Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus) novel Chapter 213

Isadora’s blush started at her ears and swept across her entire face in an instant.

Inwardly, she cursed Victor for being such a shameless bastard.

Even after all the intimate moments they’d shared, it was always him taking control, always him leading the way. She still felt like a novice, fumbling in the dark.

Victor sat on the sofa, his deep-set eyes fixed on her. He didn’t bother to hide the raw desire in his gaze; it was as wild and restless as a snowstorm rattling dead leaves outside—silent, yet screaming.

Isadora squirmed under his stare, feeling as if she were standing before him utterly exposed.

Victor let out a low, disdainful chuckle. “What’s wrong? Weren’t you making demands just a moment ago? Now you’re backing down?”

Her hand trembled, but she forced herself to sound strong. “I… I can do it.”

If only the air between them wasn’t so cold. If only they hadn’t fought that afternoon. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so humiliated.

Biting her lip, Isadora walked over to him and dropped to a half-kneel at his feet. After a moment, she took a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and leaned forward to press her lips to his.

Victor’s lips were cool, carrying the faintest trace of smoke. Not unpleasant—in fact, strangely intoxicating.

In the past, whenever she kissed him like this, Victor would always pull her closer, deepening the kiss. But this time, he just sat there motionless, watching her with an icy detachment.

Embarrassment twisted inside her, growing like a vine. Isadora opened her eyes and pulled back, instinctively wanting to retreat.

“That’s it?” Victor’s voice was cold and mocking. “Is that really all the passion Miss Vaughan can muster?”

He made no effort to hide his scorn. Isadora’s cheeks burned with anger and humiliation—she couldn’t even tell if she was angrier at herself for faltering, or at him for standing by, arms folded, acting as if she no longer held any appeal for him.

“So what do you want, then?” she snapped.

He gripped the back of her head and kissed her fiercely, hungrily, as if he wanted to devour her whole.

Isadora had no choice but to surrender to the storm of his passion. She lost track of everything—the room, the night—until at some point she found herself pinned beneath him on the sofa, the light never switching off, bathing her bare skin in a soft, relentless glow.

Their tangled shadows danced across the window, wild and unrestrained.

Isadora bit her lip, desperate not to cry out, but Victor wouldn’t let her keep silent. He pushed her until shivering, breathless whimpers escaped her throat—sweet, broken sounds that soon turned into muffled sobs of frustration and longing.

She had no idea how the night finally ended. In her last, hazy moment before sleep claimed her, she thought she felt his gentle hands cleaning her up.

*

The next morning, sunlight streamed in through the window, painting the quiet room with strokes of gentle gold.