19. Bastian
CHAPTER NINETEEN
BASTIAN
I solde stared at Bastian for a long second, her eyes dancing with something that may as well have been delight.
There was a delicious redness painting her sharp cheekbones and creeping down her neck, and he was struck by the sudden realization that Vampires could blush .
He wouldn’t have thought such a thing was possible.
“What about you?” Isolde finally said, her gaze dropping away from his as her hands resumed their motion on his skin. “I know you said you never wanted to be a Wolf, but are there specific things you miss about being human?”
Bastian stayed silent, savoring the way it felt to have her touching him. Her fingertips were cool—almost icy against his burning skin, her touches tentative and curious as she traced the grooves and ridges of his back. Everywhere her hands traveled, the pain fell away, suddenly inconsequential.
Bastian had thought before that he didn’t want Isolde to know anything about him. He’d thought he hated the way she asked so many probing questions, always touching some nerve in him that was still too tender to let anyone go near.
Now, he realized… he liked telling her those things about himself. He liked that she cared to ask and listened closely to his answers. He liked that she’d shared the things that had rubbed her own nerves raw. It made him feel seen. Understood.
He liked having her hands on him, too. It was nice, feeling a gentle touch from someone who hadn’t yet betrayed him. Hadn’t hurt him.
It was dangerous to like those things from her, of all people. It was worse than dangerous, for so many reasons.
But Bastian didn’t have the energy to push her away right then.
“It’s the same most of the time,” he finally told her.
“I just hate the full moon. We don’t lose control of ourselves when we shift, really, but…
it’s like my animal instincts are battling for control over my human ones.
I’m still me, but the predator definitely has some sway.
” He sent Isolde a wry look. “The pain isn’t ideal, either. ”
She huffed out something like a laugh, but the clear blue of her eyes shone with a sorrow that didn’t match the sound. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, her fingers skating down to dance over the lowermost curve of his spine. “That they took away your choice.”
Bastian didn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say, and even if he did, his throat was suddenly tight with emotion.
No one had bothered to say that to him since he’d been turned—not Anselm, not Everett, not Aggie or anyone else. Everett saying I’m sorry you felt like you had to leave Lake Hall was the only apology he’d gotten.
Not I’m sorry you were forced to become a monster or I’m sorry no one listened to you when you said you didn’t want this or I’m sorry that it was the man you called your father for twenty-two years who did it .
All he got was I’m sorry you feel that way .
And now Isolde— Isolde , of all people—said it to him, and her apology was genuine , and reached right to the heart of his pain.
Those seven words were a thousand times more real than any of the other half-measures he’d gotten, which made it clear people only cared that he was angry, not that he hadn’t wanted to be a Wolf or that Anselm’s betrayal hurt so badly it felt hard to breathe when he thought about it.
On the bed beside him, Isolde was oblivious to the emotion strangling his words. Her blue eyes were fixed on his back, on the progress of her fingers as she traced her way down his spine.
Bastian’s stomach tightened as he watched her eyes dip lower still—to the upper curve of his ass, where the blanket she’d tugged over him was starting to slip. Her fingers followed, and her scent…
It strengthened. Sweetened .
Now Bastian’s throat was tight for a whole new reason.
She’d smelled just like that the night they’d met, when she’d kissed him like she was poisoned and he had the cure on his lips. That scent had saturated the air the other night, when he’d spread her thighs and devoured her.
Between the cool, gentle brush of Isolde’s fingers over the tense muscle of his ass, the way her lips parted, and the mouth-watering scent of her arousal on the air…
Gritting his teeth around the pain, Bastian turned onto his side.
The blanket slipped with the motion, and so did her eyes.
Bastian watched as they shot down to the expanse of his lower stomach, to the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath the blanket, and lingered there.
If his cock hadn’t already been well on its way to rock hard, that look alone would have got him there.
And then Isolde’s fingers trailed over his side and down to the place where her eyes were glued, and every coherent thought fell out of Bastian’s head.
“You said nothing was ever going to happen between us again,” he managed to say, ignoring the flare of pain as the muscles in his stomach flexed beneath her touch.
“I did,” Isolde agreed. Her fingers slipped lower still, brushing along the edge of the blanket.
Bastian shifted his hips, just enough to give her better access. “If you keep touching me like that, Isolde,” he vowed, “I’m going to have my head between your thighs again before you can blink.”
Isolde’s gaze darted back up to meet Bastian’s. The corners of her mouth curled into a smirk, and without looking away, she dipped two fingers beneath the edge of the blanket.
And brushed them along the base of his rapidly hardening cock.
Bastian didn’t give himself an instant to brace for the pain.
He surged upward, reaching for Isolde. His fingertips just brushed the soft cotton of her shirt before her palm met his chest, halting him.
He ground his teeth, forcing down the urge to seize her and pin her to the mattress, and let her guide him back.
“You’re the one convalescing this time,” she murmured, trailing one hand down his chest, over the tight muscles of his abdomen. “I think you should let me do the work.”
It was all Bastian could do to keep still. He fisted the sheets beneath him, barely noticing when the cotton tore within his grip. Isolde was watching him, her lips slightly parted and her own eyes darkening as her pupils expanded.
Snow and citrus and lily of the valley. Bastian didn’t think it was possible for that scent to get any sweeter, but now she smelled like she’d been doused in sugar. The scent was so thick, so perfect, he couldn’t see straight.
