Isabelle's Awakening Ch. 06

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Jasmine30
Jasmine30
242 Followers

"Most of the articles and studies showed moderate to excellent telepathy skills for those who participated; however, even at their best communication was often limited to certain areas. Some could only hear thoughts, some could see images, and some could feel emotions, but most could not do both. Or they had other paranormal skills that didn't necessarily bring them to a point where true communication was achieved. There are a few exceptions like us."

Huh. It sounded as if he really had researched the subject. And if he was right in his interpretations, then what did that mean?

"If I'm right? Dear, dear, Isabelle, I am rarely wrong."

Isabelle snorted in reply, annoyed at his cheerful invasion of her every thought.

Dillon reached out and slipped a finger under her chin, forcing her to meet his probing gaze.

"Tell me now if you want to leave this alone and I will. I have no desire to cause pain or distress in your life and marriage but I felt I had no other choice but to see what is between us. If I am wrong in that, I apologize."

Isabelle's chest tightened at the thought of him walking away from her. She'd had six months without him, six months to decide if what she felt was real. No, she definitely didn't want him to walk away. She swallowed before answering, giving herself time to compose her answer.

"Dillon, I don't know what to say. Even though we've only known each other a short time, I can't walk away either. There are things we have to consider though. I'm in the middle of a divorce and my children can't stand me, those are the biggest hurdles obviously. Until I have that figured out I'm going to be in limbo for some time."

"I know. I'll wait."

Isabelle opened her mouth to respond then closed it when she realized no response was necessary. He wasn't asking for her permission. He was stating a fact. Before she could digest what it meant, he continued.

"I think we both know I've exercised great patience and restraint in the last six months," he leaned towards her and placed a finger on her lips, "that stops now. Despite the serious issues we need to deal with, I intend to enjoy every stolen moment I have with you. Peel me a grape, Isabelle."

"Excuse me?" Isabelle cocked her head at him.

"Peel a grape for me, Sweet Pussy. I did hire you after all."

Dillon's words were casually spoken. The heat behind them was anything but.

Flustered, she reached for the cool and shiny grapes before realizing what she was doing. It was simply inconceivable she was sitting here with Dillon casually discussing grapes, as if no time had passed and it was an ordinary day. Why on earth would he want her to peel a grape?

Puzzled, she removed her fingers and gazed at him in askance. Then his words penetrated her brain and she bristled.

"Excuse me, you hired me? I think not. Mr. Heidelman hired me and since I've yet to meet him, I'm officially off the clock." Satisfied with her logical answer, Isabelle sat back in her chair, arms folded across her breasts.

Dillon's smile never changed, but the answering challenge in his eyes set warning signals off in her brain.

Is that so?

Startled by his quick and easy entrance into her mind, Isabelle scowled at him before answering.

"Yes, and please stop that."

Stop what? Stop thinking about my hands all over your body? Stop thinking about your warm sweet mouth wrapped around my cock? Stop thinking about your dripping pussy nestled against my face? No, I don't think that's possible.

Isabelle ground her teeth together to stem the tide of images his thoughts provoked, but it did little good. Her traitorous mind was allowing him to lead her there like a lamb to the slaughter. An apt analogy, slaughter, for as surely as she knew her own name she knew Dillon would tear down any defenses she had, starting with her tender skin, and reaching deep into her beating bloody heart.

Cocking an eyebrow at her, Dillon reached for the grapes. Sinuously sliding a finger over her hand he reached past her and snagged a bunch of plump grapes.

"Since you are being completely unreasonable, I will peel my own grapes. Although I feel obliged to warn you, disobeying me has consequences, Isabelle."

Seemingly unperturbed by her answering frown, Dillon's long fingers diligently worked to remove the skin from a grape.

She watched in consternation, fully aware of Dillon's ideas of punishment. She found she wasn't completely adverse to the idea and in fact, almost looked forward to the battle of wills he would surely engage her in. And the final result of that battle.

Did you think you could lose me that easily? Did you think I would let you walk out of my life forever? You should know better, Sweet Pussy.

Isabelle worked to maintain a mask of indifference but Dillon had hit the nail on the head. She had thought he wouldn't return after she had run away six months ago. Part relieved and disappointed, she had endeavored to forget he had ever existed with little effect.

"I walked away so perhaps it was my choice."

"Fear is not a choice. I chose to let you have some time alone before approaching you because of that fear but it won't and didn't keep me away forever."

I'm not that easy to lose, Isabelle.

Isabelle refused to meet his eyes, afraid he would see the truth in hers.

"One."

Dillon's voice brought her out of her reverie. What was he up to? She probed his thoughts for clues but he was much better at concealing his thoughts than she was.

"One what?"

"One grape, my Belle." Dillon pointed down.

Confused, Isabelle glanced at the naked grape lolling on her napkin.

