Page 110 of Into the Isle

My hand slithered down my side, past the hem of my nightshirt where it ended at my stomach.

Arne, consoling me with a gentle look and a kind pat on my hand after noticing the emotions in my eyes at being introduced to people just like me. The sarcastic, pretty man had done that for me.

My fingers curved past the waistband of my panties. I was slick and wet. The barest touch to my core made my body shiver with delight. Eyes remaining closed, I hummed to myself, bent my knees, and spread my legs. My other hand joined the first between my thighs.

Magnus, showing an amazing amount of caring for a man who people consider a sociopath. Maybe it’s just for me. But I can’t deny the feeling I got when he smiled at me—like he’d never smiled at another woman before.

“Don’t worry, silvermoon. You’re not the only one whose blood has damned them.” His words in Hersir Thorvi’s history class—when she nonchalantly told me my bloodline automatically made me a horrible person—held new meaning now.

His arm draped over the back of my neck . . .

Two fingers slid into my pussy, and I let out a soft groan. The heel of my other hand dragged across my engorged clit, massaging as I lost myself to the lust.

. . . His cold breath of candlesmoke; his scent of leather lingering on my face . . . those damned tattoos and etched lines of scars marring his flesh, making him more interesting than any man I’ve ever met . . .

I rubbed myself vigorously, fingers plunging in and out, until my thighs squeezed together around my wrists. My toes curled and I lifted them up from the mattress, staying on my heels and burrowing deeper into my bed.

I fucked my hand, thrusting against my drilling fingers, wishing in that moment for so much more to be taking me, filling me, making me scream.

Sven, and his rapscallion snarls and vicious frowns on his gorgeous face. A man I love to hate, and who hates me back.

I may never know why he torments me, and why I let him push my buttons . . . and I may never need to know.

Sometimes, the mystery was worth more than the truth. The veil could remain closed over Sven’s gorgeous face, and even if he never said a kind word to me in my life, I would be content with it.

With my brain firing lustily, the morning dawn beginning to crack the gray night from my window, I unraveled to the dark, dirty thoughts that consumed me.

I would let you choke me, Sven, if you would only smile while you did it. My fingers moved faster, a third one joining the two inside me. My pussy was warm, tight around my knuckles, and I curved and dug even deeper to hit all my pulsating spots.

I let out a small cry, screwing my eyes shut harder.

I imagined Sven doing just that—choking me, bucking his hips as he took me, smiling down wickedly at my struggling face. My fluids drenched my knuckles, trickling down the swell of my ass while I continued to ride my palm and fuck my hand, grinding, pumping my hips with a mewl—the sound becoming a squelch of wetness that echoed off the walls of my dorm room.

“Oh gods,” I gasped aloud.

Grim had taken Sven’s place in my dream, shoving the gorgeous wolf shifter out of the way so he could impale me on the monstrous cock I’d seen swinging between his thighs.

When the bear shifter fucked me, he was no longer kind and protective. He was possessive, lost in a berserk trance, and just the mere thought of becoming his plaything—releasing the tension and defense mechanisms I had harbored for so long—was enough to make me come.

My lips parted, throat dry, even as I drooled and came undone. I pumped my hips twice, creaking the bed under my weight, and a lasting imprint of Magnus slammed into my mind—smiling at me for the first and maybe last time.

I wanted to explore how deep those tattoos went as they disappeared down the waistband of his leather pants. I wanted to run my palms across every inch of his scarred body, and get lost in the man.

An aftershock of bliss erupted inside me, shooting from my belly, outward, making me quiver and shudder as I came.

Tender, now—so raw and spent. I exhaled heavily in big swooping breaths. Slowly, I pulled my hands away from my center, leaving my thighs sticky with my juices.

I should have gotten up to shower, so I wouldn’t be left marinating in my puddle of lust. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Because the longer I stayed in the puddle, the longer I kept thinking about those four men.

As I drifted off into a content, lovely slumber, the last thought I had was telling myself how screwed I was for letting these men consume my thoughts.

I’m in big fucking trouble with this lot.

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