Stiletto Sisterhood

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

In the fog of doubt, she heard the shut of a drawer, the crinkle of plastic, the glide of latex.

"Only me," he whispered hot against her mouth and slid into another drugging kiss that stripped her mind bare. Overcome, overwhelmed she clutched at him, blind to anything else but him. Those eyes. That mouth. That body, as something harder and hotter filled her, stretched her. He drank in her gasps and sighs. "That's it. Forget, Isobel. Feel. Feel me. Only me. Only us."

Mouth to mouth, they moved, hips rising and rolling. Sinuous. Lost, lost to feeling, lost to potent climb of pleasure, the wild spin. Their moans twined, their bodies moved and her hands slid over his back, gripped his hips, her thighs locking tighter. Urging for more. For all he had. For all she could take. And he answered. Teeth, lips and breath at war.

Gathering her hands, Hideo pinned them over her head and levered up, sliding deep and hard where she was overcome with the most exquisite agony. Pressure, so much delicious pressure. Rocking back, he dragged her against him, guiding her arms around his neck and her legs on either side of his hips as his mouth dipped, sucking hard and fast on her breast, tongue gliding over her nipple and his teeth. God, his teeth.

And came!—A hard peak followed by a quiver, a tremble and delicious glide. She floated back into her body with a silken sigh and opened dazed eyes to gaze into his smiling ones as he stroked harder, faster and tumbled headlong into his own release.

#

"Here," he held out a clean t-shirt he'd dragged out from a bottom drawer, himself already dressed in low slung bottoms and face damp from the sweat of effort.

Sheets hugged to her deliciously loose body, she pulled the shirt over her head and threaded her arms through the sleeves before letting the sheet fall. The shirt brushed the top of her thighs, barely covered the parts that mattered but she felt oddly comfortable and at ease in his presence and company. Padding lightly, she ventured with him, hand in hand, from the bedroom to the living room and across to the gorgeous kitchen.

Granite counters, chrome fixtures and lacquered cabinetry in ash grey.

She'd taken in small details of the space earlier, but now truly admired and appreciated the space, even if open concept had never been to her personal preference, the large, unobstructed windows truly were a thing of beauty given the sight lines he had this high up.

New York was a concrete giant and at night-time the lights flickered and glowed like stars. Captivating.

"How do you feel about an omelette?" he asked, upper half hidden behind the paneled door of a large double fridge.

"I'm vegan" she said with an apologetic sigh that she couldn't help whenever someone offered to cook.

"Cool, I've got bread," he said, without pause, "I could fix up a couple Croque-monsieur--veggie friendly for you, if you don't mind me having meat?"

"Oh, absolutely. My Da eats meat, so I don't mind being around those while their eating, it's just a personal lifestyle choice that I don't expect others to adhere to." Sidling around the fridge door, she brushed up at his side. "Need a hand?"

"Nope. Guest's don't cook." She gasped through a laugh as he plucked her up and set her down on the edge of the counter then returned with a collection of ingredients.

Provolone, Gorgonzola cheese and ham--for him, tomatoes and basil--for her. While she sliced bread, he warmed a skillet with olive oil (instead of butter) and prepped the other ingredients, layering them over the thick slices then set them to fry, flipping quickly while the outsides crusted and went deliciously golden brown.