When the pale morning sunlight spilled through the window, she couldn't even cry anymore. Her voice was hoarse, her fingers weak, her legs trembling, and yet Victor was still clinging to her as if he had never been satisfied, as if he could never be satisfied.
He was still burning.
But he wasn't reckless.
He gave her a brief moment to breathe, as if granting mercy, then impatiently rubbed against her again, his voice hoarse and low, his breath brushing her ear like fire.
"Are you better?"
His tone was almost maddeningly calm.
Then he asked again, as if he truly meant it. "Can you do it?"
Isabella's eyes widened.
For the first time in her life, she genuinely wanted to slap a man.
Her entire body felt dismantled and reassembled. Even her bones seemed sore. She didn't even want to move her toes, let alone deal with him again.
Her throat was dry, and her voice sounded like it belonged to someone else when she begged him.
"Enough… it's already dawn…"
Her lashes trembled.