"Feed it to me."

Oh. He wanted her to feed him, did he? Part of her liked the idea even if she objected to his imperial commands on principle alone. Still, she was a practical woman and unwilling to fight him on something so trivial.

She looked at the grape with its cool innards laid bare and stripped of any protection. She could empathize, she felt like her insides were exposed for all to see, too. She reached for the fruit.

"No. Not like that."

"How else am I supposed to feed the grape to you?" she asked impatiently, not bothering to hide her annoyance.

He waved a hand in the air dismissing her question with a flick of his wrist.

Isabelle's hands curled into fists. Dillon was acting very strangely and she didn't like the way he slipped in and out of her mind. It was rude.

"Rude, eh?"

"Yes, rude so stop it," Isabelle seethed. The man was shameless.

Only shameless when it comes to taking what I need, love. And make no mistake I will be taking what I need, over and over until I'm satisfied. Unfortunately for you, I am very hard to please.

Vivid pictures flashed through her mind, fevered hands cupping her mound, Dillon's long tongue lapping at her swollen lips, sucking and pulling her into the swirling vortex of his mouth. She swayed in her seat as heat flushed through her tingling nerves.

It was only the appearance of Dillon's outstretched hand, a grape balanced on his fingertips that brought her focus back. He held it with such graceful ease, his long fingers extended towards her.

"One, Isabelle."

Confused, she frowned at him, not understanding his intent.

"I want you to keep it warm."

Isabelle reached for the grape before understanding kicked in and once it did, her hand hung there awkwardly in the interim.

Oh. A single flash, a sudden vision of where he wanted the grape and Isabelle felt her cheeks heat. She couldn't though. No way. She must have misunderstood. Besides, was that even safe?

You can and you will. Don't you think I deserve to have grapes soaked in your juice, for no juice is sweeter than yours? I will personally ensure every grape is retrieved, of that you may be sure.

Isabelle gaped at him, unable, even in her most intimate fantasies to go where he wanted her to go. She was so not that woman. And yet...no.

Dillon just stared at her, silently imposing his will and waiting with an anticipatory gleam in his eyes.

Isabelle you are that woman. My woman.

His simple communication had the air from her lungs whooshing out in shaky acknowledgment.

Dillon placed his hands on her tightly clasped knees and with little effort pushed her legs apart.

She sat motionless, her legs opening to accommodate Dillon despite her reservations. She trusted him. It was that simple. If he said she was that woman, then she was. If he said she was beautiful, she was. If he said they could fly to the moon, she believed him.

She was so fucked.

So it was in that frame of mind, detached and floating from reality, she watched as Dillon very cleverly snuck the grape past her panties and up between her lips. He paused when the cool flesh of the grape came into contact with her much warmer flesh and became too much for her to bear silently and continued when, after a few shaky breaths, she was able to regain her composure. Not that he cared if she was composed, he didn't. The messier she was the better as far as Dillon was concerned. He was obsessed with breaking her composure.

No I'm obsessed with you, Sweet Pussy. Obsessed with breaking your will and bending it to mine. Obsessed with a violent need to make you mine and to break down all of those neat little barriers you use to keep me away.

He rolled the grape back and forth at her opening to prove his point, the restriction of her panties only increasing the pressure. Against her will, she opened for him, willing him to push the grape inside. The erotic image lingering in her mind threatened her rational side and left her wanting to be the supremely carnal woman he saw in his minds eye. She desperately needed to be that woman.

With insight so excruciatingly clear it hurt, she realized life was too short to waste on proper behavior. With the right man, nothing was off the table. Anything and everything was erotic and she found the grape threatening her existence with its textured surface intensely erotic.

She held her breath, anticipating its foreign touch when the grape breached her opening and slid into her. Emotions and sensations she couldn't name soared through her as he slowly but deliberately pushed the grape deeper.

One.

Why do you keep counting?

She fired off the question, too connected with him to realize she hadn't spoken aloud.

A soft chuckle was the only verbal response she received.

Because my dear, I need to keep track of how many grapes you hold onto for me. So when I'm sucking them out of your pussy one by one, I won't forget how many there are. Can't leave you with fruit ripening in your womb, now can I?

Isabelle forgot to breathe as she digested his words. His mouth pulling grapes from her swollen pussy dominated her thoughts and she tightened in response, inadvertently pulling the grape in farther.

Oh yes, My Sweet.

Dillon pulled away, removing his hand to stare into her eyes.

Mesmerized, Isabelle was unable to look away. There was lust in his eyes, of course, but so much more. Staring into his liquid gray eyes, his soul open before her, his need on naked display, she was lost, no, she was changed forever. Devastatingly, irrevocably changed.

She saw the recognition in his eyes as he acknowledged their shared fate.

Never one to give in to fate quite so willingly, Isabelle sought to hold onto her remaining shred of independence, but with a decisive quirk of Dillon's mouth, her fate was sealed.

