61. ICY TOUCH

ISLA'S POV. His smirk was infuriatingly smug, his eyes gleaming with triumph, and his words. God, his words wrapped around me like a noose. "That’s what I thought," he said, his voice low and taunting, each word slicing through my fragile defences. "Maybe you were too drunk to feel how great it was. Now, I’ll help you." Before I could even process his meaning, before I could take a step back or throw out some sharp rebuttal, his hands cupped my face again, and his lips crashed into mine. It was hard and demanding, stealing my breath and sending a pulse of electricity through my entire body. My fingers clawed at his chest in protest, but the heat of him, the sheer force of his kiss, made my knees weak and my hands falter. "St-," I tried to whisper against his lips, but the word barely formed before his tongue slid past my lips, tasting me. Despite that, I loved the way he controlled every situation, every moment, every inch of me. My body betrayed me. It always did when it came to him.