BookToReadChapter 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.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtVictor 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.
Victor narrowed his eyes, his tone slow and deliberate. "Take off your clothes." She bit her lip, her pulse pounding in her ears. Reluctantly, she stood and-hands shaking-began to unbutton her shirt, one trembling button at a time. As her skin emerged, pale under the harsh light, goosebumps prickled across her arms from the cold.
Victor watched her, his gaze darkening as her blouse slipped from her shoulders, revealing smooth skin that seemed to glow in the lamplight. He swallowed, jaw tense, a fierce hunger flickering in his eyes.
His voice was low and rough, barely restrained. "Chere. Sit on my lap." Isadora's mind buzzed, her heart hammering so hard she thought it might burst. She stammered, "Can... can we turn off the light?" "No," he replied, voice sharp.
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏmBefore she could protest further, Victor reached out and caught her hand, pulling her onto his lap, locking his arm around her waist.
She could feel the heat of his body, his reaction to her closeness-thrilling and nerve-wracking all at once, sending sparks shooting through her every nerve. Victor's self-control finally snapped. He'd wanted to push her, to make her beg, but seeing her tremble softened something inside him. He'd wanted her to take the initiative, but in the end, it was always him who couldn't resist.
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 everything the rack ofthe night-until at spoint 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 heruntim e 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.
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