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Where he went, I have no idea nor do I care because a second later, I’m pulling her inside. Isabella gasps at the sudden movement, stumbling a bit, but then her back is against the door and our eyes meet. Immediately, I’m lost to the mate pull. Overwhelmed by her and the way she takes me in.
Our bond is strong. More than I ever imagined.
She sees the beast inside me rise, his onyx eyes mixing with my gold, and the scent of her arousal causes a deep rumble to build inside my bare chest. The proof of how I affect her is pure pleasure to me. Like an aphrodisiac.
I want to hear her. To taste it.
Isabella is beauty personified with flaming red hair, baby blue eyes, and the sweetest lips I’ve ever seen. They’re cherry red and plump, parted as she takes in a deep breath and then shivers. In a subtle way, my mate is scenting me and it’s the sexiest thing.
How she moves closer, rubbing herself against me with small gyrations or the way her hands pet my chest. Stroking absentmindedly, her fingers dig in deep while her every exhale caresses my skin.
Then there’s her body in that dress. Motherfuck.
White and sensual, the tight bodice molds to her perky tits and flat stomach while a lattice up the front exposes just enough to tempt a bloody priest before two high splits, one at each hip, gives me access to her supple thighs.
Her legs are perfection.
Her soft skin is incomplete without my spend marking her flesh.
My eyes devour every sinful inch, and the limited time on the lake—that dream—didn’t do her justice.
“Fuck, Little Moon. What you do to me,” I groan, towering over her, and it’s something I’m finding myself enjoying. How tiny she is compares to my seven-foot frame. How she cranes her neck back to meet my heated stare, azure eyes that are full of so much want—longing. They’re sparkling with desire, and I can’t help but wrap an arm around her waist, lifting Isabella high enough for her to feel my cock against her mound.
Nose to nose. Mouths hovering.
Yet it’s when she feels me there, hard and throbbing, that a tiny mewl leaves her. The sound is low, almost kittenish, and it’s one I’ll never forget. It’s also the way her delicate features tighten just a smidge, as if the pleasure is too much, but then it smooths and her lips lightly touch mine.
“Xadiel.” One word. That’s all it takes.
My name from her lips is a decadent prayer, and I submit to her desires. My mouth slants over hers while my hands explore from her knee to hip, my touch light while memorizing the softness of her skin. The openings on each side give me access to all of her, exposed and at my mercy, and I don’t hesitate to wrap her legs around my waist.
They squeeze me. Tremble.
Her wetness coast the front of my trousers and my nostrils flare, grip tightening on the bare skin of her upper right thigh. My other hand traverses higher, over her ribs to the underside of her tit, teasing the fabric-covered skin with two claws. I didn’t realize they’d come out but enjoy how she reacts…
Goose bumps. Eyes closing. Chest arching and begging for attention.
“Say my name again, Isabella. I need to hear it,” I groan into her mouth before sliding my tongue over hers, flicking and sucking the same way I’ll devour her pussy. How I treat the beaded tip of her nipple, tapping the left one to the rhythm of her breathing. Each flick pulls little moans from her, the sound so beautiful. “Say it.”
“Xadiel, I need—” she says but then stops, whimpering as the hand on her leg traces a little higher, pausing close enough to her pussy that if I extend my pinky, I’d touch her clit. And I do. Slowly, I trace the bundle lightly, featherlight and careful not to cut her, but the thought isn’t an unpleasant one.
There’s no doubt in my mind Isabella’s blood would sweet. Delicious.
Pulling my mouth from hers, I exhale roughly against her skin before dragging my short beard from her lips to her ear. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Gods, no. Need.”
Low. Sultry. Wanton.
I want to hear her beg in that same naughty tone.
“Then tell me what you need, Isabella? Never hold back from me.” Dragging two fingers through her slick folds, I part them before circling her tiny hole. It flexes, her core tightening in need, but I ignore the temptation. There’s something I must do first. The animal and I thirst, and nick the soft flesh next to her clit. Two small cuts, one on each side.
She winces but doesn’t cry.
If anything, my female gets wetter.
Her juices coat my fingers, sliding down toward my palm, and the scent of her arousal is heady.
