When the Dark Wins

Though I squeaked and grabbed the edge of the desk, his man squeezed inside me at least a half-inch. I gritted my teeth.

“If you didn’t amuse me, Red...” Isak covered my hand with his, grabbed my throat with the other. The ownership went far deeper than a normal man’s.

As a mesmer, he sifted deep into my soul, into my head, particles of Isak were like stars seeking the center of the universe, sparking, heating me. My eyes rolled back. The feel of Vitor shunting back and forth, striving to enter deeper...

It was good, but...painful.

Good. Pain.

Then he thrust farther and I screeched.

I hadn’t had sex of any sort for years. “No,” I whined.

“Shhh,” Isak soothed with his masculine wiles, his voice as potent as a quart of whiskey tossed down in one gulp. “Be a good girl. Take his big cock. I’ll even let you come.” His hands tightened on hand and neck, and air became a scarce commodity.

I gurgled through constricted throat, arched back into the thrusts. My asshole burned with fire but I cared little for that when the momentous build of an orgasm had constructed itself in seconds, from one syllable to the next, from one thick, fucking spear of cock to the next.

“Wait. Get out of her, Vitor. Out.”

“Sir?”

“You reminded me of my ritual, correctly. Get out. Pull out. Go.”

“Of course.”

Whatever his reasons, I was grateful, catching my breath, wincing as the last of Vitor left me, then slumping to the desk. I listened to the diminishing footsteps.

Why?

“Look at me.” Isak’s new claw-hold on my jaw lifted my head and made looking mandatory.

I found blue eyes examining me. “Why?”

“Because. I loved seeing your face when you got fucked, but letting him do it first...no. And what’s in your head has made me think.”

Oh fuck. I wondered what he’d seen.

“Crazy man,” I whispered, blinking away sweat as it seeped into my eye.

“I saw what Wolfe did. The break in you.”

Wolfe? I remembered that name, Magnus Wolfe. The man I was chasing in Cuba. He must be a mesmer like Isak, though Isak had never said. It made everything add up.

If I’d been broken that meant I could’ve been normal, if they’d left me alone.

Sadness overwhelmed, left me rocking on a sea of might-have-beens.

Damn them both.

“Let me show you my ritual. It helps me keep myself under control.” Said the man who stole away women’s minds and bodies. The gorgeous hunk of blond-haired Viking man with the scars on his forearms from cutting – including one fresh one. With the twitchy wild eyes. With the big hands that scared, because I felt sure he’d strangled or hit or killed with them. He had a ritual to keep him sane? It didn’t seem to be working.

“Yes, please.” I tried to look Bambi-eyed, calm, interested. “Show me.”

It might be ammunition. Either way it gave me space, what with my ass still feeling the effects of a man trying to shove himself in uninvited.

After getting me to scoot backward, he pulled out drawers and stacked things along the edge of the desk. I pushed up onto my forearm, and my breasts reminded me of their presence by their weight. His eyes followed my nipples.

I had writing on me there. When? What had he done?