Isadora’s eyes cracked open. Just barely. Her lashes were stuck together from tears she didn’t remember crying. Her lips were dry. Cracked. Her throat felt a little bit dry.
She hadn’t spoken yet but she already knew her voice was gone. Stolen by the screams she’d released into the dark. Screams he forced out of her with every thrust. Every bite. Every filthy word he fed her like a drug.
Her body didn’t feel like hers.
That was the first real thought that hit her. She didn’t feel like a woman waking up in bed. She felt like a ruin. A thing that had been dug up, opened, broken into, and left dripping in the aftermath.
Between her thighs was a mess.
Sticky. Hot. Sore in a way that wasn’t simple pain. This wasn’t soreness from being used. It was soreness from being obliterated. Her fold
