Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
My breath hitched, a sob catching in my throat as the chaos of the night pressed in on me—Emilia’s screams, the music, the distant moans of the congregation. My mind was in a state of turmoil, everything twisted into a nauseating haze of fear, disgust, and a torturous undercurrent of need that I couldn't ignore. Before I could even form a single thought, he pressed himself against me from behind, his body radiating heat as he pinned me between the rough bark of the tree and his looming figure.
"Watch," he commanded softly, his breath skirting over my ear. Through the darkness and shadows, I had an unobstructed view of the dais, the flaming cross holding the remains of Emilia's charred body, and the figures writhing below it in a sickening dance. My heart raced as I watched the grotesque ritual unfold before us, the stench of burning flesh filling the air like a tangible force.
My eyes locked onto Jamison, seated on a stone bench with Cassandra straddling him. Her body moved against him in a grotesque parody of intimacy, riding him as his lover burned alive in front of them. It scarcely registered he was fucking his sister. A sound caught in my throat, somewhere between a gasp and a cry, as I tore my gaze away, only to see others following suit—couples and groups shamelessly indulging in one another, their bodies entwined in plain sight beneath the flickering firelight. The air was thick with lust, smoke, and the scent of burning flesh.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Alexander’s voice was a soft whisper in my ear, his breath warm against my skin. "How loss can create this?" There was a twisted reverence in his words, as if the destruction unfolding before us was some kind of art form.
I felt the warmth of his lips against the side of my neck, soft at first, but lingering far too long. I couldn’t move, couldn’t tear my eyes away from the horrifying scene unfolding before me. His kiss burned into my skin, sending a ripple of sensation through me that I couldn’t fight, no matter how much I wanted to. His hands moved with practiced precision, fingers sliding up my thighs as he began to lift my gown, inch by inch. My torso pressed harder against the rough bark of the tree, his body closing in behind me, trapping me.
“You’re part of this now,” he murmured against my neck, his lips grazing my skin, the words sinking deep into my bones.
“This is where you belong.” His voice was dark, seductive, wrapping around me like the flames that devoured everything in their path.
I could feel his hands moving higher, and I hated how I was responding—how the drink, the night, and the darkness of the Isle had twisted something inside me.
My breath came in shallow gasps, the sounds of moaning, chanting, and burning filling the air around us. As his fingers reached the apex of my thighs, I trembled under their gentle pressure, unable to push him away despite the war raging inside me.
"This is where you belong," he repeated, and I couldn't help but wonder if he saw through me. If he knew the truth of what I was feeling. A mixture of fear and desire that left me twisted and confused. His lips found my earlobe, nibbling gently as his hand slipped between my legs, pulling my underwear aside so that he could touch me.
I whimpered, arching against his hand despite the horror unfolding before us. His hand grew more fervent, his touch more insistent, until I could barely breathe, each gasp punctuated by the sounds of the ritual around us. Without warning, he pressed himself against me, his other hand gripping my waist as he entered me in one swift motion.
My breath caught in my throat, and I cried out, my body reacting to the sudden invasion with a mixture of pain and pleasure that was impossible to separate.
I could feel him everywhere—his breath hot against my neck, his body heavy against mine, trapping me against the tree. The world around us continued its descent into chaos, but all I could focus on was the way he moved inside me, his rhythm dark and possessive, like he was claiming me just as surely as the Isle had.
"This," he murmured against my ear, his voice low and commanding, "is what you were made for."
The words cut through me, and yet, despite everything—the horror, the shame—I couldn’t deny the pull. My pussy was wet and slick, allowing him to easily slide deeper inside me.
My fingers dug into the bark of the tree, and I couldn't help the whimpers that escaped my lips. Each thrust brought a new wave of sensation, both painful and pleasurable. I felt as though I was being torn apart and put back together all at once.