Stiletto Sisterhood

Original Edition: *BONUS* Isobel | Let me...

And deeper she went until she drowned.

Willingly.

Easing him back and onto the couch, straddling his lap, Isobel's hands dove in his hair. Her fingers found anchor and she pushed him a little faster, a little deeper, until his own hands knotted in the fabric around her waist, dragging her harder against where desire swelled, hard and hot between them. Teeth joined lips and tongue as a shock rippled through his body. Peeling away the first layer of control to show the barest hint of primitive desire beneath. The animal within the man.

His hands scored up from hips to waist to the sensitive underside of her breasts, the heat of his palms searing through silk, fusing to skin. And that first wanton touch unravelled what remained of her barriers as those hands squeezed, kneaded—a hard brush of thumbs over taut nipples shielded behind too many hindering layers. She wanted skin. Skin and heat and nothing else.

"More," she breathed into him. Moaned. "I need more."

Strong arms stole around her, answering her demand, as his hard body levered up and out of the couch. With her weight secured against him, Hideo crossed from the couch to bedroom in a series of long strides. Her heart kicked with excitement. His body vibrated with restraint. Both of them lost to anticipation and pure, unadulterated desire.

Such was his power. And hers.

"Open your eyes," he said, shutting the bedroom door with a sweep of his foot. Isobel did as he asked, her feet planting to the floor as he set her down on weakened legs. Thank god his arms were still around her otherwise she might have slid into a puddle at his feet. Guiding her back, Hideo lowered Isobel to the edge of the bed, kissed her firmly before straightening to stand.

"Get back on the bed," he said, nodding towards the center were pillows were laid out, white against grey bedding. Doing as she was told, Isobel slid back until she felt the padded backing of the tufted headboard—distressed, dark leather studded with bronze nails.

A wicked gleam glowed in his dark brown eyes as his fingers worked over his shirt. Carefully, he peeled it off, pulling it up and off, one sleeve at a time, leaving his torso and chest bare to her appreciative gaze. His fingers dropped to his belt next, pulling the buckle open, peeling down the zipper and denim slid to the carpeted floor, leaving strong legs encased in black, fitted boxers that didn't leave a whole lot to the imagination.

As he stalked forward, his movements languid and prowling, muscles rippling, Isobel's mouth went dry as he circled around and set a knee to the edge.

"I like this," he said, brushed a finger down the side of her face. "That look you get as you watch me." Holding that same finger between them, he crooked it beckoningly. Turning her body to fall in line with his, Hideo's hands closed around her ankles, guiding her legs on either side of him and his body folded over top but left a sweltering space of needy heat between them.

"Now," he whispered, "I want to watch you." Hideo claimed her with a hot mouth, hotter hands. Isobel moaned, arching against him as her dress and whatever else she had on seemingly melted away. And every inch his hands uncovered his lips followed. Wet, searing. Breasts and belly and below where he teased and tormented her beyond reason. Beyond breath.

"Let me..." he whispered against her thigh, fingers filling and stirring deep. "Let me watch you."

Helpless, she could do nothing but as pleasure swam, took over. But underneath it, a thought sliced through, dulling the delicious tremors coiling where she so desperately needed release. Why wasn't this difficult and terrifying? Why wasn't this hard and awkward? This wasn't Kyle's body. This wasn't his mouth or his hands or even his bed. She was naked with a stranger. Making love with a stranger. A small, dark part of her screamed from the deepest corner of her heart that still yearned for what had been so recently stripped away. Rallied in resentful defiance of her newfound freedom.