Page 141 of Into the Isle

I cried out and staggered away from the table, his cock still lodged in my needy pussy. He fucked me from behind, standing, palming my soft neck and tilting my head back so he could kiss me from behind, his face hovering over my shoulder.

Then he abruptly shoved me forward and I stumbled, yelping as the floor rushed to meet my face—

Only for him to catch me by yanking my hair and cutting off my breath, my nose mere inches from the floorboards. I writhed in sudden pain and pleasure.

I lapped at wine that had spilled there, not understanding the primal urge coming over me—needing something to do with my tongue while he defiled and claimed me.

He propped my ass up, my head down, and the wine burned against my cheek as I licked like a bitch in heat—like a cat at a milk bowl.

He slammed into me from above and behind, smashing his hips against my rippling ass. Every plunge of his cock sent me into a downward spiral where I knew another orgasm awaited me, heavier than the last.

The next one would be my undoing.

Abruptly, his boot was on the side of my face. I mewled as he squished my cheek into the floorboards, as if trying to imprint my body there, and he said nothing the entire time he destroyed me.

His leg was stretched far over my body so he could literally stand on my face and make a mockery of me. He didn’t put much weight down, but it was enough to debase, humiliate, and arouse me even more.

I started writhing, feeling the dam breaking and the final flood incoming. I cried out in a muffled, bubbled voice mixed with spit and wine. I could almost taste the bottom of his shoe, it was so close to my lips.

His hands dug into my hips. He slid one between my ass crack as he plowed into me. I was on the verge of yelling out the safeword, but I knew I could take it—I was determined to let him ruin me, because it felt so fucking good and perfect.

Then one of his fingers darted past the tight bundle of my asshole, spearing inside me, and I howled. My insides uncoiled as he battered them with his hard cock, and I exploded. My ass lifted higher, until I was pushing up against his hips, forcing him to bottom out inside me.

“Gods fucking save me, silvermoon,” he grunted, speaking for the first time since our torrential affair had begun. “Your pussy is choking the life out of me.”

He pulled out of my tightened hole, ragged and bumpy, and sprayed cum across my back and into my hair. The ropes were sizzling-hot, and I quivered and lost myself to the unraveling climax at the same time.

Magnus yanked my wrist-ties one last time, hauling me up so he could finish coming on me.

He hugged my back against his chest. He breathed in my ear. “That was everything, love.”

I nodded dumbly, still lost to the ongoing orgasm. Aftershocks of sheer bliss shot through me, making me jolt every few seconds.

He had broken me. I couldn’t even talk. I could feel the tread of his bootprint embedded in the side of my face—one of a million spots where he’d claimed me.

Seconds later, or maybe hours, the roughness of the bindings on my wrists slid away. The rope dropped, and my hands were freed.

I breathed shallowly, trying to catch my breath. Awoken to a new way of lovemaking that was earth-shattering. Magnus had simultaneously broken me and rebuilt me.

And all I could say, in a gasping voice:

“. . . Again.”

Chapter 40

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