Isabel's Choice

Chapter 46 - Lars

Coaxing Isabel's legs around my waist, I try again to browse over the wisdom my brothers eventually managed to impart to me last night.

Breathe. Slow down. Think of training injuries or very cold things. Oh, you love snow, right, then think about... warm things?

It is all pretty useless, breathing just fills my lungs with the scent of her want. It is heavy, intoxicating, flowing like acacia honey on my tongue.

And it is hard to slow down when I sense her need overriding her fears, leading her to carelessly thrust herself towards me.

I also don't want to think of anything other than how happy I am now, sheathed in my female. I want to trail my fingers over her breasts and lower, through her reddish fuzz, to grab the back of her thighs which are firm and delightful to touch. They are also covered in the loveliest dusting of freckles. All mine.

I bite my lip drawing blood and the pain is a useful distraction, but its effect is short-lived.

"I love you," Isa whispers, her hands pressing on my shoulders to encourage me to come closer, to lay nearer, to feel her chest expanding with lust against mine. Our kiss is hurried and needy, with a brief encounter of teeth that's easy to ignore.

I groan with the effort of not exploding again ahead of time inside her, where her walls that hug me so firmly are vibrating, contracting, spinning threads of pleasure tighter and tighter against her core. I still for a moment, to tell her with words that I love her beyond the bond, beyond life because I am hers and we are one. And then I move.

Her threads snap, all at once, letting her come, deliciously unhinged and mildly blasphemous. Isa's claim on me is with fangs, deep and demanding. It makes me explode with a force I didn't know the human body could handle and cuts whatever connections I still had to reality.

But even as her body tenses randomly under mine, shaken by after-quakes, she doesn't cut off our link and I am drawn again into her essence.

If I don't actively look into her mind, the bond calls on the memories with the highest emotional charge. When she first marked me I was presented with an image of our first kiss and our first snowboard run at Eagle Rock. I am curious to see what else comes up.

There are many, many memories about us. I slide between random glimpses of the bitter disbelief she felt when we first met, and the insecurity when I arrived at her house.

How viscerally angry she was on the day I cut my hair.

Her fears fading away as she started trusting me.

Careful notes she took secretly, about my reaction to the different meals she cooked. I finally have an explanation as to why on Mondays, which is my recovery day, I get one of my favorites.

The severe disciplining of two newly shifted juveniles who had judged my butt as being delicious. In their Luna's hearing range.

And then there are images of Isabel in the North.

Who wasn't afraid - marching with little Raya on the River bank or eating muffins while perched in terribly tall trees.

Who got dirty willingly - sneaking between the vines and eating grapes until her face was thoroughly painted, sticky gluey with juice.

The euphoria of her first shift and how she breezed through it - another proof that Willow and she had once an Alpha-level connection.

But in this batch of snapshots that jump at me, there is not a single image of Owen.