48. Isobel
Simon is magnificent. I already know what his body looks like, as he hasn’t changed since the day he shifted to protect me. But at the same time, everything is different.
I’m finally allowed to touch him, taste him, make him mine.
His hair is still damp from his own shower, messily tousled curls falling around his face. His full beard emphasizes his wildness, and his cheekbones are sharp enough to cut glass. His blue eyes flicker with amber-gold, casting his features into a more feral mien. I have a feeling that when he’s fully unleashed, Simon will ravage me without mercy.
I can’t wait.
Beneath his clothing, Simon’s body is a work of art. Sculpted muscles flex and play under the inked skin of his chest and arms, and the tattoos themselves draw the eye. The lion on his chest is one I’m very familiar with, and my fingers itch to touch them both.
“Come here,” I whisper, and he obeys.
Simon’s movements are sleek and feline in their motion, Tálstrom lending him a predatory grace. I’m being stalked and I know it, but I don’t care.
His cock—long and uncut, and with delectable felid spines lining the shaft—thickens as he prowls toward me, rising from the thatch of hair nestled at his groin until it’s bouncing off his stomach. The mushroom-shaped crown peeks from beneath his foreskin, the tip shiny with pre-cum. Long, muscular legs taper down into strong feet, and his right calf is covered with more ink. This is the first time I’ve been able to truly look at it, unlike the ones on Simon’s arms.
It’s a desolate image, filled with death and savagery. A large tree looms above a pool of water, warped and twisted as though the water is poisonous, its branches stretching out across the sky. Tangled among the tree’s roots are the scattered remains of animals and birds, as though they came to drink and perished where they stood. On either side of the water stands a lion, each one almost a mirror image of the other. A mirror image, that is, if it weren’t for the bloodied scars adorning one of the lions.
My heart breaks for the agony Simon has experienced in his life, affecting him so much that he’s permanently etched the memories into his flesh. I want to take him in my arms, smother him with love, and wash all his pain away. Then I remember—I can.
I pat the mattress, wordlessly inviting him to hop up next to me. Simon’s muscles flex and move as he crawls up until he’s by my side, and Quin hovers at the foot of the bed.
“Do you want me to leave you two alone for a little while so there’s less pressure?” Quin asks, and I look to Simon to gauge his thoughts.
“No. Don’t get me wrong, Quin, I don’t find you attractive in that way in the least, but today is about us becoming a family. Besides, Isobel said she wants to try being watched. I know she probably didn’t realize I was watching earlier, but I have to admit, even I found it hot.”
Simon trails his fingers up my leg and over my hip as he speaks, and I tremble beneath his feather-light touch.
“Quin, pull up a chair, and get comfortable. I’m going to take my time with”— Simon stumbles over his next words—“our mate, unless you have any objections? I don’t want to seem selfish, but I have a feeling that once we get started, Tál will be fairly possessive until we have that permanent tie.”
Simon’s fingers never cease moving, each caress softly rousing my need, stoking the flames of my desire. Quin moves to pull a chair closer to the bed, and slouches back in the seat. The towel swathing his hips unravels, exposing his engorged cock, and Quin begins to stroke himself as he watches on.
I burn.
“Simon, please,” I beg, and I reach down to grab at the hand he’s torturing me with. His movements still as I latch on, his gaze uncertain.
“Isobel, are you—” He draws in a sharp breath as I move that scarred, calloused hand to between my thighs, where I’m dripping and desperate for his touch.
“Please!” I plead, releasing his hand.
Simon doesn’t disappoint.
He glides his fingers up and down over my flesh, the outer lips of my pussy slick with the proof of my need. My head lolls back, landing on the pillows propping me up, and my eyes roll back into my head as Simon finally swipes a finger over my clit.
My nerve endings riot, blasting me with sensation. I’m almost overcome by it all, but at the last moment Simon pulls his hand away, leaving me bereft. I cry out, but his lips are there, brushing over mine, the bristles of his beard lightly scratching against my skin.
His lips are warm and soft, parting slightly with each kiss, gently sucking my lower lip between his own. I groan, lifting my hands and digging into his thick mane of hair. My fingers easily slide through the silken strands, and I clench fistfuls of it in my palms as I tug him closer. A sense of urgency thrums through me, transferring to Simon as our kisses turn from sweet sips of our lips, to biting and sucking. We devour each other, and I lose myself in the taste of him.
The heat of Simon’s body as he comes to rest next to me blazes like an inferno, and all I can think is, I need to get closer.
I release one hand from his hair, using it to urge him closer to me, grasping at the skin of his shoulders and back as I part my legs. Simon follows my urging and nestles his hips in the cradle of my thighs, dripping pre-cum over my stomach as he gently rocks against me. His cock, trapped between our bodies, is hard and hot, and I slip my free hand back over Simon’s shoulder and down over his chest and abdomen. I curl my fingers around the textured shaft, exulting in the groan and surging movements my touch provokes. I squeeze my hand tighter, my grip constricting so much that I can feel every throb of Simon’s pulse through his cock.
Simon’s reaction is electrifying.
With a wicked snarl, Simon tears my hands from his hair and body, trapping them in his own iron grip. His hands, however, are large enough that both of mine fit into one of his. He fully exploits this advantage, his hold firm and unrelenting. His free hand roams my body, exploring every dip and curve as his mouth moves from mine to nip at my jaw and earlobes before nuzzling into the side of my neck.
Oh. My. GODS.
There’s that one spot where your neck meets your shoulder, that is ultra-sensitive. On me, it’s the one place guaranteed to rev my engines so hard that it’ll have me on the cusp of orgasm within seconds. When the hair of Simon’s beard tickles over that spot, I explode. My pussy clenches down on air, my hips bucking up as my climax smashes through me. I don’t even scream as I come, because I can’t gasp enough air into my lungs to do so.
“Fuck, Isobel, you’re fucking perfect,” Simon rasps against my throat as he reaches down, notching the tip of his cock at my slick opening.
“I wanted my mouth on you first, but I won’t last if I do. Plus, Tál is riding me hard. He wants to be yours and make you ours.” His eyes glitter and churn with need as he stares down at me, vulnerability lurking in the background.
“I promise, I’ll make it up to you later.”
Make what up to me? I wonder in the seconds before I lose my mind.
Simon surges forward, his cock sliding into my hot, wet depths, and my thoughts scatter to the winds.
Isobel is gone.
I’m nothing but sensations.