28. Isolde
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
ISOLDE
B astian’s mouth was on hers, hot and demanding, in an instant.
He hauled her toward him by the wrist, his other arm going around her waist to press her body against his.
Isolde wound her arms around his neck, sliding her fingers into the soft waves of his hair to tilt his head back, deepening the angle of the kiss.
It was bruising, desperate, their lips crashing together as Isolde climbed into his lap.
Bastian yanked at Isolde’s jacket, shoving it off her shoulders and tossing it away. Isolde’s own hands fumbled with the hem of his shirt, tearing it free from the waist of his trousers. When she tried to break the kiss to pull it over his head, Bastian seized her by the face, keeping her close.
His tongue swept out, gliding along the seam of her lips. She opened for him and he plunged inside, caressing her tongue with his in a way that sent a bolt of pleasure straight to her core.
When he finally released her to come up for air, Isolde wasted no time. She drug his shirt over his head, tossing it away like he had her jacket, and then she was on him again. She stole a few searing kisses from his mouth before moving to his jaw, nipping along the sharp line of it.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about the way your mouth feels since the last time you had it on me,” he said huskily, sliding his hands beneath her shirt to caress her back, her waist, the tender skin just below her breasts. “It’s been tormenting me that I didn’t get to make you come, too.”
“You’re more than welcome to remedy that now,” Isolde purred, trailing kisses down the center of his throat. She scraped her teeth over his Adam’s apple, eliciting a low groan that vibrated against her lips.
“Oh, I plan to.”
His hands slipped down her stomach to the laces of her pants as Isolde let her mouth roam along his clavicle. When she reached the rough, silvery skin of the scar on his shoulder, she paused. Just like he had when she’d first touched him there, Bastian went completely still beneath her.
Then Isolde pressed a kiss to the deepest of the fang marks, and she felt the shiver that rocked Bastian down to her very own bones.
Isolde waited, her mouth lingering over the scar, giving Bastian a chance to stop her. When he didn’t move, didn’t push her away, she pressed a kiss to the second fang mark. Then the third and fourth, every brush of her lips slow and deliberate.
When she straightened to meet Bastian’s gaze, she found it swimming with a soul-cleaving mix of devastation and desire. His pupils were blown so wide, his eyes were almost completely black, only the thinnest ring of golden brown remaining.
“Pants,” he breathed, that dark gaze flicking down to Isolde’s swollen lips. “Off. Now.”
Isolde scrambled to her feet, tearing off her boots and the sheaths still fastened around her thighs.
When she got the laces of her pants undone, Bastian surged upward, hooking his fingers into the waistband and dragging them down her legs in one quick tug.
Isolde rushed to kick them off, then practically flung herself back into Bastian’s lap.
“You smell so fucking good,” he rumbled, laying his hands atop her knees and sliding them up her thighs. She flattened her own palms against his bare chest. “Especially when you’re dripping for me like this.”
As if to prove his point, Bastian slipped his hand between Isolde’s legs and trailed his fingers through the wetness pooling there. She gasped at the contact, just a gentle brush of his fingertips along the seam of her opening, and the sound brought a wicked grin to Bastian’s face.
Isolde watched through half-lidded eyes as, slowly, Bastian lifted two glistening fingers between them. He didn’t break her stare—didn’t even blink—as he slid those two fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean.
“Bastian,” Isolde whimpered, hardly caring that she sounded like she was begging.
“Yes, Isolde?” he answered, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear with his pinky and fourth finger. “Tell me what you want, moonbeam.”
“You promised to make me come,” she reminded him, fighting to sound breathy, and not like she was whining.
“Who said I wasn’t going to?”
He leaned forward, grasping Isolde’s chin with one hand as he nipped at her bottom lip. At the same time, he reached between her thighs and pressed his fingers against her aching clit.
“ Fuck ,” she gasped, just the way she knew he liked.
He grinned against her mouth, stealing another kiss as he began to circle his fingers.
