Page 17 of Unleashed
A moan rushes out of me as a hand wraps under my knee, hitching my leg over his hip, while the other pushes my nightdress up, baring me to the cool air and his scorching hands. While steadying himself on one hand next to my shoulder, he’s hovering over me, and all I want is for him to settle his weight on top of me, to feel him hard and solid against my frame.
He groans low in his throat as his palm slides up my stomach then cups one of my breasts, thumb teasing the peak until it hardens beneath his touch. My nails sink into his back, his hips rolling forward, grinding his cock in the tender crease between my thigh and pussy, the pressure making my breath hitch as slick need pulses hotter with every roll of his hips.
“You feel that, baby?” he murmurs, voice rough against my lips. “You feel what you do to me?”
I nod frantically, words gone, all reason drowned in the desire storming through me.
His mouth moves to my throat, tongue tracing the hollow before he sinks his teeth in, just enough to sting, and my body jerks beneath him. My breath catches. My core clenches. And I’m on the edge of something fierce, my body teetering between sanity and delirious pleasure.
He kisses lower, trailing heat down my collarbone, his hand replacing his mouth on my breast, thumb brushing lazy circles around my nipple as he groans, “Fuck, I missed this… missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” My hands roam further down his back, tracing the line of his spine, his skin warm, and he shivers against me, a low growl resonating deep within him, the sound lighting every nerve ending.
I’m already soaked. My hips roll up into his, desperate for friction, for the stretch of him. I’ve needed him every second since the island—an ache only he can ease. Only him.
Just. Him.
His cock nudges against my entrance, thick and hard and so fucking perfect, and I arch up, greedy for him, a cry slipping from my lips. “Please…” I whisper against his mouth. “I need you.”
There’s a tether between us, one I feel growing tighter and tighter, and I want it to snap. God, I want it to break, splinter, ignite so there’s nothing left but pleasure. And as his hand slides down again, rough palm gliding between my thighs, fingers slipping through the slick heat waiting for him, my core coils so tight, I tremble with the promise of release.
“Fuck, baby…” he rasps against my lips. “I love it when you’re this wet for me.”
I gasp as he strokes against swollen flesh, two fingers sliding through the mess he’s made of me, teasing circles over my clit until my hips start jerking, wanting to ride his hand. Grabbing his hair, my nails scrape against his scalp as he presses harder, grinding his palm into me until I’m panting, moaning his name.
“That’s it, baby girl. Lose your fucking mind for me.” His mouth crashes over mine again, tongue plunging deep in the same rhythm his fingers work between my thighs. Nothing about it is gentle—it’s brutal but so fucking necessary. Starvation disguised as devotion. That twisted brand of love only Isaia can give, the kind that shackles while it scorches.
The nightdress is yanked over my head in one swift move, leaving me naked and gasping, skin prickling under the heat of his gaze. Every inch of me is devoured by those eyes—hungry, dark, desperate. “You’re so beautiful,” he rasps, voice sandpapered with need, already dragging his mouth lower.
Teeth clamp around one nipple, sharp enough to tear a cry from my throat before his tongue laps softly over the sting. Then the other, just as cruel, just as reverent. Fingers stay buried between my legs, moving with maddening precision—curled, stroking, twisting—until my spine bows and a broken moan shreds its way out of me.
“I want you to come for me,” he mutters, lips brushing my stomach, my hip. “Want to feel it on my hand before I fuck you.”
“Oh, my God,” I gasp, thighs trembling. “Isaia, please?—”
“Please, what? Make you come?” His voice is thick, like molasses and sin, his lips brushing my jaw, his breath scalding. “Or…” His mouth ghosts up to my ear, teeth grazing the lobe as he whispers, “Spill blood for you.”
A shiver jolts down my spine.
Then the world tips.
Isaia straightens above me, straddling my waist. Everything about him changes. His body’s still the same—but it’s not.His expression hardens, sharpens, until it’s unrecognizable. A stranger wearing his skin. Menace etched into every line of his face. Those beautiful eyes—eyes I’ve memorized and drowned in—now hollow. Cold. The color stripped away until they’re nothing but pits. Endless and dead.
My lungs seize. My limbs turn to stone beneath him, and I’m frozen as I watch him lift his hands slowly, deliberately… and my heart cracks.
Crimson.
Slick and thick and vile.
Blood glistens on his fingers, dripping down in fat, slow trails. He brings them to his mouth, tongue sliding between each one like he’s savoring them. The way he licks—hungry, slow, sensual—makes my stomach lurch, and my breath won’t come. I can’t move.
“I did this for you.” His voice is warped. “You wanted me to.”
I blink. Fast. Hard. And my skin is crawling. The warmth pooling between my thighs isn’t wet anymore. It’s sticky. Too much. Toowrong.
I glance down, and a scream catches in my throat, choking me while all I see is red.
The sheets are soaked. Not with sweat. Not with lust. They’re drenched in blood—deep red, violent, splattered and smeared like a scene of a hate crime. It coats my legs, my stomach, my arms. Reeks of copper and death. Like I’ve been drowned in it. Like I bled the world dry.
