldn't save her," I tell her. The words claw their way out, raw and bloody. "Your sister. I should've—"
She slaps my face. Not hard, but enough to sting.
"Do you wish I was her?" She asks again.
I shake my head.
"But I couldn't save her," I say again, softer this time. "And I can't lose you too."
She laughs, wet and broken. "You don't even want me. You just want her ghost."
This, of all things, makes me furious.
I grab her wrists, pin them to the rock, and slam my hips into her, hard enough to knock the wind out of her lungs. "Is that what you think?" I snarl. "You think I want a fucking ghost?"
Her body jerks under me. "Let me go," she rasps.
I don't. I fuck her harder, every thrust a denial, a punishment, a prayer. I watch her face for any sign of surrender, but it's not there. She meets me glare for glare, tears streaming down her temples.
"You're not a replacement," I say, slamming into her with everything left in my body. "You're not a consolation. You're my girl. You always were. We just hadn’t met yet."
She claws my back, leaving long red streaks. She screams, not in pain, but in rage, in freedom.
"Then show me," she screams, "show me I'm yours."
So I do.
I grab her hair, force her head back, bite her throat until she sobs. I lick the tears off her cheeks, taste the salt and the hate and the need.
She wraps her legs around my hips, hooks her heels behind my ass, and pulls me deeper. Her cunt squeezes around me and I fuck her until I'm dizzy. I lean over her, forehead pressed to hers, and fuck her so slow and deep it hurts.
I want her to break.
I want her to become something new.
She shudders, every muscle tensing, and for a second I think she'll shatter. But then she laughs—soft and triumphant—and I know we’re going to be okay.
She whispers, "I hate you," and I whisper, "I know," and then I come, flooding her, marking her, making her mine once again.
We stay locked together, joined by blood and semen and something harder than fate.
Above us, the sky is turning gray, dawn clawing at the edge of night. I hear rustling in the woods, but I don't care who watched, who stayed, who left.
All that matters is the girl in my arms and the way she breathes, slow and stubborn, refusing to give up.
I hold her until the sun comes up.
I hold her until my own rage burns out.
And when I finally let go, she doesn't run.
She just sits up and hops off the rock, our cum seeping down her thighs and dripping onto the dirt and sand and frost below.
A low whistle drags us out of the moment. Colton hollers. "Damn, that was hot as fuck. Hope my girl’s got that in her."
Julian laughs, not even trying to hide it. Bam grunts, "Still don’t think she’s gunna make it."