Isolde couldn’t resist the urge to grind her hips against his hand, meeting his strokes with tight little circles of her own.
Bastian kissed her one more time, hot and messy, before letting her go, leaning back to watch the way she ground against him.
“You look so good like this,” he murmured, slipping his free hand up her shirt to knead her breasts. Isolde’s nipples hardened to the point of aching as his fingers danced around them, touching everything but the sensitive buds.
“More,” she gasped, fumbling with the laces of Bastian’s pants. “I need more.”
Bastian’s eyes darkened even further at her command. His fingers slid from her clit, gliding through her slickness to her opening, and Isolde couldn’t suppress a desperate moan as he teased her, swirling the tip of one finger around without dipping inside.
Isolde was beyond coherency by now, only able to whimper and grind her hips downward, seeking the friction she needed. Still, she tugged at the front of Bastian’s pants, her fingers too clumsy to undo the mess she’d made of the laces.
At her frustrated whine, Bastian pushed her hands out of the way with his free one and made quick work of freeing his cock. He pressed the hard length of it into Isolde’s grip, letting out a grunt of his own as she curled all ten of her fingers around him and began to stroke.
Finally, he plunged his finger inside Isolde, all the way to his third knuckle. He paused when he was deep inside of her, the heel of his hand pressing against her clit.
“So tight,” he growled, watching the way Isolde sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. “So wet.”
Then he curled the tip of that one finger, and Isolde had to clap a hand over her mouth to muffle a scream.
She threw her head back, rolling her hips almost frantically against his hand.
Somehow, she managed to keep stroking his cock, squeezing at the base and rolling her thumb over the head the way she’d noticed he liked the last time.
Bastian curled his finger once, twice more, massaging the most perfect, spine tingling spot inside her.
He withdrew that one finger and Isolde began to protest, but she didn’t manage a single word before he added a second finger and plunged back inside.
“Oh, fuck, fuck ,” she gasped, lifting herself up and sinking back down to meet the thrusts of his fingers. His thumb found her clit, rubbing it in time with the curling of his fingertips. “That feels so good.”
“Yes, Isolde,” he groaned, bucking his hips into her hand the same way she did with his. “There’s a good girl. Ride my hand like you would my cock.”
Isolde could do nothing but obey. She braced one hand on Bastian’s shoulder while the other kept working his cock, and at the same time she rode his fingers.
Every thrust, every brush against that perfect spot inside her brought her closer to the edge.
Bastian’s cock was impossibly hard in her hand, the muscles of his lower stomach flexing in a way that told her he was close, too.
“I’m almost there,” she warned, as the moans slipping out of Bastian’s throat turned breathy, the rhythm of his hips uneven. “Fuck, Bastian, I’m so close.”
Abruptly, he shifted beneath her, his free hand winding around the length of her braid as he sat forward and drug her mouth down to his.
He stopped the thrusting of his own hips, but Isolde could feel his cock twitching in her hand as she continued to pump him, her palm slick with the moisture beading from his tip.
“Come for me, Isolde,” he commanded on a pant, breaking their kiss.
Those words were all it took to send Isolde barreling over the edge.
She collapsed against Bastian as wave after wave of pleasure rocked through her.
His fingers kept moving inside her, across her overly sensitive clit.
Isolde had abandoned his cock in favor of clinging to Bastian’s shoulders, and now it was pressed between their bodies.
Bastian began to thrust his hips against her, groaning at the friction, and Isolde could have sworn a second orgasm overtook her at the sound of it, at the feeling of his cock gliding against her stomach.
“Isolde,” he groaned, the fingers of his free hand pressing against Isolde’s waist as he fucked the space between them, still rubbing her clit with the other. “Isolde, I’m?—”
In that instant, the door to Bastian’s bedroom slammed open.
Isolde’s head snapped up, the haze of pleasure clearing in a blink as Everett stormed in, six more Wolves on his heels.