Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus) novel Chapter 68

Victor’s throat tightened, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his gaze darkened with intensity.

His large hand slid slowly over her skin, possessive and deliberate.

“Tell me, who excites you more—me or him?”

Isadora couldn’t answer.

His touch sent shivers through her, making it impossible to think straight. She felt like a sailboat caught in a raging tide, waves smashing her against the shore again and again.

Tonight, Victor was like a man possessed.

He ignored her attempts to push him away and claimed her with a fierce hunger.

Their first time that night happened right by the door.

Then from the door to the couch, and finally to the bed.

By the second round, Isadora could barely move.

Her eyelids were too heavy to keep open. As she slipped into sleep, the last thing she felt was Victor still losing himself in her.

—

The next morning.

Golden sunlight spilled through the blue curtains, filling the room with warmth and a lingering sense of intimacy.

Isadora blinked against the brightness, her body aching as if she’d been taken apart and put back together.

She tried to move, but Victor’s strong arm was draped across her waist, pinning her in place.

She turned her head and saw him lying beside her, breathtakingly handsome even in sleep.

In that instant, memories from last night flooded her mind like scenes from a film.

She and Victor had crossed the line again.

The first time had been because of the effects of the drug; the second, out of obligation.

But the third time—Isadora knew she’d been fully conscious.

She hadn’t exactly put up much resistance, either.

The truth was, she didn’t dislike Victor at all.

On the contrary, his powerful body and skillful touch made her feel dizzy and dangerously drawn to him.

She gazed at him, studying the man beside her.

His hair was a little messy, his features flawless. His eyes were closed, dark lashes fanned against his cheeks, lips slightly parted and pink. In that moment, he looked less like a lion on the hunt and more like a big sleepy cat, all the intensity drained away.

Her gaze drifted down to his pale, sculpted collarbone—marked with red traces from her own hands.

The thought made her cheeks flush.