Page 139 of Into the Isle

His audacity made me quiver. I melted in his arms. Inside, I begged him to take me right here in Mimir Tomes’ records room.

“Possessive and cocky, eh?” I breathed.

“You don’t know the half of it. You’re mine, Ravinica. Whether you want to admit it or not.”

Well . . . shit.

When he put it that way.

His arm wove with mine and his hand wrapped around the column of my neck, drawing my flesh taut.

With our hands at each other’s throats, we leaned in and locked lips. His were soft and demanding, showing the possessive demon that he was. He was a cold man, both in his veins and to the touch, yet the kiss was a smoldering reminder of how he could turn up the heat when he wanted.

With my eyes closing, Magnus applied pressure to my windpipe, firm enough to excite, soft enough to tell me he knew what he was doing.

“Say ‘Ace’ if I’m being too rough, silvermoon,” he said against my lips.

Fucking hells. Too rough with . . .

I was unfathomably drenched by the time his lips separated from mine, connected by a strand of our saliva. My breath came hot and heavy, yet his hardly seemed to come at all.

Then I eked out, “Say ‘Queen’ if I’m being too rough with you, Magnus.”

His eyebrows perched high on his forehead at my words, and a low hum purred deep in his chest.

Then we were moving, eyes dancing with desire. He tried to twirl me around and I spun into his chest, making him wrap his arm around me.

I staggered against the chair next to me and heard my wine cup clattering to the ground, spilling its contents onto the old wooden floorboards.

Magnus spun me again, dizzying me in a wave of lust. My arms ended up behind me, held sturdy by one of his hands that speared under my arm, curling around my body. Our chests were flush against each other.

Smiling, he reached into his backpack, pulled a length of rope out of nowhere, and got to work.

I gasped when he blindly tied my wrists together behind my back, his eyes never leaving mine. He was an expert, swirling the firm knot in seconds, while I stood there dumbly and didn’t fight him for a single thing.

I wanted to let this man do horrible, rough things to me, and I wanted to thank him afterwards. I’d never felt this way about anyone—needing him to take control and command of my body in such a way. It was such a liberating, freeing experience that I nearly crumpled right then and there.

Magnus was fast, urgent, pushing me up against the table. When my ass dug into the edge of the table, he grunted and hoisted me up by the backs of my thighs. My arms struggled, reflexively reaching for balance. His knot held, keeping them in place.

He reached for my belt since I couldn’t do it on my own, and started to peel my leather pants off my body, around my thick thighs and down to my ankles.

His spindly, expert hands roamed over my soft flesh, moving to my inner thighs without waiting. Drawing gasps from my lungs with every forceful, intentional move he made.

“So warm,” he muttered, tutting, roving over my thighs near the edge of my panties. “You’re everything I’ve wished for, silvermoon.”

I squeezed my legs around his hands, trying to keep him there, though it only made him smile. My eyes locked onto his bare chest—which should have been a hint over the past few weeks, remaining shirtless in the third level of Mimir Tomes even with me around.

I surveyed his scars and tattoos. They seemed to swirl and move beneath my gaze as he pried my thighs apart. He squeezed in between me and abruptly went to his knees.

“Oh shit, Magnus.”

His head poked up. I leaned back slightly and could only see his crimson hair over the slight swell of my belly.

“Let me feast,” he demanded.

I gulped over a dry throat and nodded senselessly.

He ripped my panties away, drawing out a rough gasp from my throat from the sudden snap. I wriggled and my wrists chafed against the ropes binding me.

---