67. ICY TOUCH

ISLA’S POV. It had been days since we arrived in London. Days since I felt his release dripping from the corner of my lips, the memory seared into my skin, into my thoughts. I’d touched myself to that moment more times than I could count, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. Remy was nowhere to be found. His absence gnawed at me, leaving a hollow ache I couldn’t fill. Betty told me he had busy schedules, endless meetings, and yet… I didn’t care. None of the toys I owned worked. None of them could replicate the way he made me feel like I was consumed and devoured. My focus was shot. I couldn’t read, couldn’t study, couldn’t do anything. I was unravelling. If he wasn’t going to come to me, then I’d make him. I had to. Because, deep down, I knew I’d lost Kevin the moment I fell to my knees for Remy. The need coursing through me was unbearable, cold and relentless, like icy fire licking at my insides. I wanted to spread my legs and be filled, desperately and completely whether it was