The atmosphere in the room was stifling, thick with the scent of salt, s*x, and a tension that had finally snapped. The shadow-Isla lay at the center of the storm, her back arched and her skin flushed a deep, feverish pink. She wasn't just taking them; she was demanding they lose their minds.
Rowan was behind her, his large hands anchoring her hips with a bruising grip. He didn't bother with rhythm anymore; it was pure, frantic aggression. He drove into her with a speed that made the headboard crack rhythmically against the wall, his thrusts hitting so deep she felt them in her lungs. With every heavy surge forward, he brought his palm down hard against the swell of her backside, the sharp crack of the slap echoing through the room and leaving a bright red brand on her skin.
"Is this wha
