Page 98 of Breaking Isolde
She doesn’t answer at first. Her eyes go glassy, but she doesn’t look away. “I had every intention of hating you,” she whispers. “Of trying to destroy you. But somewhere along the way, I realized I wouldn’t exist without you. You’re my moon, and I’m your northern star.”
The words almost destroy me.
I crush her into my chest, arms around her waist, mouth in her hair.
“I’m yours, Issy,” I promise. “Now and always.”
She closes her eyes, melts into me. “I know.”
We stay like that, hearts pounding, marks burning, until the world comes back in focus.
This is how it starts.
This is how it ends.
She stands on her tip toes, her lips coming towards mine, half-naked and wearing my brand, and I know I’m finished. There’s no more pretending, no more control. The hunger in me is rabid, clawing, all the ugly parts of love sharpened and set loose.
I grab her by the hips and grind her against me. The kiss is rough—lips bruising, teeth clashing. She moans into my mouth, her hands everywhere at once, claws digging into my shoulders.
We crash into the bathroom wall. The light is too bright, but I want to see her, every inch. She’s shaking, but not with fear. With need.
I shove her sweatpants and panties down in one go. She kicks them off, her bruises, cuts and scrapes sitting like monuments against her skin. I drop to my knees and bite the inside of her thigh. She tastes like everything I ever need and I can’t get enough.
She yanks me up, fingers at my waistband, fighting with the button and zipper until I help her. My jeans hit the floor and Ipress her into the counter, cold granite against her ass. I lift her up, set her on the edge, and bury my face in her neck.
She gasps, arching into me, and I slam in without warning.
She’s hot and wet and tight, and for a second, I think I’m going to lose it right there. But I hold, letting her adjust, watching her eyes flutter, her mouth open in a silent scream.
“Fuck,” she whispers. “Don’t stop.”
I don’t. I pull almost all the way out, then drive back in, harder. She grips the edge of the counter, knuckles white, legs quaking around my waist. I pound into her, every thrust a promise, a threat, a claiming of my own volition.
Her hands find my back, nails digging deep enough to draw blood. She wants pain, needs it, so I give her more. I bite her shoulder, then her jaw, then the corner of her mouth. She tastes of sin, of want, of everything I ever needed to survive.
I fuck her harder, faster, until the whole room is shaking. The mirror behind us steams up, fogging up, but I all I can see are her eyes—blue, wet, wild.
She digs her heels into my ass, pulls me deeper. She bites down on my shoulder so hard I feel the skin break.
I want her to come, but I want to own it—so I drop a hand to her clit, rub it in tight, cruel circles. She jerks, almost knocks me back, but I hold her there, relentless.
“Let go,” I snarl. “Come for me.”
She does, body going rigid, then shattering in my arms. She screams, clawing at my back, at my hair, at my face. I force her through it, never slowing, wanting her to remember this forever.
She’s still trembling when I finish, come spilling into her, raw and hot. I stay inside her, forehead pressed to hers, both of us sweating and panting.
She kisses me, softer now. There’s blood on her lips, maybe mine, maybe hers. I don’t care.
She wraps her arms around my neck, locking me in place.
“Again,” she says, voice hoarse. “Don’t let me go.”
So I don’t.
I lift her off the counter, never pulling out, and carry her to the bedroom. I lay her on the bed, spread her legs, and take her again. This time, it’s slower, but no less desperate. I want to memorize every sound she makes, every way her body bends to mine.
We fuck until we can’t move, until the world is reduced to sweat and pain and salt and the way we fit together.