Hell, just the scent of her wasn’t enough. It would never be enough—not after he’d had her on his tongue.
“Alright, then,” Bastian said, the words coming out rough. He couldn’t keep his voice smooth, but he forced himself to let go of the sheets, to fold one arm behind his head as nonchalantly as possible. “What was it you said? Something purely physical ?”
“Yes.” Her voice came out delightfully breathy. “Precisely.”
She’d also said the last time was just a reaction to her feeding, but there was no feeding going on now, and Bastian was reacting plenty strongly. His cock ached as she teased him with those delicate sweeps of her fingers beneath the blanket.
She was having a strong reaction, too, if her scent was any indication.
Before Bastian could point that little fact out, though, Isolde slipped her hand fully beneath the blanket and curled her fingers around his cock.
A groan slipped free of Bastian’s throat at her touch, his eyes fastened to the place where her hand moved beneath the blanket.
Her hand felt small around his cock, the coolness of her skin somehow more erotic than if her palm was warm.
She pumped her fist once, twice, and Bastian fought to keep still.
Shifting down the bed, Isolde pulled the blanket away. It took everything Bastian had to control himself at the sight of his cock in her hand, her skin pale against the flush of his tip, where clear beads of arousal had already begun to collect.
Again, Isolde pumped her fist. Slowly, she drug her hand from base to tip, pausing to rub her thumb along the sensitive ridge beneath the head. She left the tip alone, letting the moisture continue to collect there as she stroked back to the base, where she squeezed softly.
A desperate sound tore free of Bastian on her next stroke—almost a whimper. He couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed of it.
“Isolde.” His voice was nothing more than a rasp. “Do you have to tease me like this?”
Isolde grinned, and the sight almost sent him over the edge. “I most certainly do.”
Still, she didn’t increase the pace of her strokes, or deign to run her thumb over his swollen tip. She did lift her other hand to his balls, cupping them in her palm with a gentle squeeze.
“ Isolde, ” Bastian gasped, the muscles in his stomach flexing and releasing in time with the motion of her hand. He barely noticed the pain, all his focus honed on the way she pumped his cock.
“Oh, alright,” Isolde sighed.
Tortuously slowly, she climbed over to settle between his legs.
Every move she made was slow, languid, infused with that perfect supernatural grace that had drawn Bastian’s eye from the first moment he saw her.
If she looked this perfect clothed, Bastian couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like to see her fully naked.
His hands were back in the sheets, clinging with a white-knuckled grip to keep himself still as she bent her head and flattened her tongue over the tip of his cock.
There was nothing he could do to stop himself from bucking his hips at that first brush of her tongue. Her eyes shot up to meet his, her gaze sultry as she lifted her head and tsked . One hand came up and splayed across his hip, using her strength to pin him to the bed.
And fuck , if that didn’t drive him wild.
“For hell’s sake, Isolde?—”
Bastian broke off on a guttural cry as she dipped her head and licked him from root to tip. Without pause, she wrapped her lips around the head of his cock and sucked him into her mouth.
“Fuck,” Bastian panted. Somehow, he managed to release his grip on the bedding and gather Isolde’s hair into his hands. She bobbed her head, swirling her tongue around his tip as, little by little, she took more and more of him into her mouth. “ Fuck, Isolde. That feels so good.”
Her eyes danced with a smile as she worked him, her hand moving in tandem with her mouth.
Bastian could barely breathe around the feel of her mouth on his cock.
Between the way she gazed up at him as she took him and the overwhelming scent of her arousal, it took everything he had to keep from fucking himself into her mouth.
And then the hand she used to work him dropped away and mirrored the other on his hip. He felt her jaw relax around him, and as she stared up at him, she arched one pale brow. Bastian’s hands tightened in her hair, and she gave him the tiniest of nods.
Bastian couldn’t contain himself anymore. He held her head steady, his fingers tangling in her hair, and drove his hips upward, thrusting his cock into her mouth. Her fingers dug into his hips, but her gaze never wavered, those mesmerizing blue eyes of hers locked on his.
Two thrusts, and Bastian felt his release building at the base of his spine. By the third, he was moaning in earnest, low, frantic sounds that a lesser male might have been ashamed of.
Isolde took him like it was nothing. The tip of his cock bumped against the back of her throat, and her eyes twinkled. One of her hands slipped upwards and traced the groove at the center of his stomach, while the other went back to kneading his balls.
“I’m close,” he warned her. “Fuck, Isolde, I’m so close.”
The churning of Bastian’s hips turned erratic as his climax barreled toward him. He thrust once, twice more, and then he made to draw out of Isolde’s mouth, not wanting to come down her throat if she wasn’t?—
Her hands shot back to his hips, locking herself in place. The tip of Bastian’s cock hit the back of her throat once more, and then he was coming.
His spine went rigid as he climaxed, but Isolde didn’t miss a beat. She took up the pace he’d set before, continuing to work him as he spilled himself down her throat. Bastian gasped his way through it, and still, Isolde held his gaze, working him until she’d swallowed every last drop of his come.
Only then did she lift her head, releasing his cock, and sit back. A smile danced on her lips as, primly, she wiped the corners of her mouth with a thumb.
“Well,” she said, looking mighty pleased with herself as Bastian panted, staring dazedly up at her. “Feel any better?”