Now it was her turn to be surprised, emotion welling in her chest.
“That’s impossible,” she said, barely able to get the words out.
Her parents were gone, and they were never coming back. The only people who had ever loved her as much as the moon mother.
“Is it?” he asked, combing his hand through her hair and cupping her cheek.
The touch was electrifying, especially after he’d kept his hands to himself during dinner. She remembered the way she had felt back home whenhe’d first played with her, that terrible jubilation at being too helpless to stop him.
“I want to go home. To my cottage, my woods.”
Yet another test, one he would certainly fail. The worst part was the sneaking, creeping feeling that shewantedhim to fail, all the dark truths he’d ascertained about her willingness to give in coming to light in a single brutal instant.
He slid his hand down to her throat, squeezing possessively, and the touch sent a thrill through her, her body aching for him.
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
“I made it clear that you won’t be leaving. You’re a pretty little set of holes for us to ruin. And Idon’tlike repeating myself.”
“You haven’t done much ruining,” she said under her breath, then slammed her mouth shut, though it was already too late.
“What was that?” Bellinor growled, leaning in close.
Why did she keep antagonizing him? She knew the truth, though it opened a pit in her stomach to admit it. For so long, her urges had been vilified, making her confess and repent ad infinitum, though strangely, she never seemed to make any headway on actually changing her ways.
And now, it was easier to pester him until he took what he wanted from her, rather than ask for it herself, even though she knew it was wrong.
“I saidyou haven’t done much ruining.”
His hand tightened on her throat for a split second before he shifted his grip to her shoulders, spinning her and forcing her to walk toward the bed.
A tremor quaked through her, only eager anticipation where there should have been disgust. He pushed her onto the mattress, and she gripped the soft sheets as he caged her, grinding his erection against her ass. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, pushing her face into the bed and hiking her hips into the air.
“Is this what you want, darling?” he asked, hissing in her ear.
Before she could answer, there was a rustle of feathers, the bed creaking under the new weight. A clawed hand slid between her legs, caressing her through the fabric.
“Or do you prefer my true form?”
“Yes!” she shouted, trying to rock back into him, though he held her in place.
“Yes, what?”
Isabelle whimpered, having a difficult time forming words, the push and pull of arousal and guilt overwhelming her.
Bellinor yanked on her hair, her scalp burning as she let out a yelp of pain.
“Say it, whore,” he growled.
“I w-want you. Your t-true form,” she stammered, tears welling in her eyes.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked, his voice deep and with an otherworldly echo. “Do you want me to take you while you fight me? Does that make you feel better about the way you hunger forme? Will it help you forgive yourself for betraying your goddess if you pretend it’s against your will?”
Isabelle cried into the mattress, unable to answer. He had seen through her so thoroughly that she felt bared before him in mind, body, and soul.
“I think a better punishment will be to leave you here without giving you what you want,” Bellinor said, releasing his grip at her nape and pushing off the bed.