Don't forget to count.

Isabelle blinked in response and looked down at the bunch of grapes in Dillon's hand. The ones he was trying to give to her.

Start peeling, I'm running out of patience.

She snorted inwardly, as if he had ever possessed a shred of patience when it came to getting what he wanted.

Don't push it or you will find out exactly how little patience I have.

Isabelle didn't respond and instead reached for the grapes. If he didn't want to wait, he really shouldn't have chosen a fruit so damned difficult to peel she silently fumed as her fingers feverishly worked the skin from several plump grapes.

She regretted her thoughts almost immediately as various images of more exotic fruits and vegetables flashed through her brain, leaving her no doubt that he could have chosen much, much differently.

Within minutes she had peeled a small pile of oddly shaped pulpy fruit, the lumpy pockets of flesh alien in their appearance.

"Stand up."

The harsh rasp erupting from Dillon sounded nothing like the cultured and composed voice he normally spoke with and her body responded accordingly, nipples stiffening while the invisible rope directly attached to her womb twisted even tighter. Breathing was optional and it took a few seconds for air to wheeze into her lungs and a few more for it to stutter out.

She stood, scant inches away from Dillon as he tried with his eyes to penetrate her soul.

Without taking his gaze from her face, he reached for her and managed to hook her panties with his thumbs and negligently whisk them down her thighs until they puddled around her ankles. A quick yank and she was standing between his legs, naked except for her bra underneath her light cotton dress.

Panic set in as elegant fingers scooped up an undetermined amount of grapes and she realized she had forgotten to count how many she had peeled. She must have made a sound of distress that alerted Dillon and within seconds, she knew he was counting for the both of them.

The lone grape felt strange as she stood, setting off an involuntary chain reaction. She squeezed to keep it in place and in effect pulled it higher which set off another quickening in her womb. The mere thought of the battle he would wage to retrieve it made her feel faint. She clasped Dillon's shoulders to steady herself before the twisting, churning fireworks going off in her became too much.

His amusement at her distress was evident only to someone who knew him. No flashy grins or loud guffaws would do, the only acknowledgement he allowed was the sardonic twist of his lips. She was determined to see him full on smile at some point.

Determination was soon forgotten as he probed her lips for an opening, a few grapes nestled in his fingers. Their slippery cool surface was a shock against her warmth. Instead of soothing her inflamed skin, it only served to remind her of the heat surging through her limbs, especially when he rolled the pebbled fruit over her lips, driving them in circles towards her clit.

He slipped two between her folds and nestled them at her opening before easing them inside with a soft pop.

Three.

Seemingly unaffected, he returned to rotating the rest of the spheres over her mound and over the delicate skin connecting her thighs and pussy. Up and down the remaining grapes went in some twisted version of a massage while she struggled to maintain the last vestiges of her control.

Dillon rolled a grape up her folds towards her clit, stopping only when the grape bumped the small protrusion.

Oops. Too far.

Not far enough was Isabelle's answering thought, involuntarily scooting forward as he moved his hand away. The grape he had so innocently placed at the ridge of her clit throbbed to the same beat echoing inside her and she was desperate to feel it grazing her again.

He, of course, ignored her desperation for his own diabolical desires and moved the grape away from her grasping hips and back to her opening. Holding one firmly between thumb and forefinger, he pushed it past the barrier of her lips until it joined its cousins.

Four.

Tightening almost painfully around the fruit, Isabelle watched as Dillon's mouth hovered near her mound, his warm breath tantalizingly close. A quick lift of her hips and she could meet his lips in an intimate kiss, a wet, heat-filled kiss that would go a long way towards soothing the ache at her center. One glance at his determined features quickly told her he knew her thoughts and would do everything in his power to hold her at bay, to bend her to his will as he had stated earlier. The bastard.

Tsk, Tsk, why so combative, my love?

Shut up.

He chuckled, the sound filling her senses like no other. Dillon at his most intense and passionate was something to behold. Dillon with a smile on his lips was devastating and he knew it judging by the condescending smirk that followed her thoughts.

The damp surface of another grape pressing against her overheated nether regions distracted her from chastising him for his conceit. The distinctive pop of it moving past her opening to snuggle in her passage stopped common sense from further daring to intrude.

Five.

Isabelle struggled to catch her breath. This was obscene, unheard of. And she was dripping past the grapes, her body proving she thought otherwise. It was a battle she wasn't comfortable losing, but then again, every battle with Dillon was a battle she never wanted to lose. Too bad most of the time he left her feeling at a distinct disadvantage, something she had a feeling he knew all too well.

Another succulent grape skimmed her clit and she bit her lip to prevent the moan building low and deep in her throat, a moan that would have revealed her vulnerability, her need. Oh please, she thought, no more, while her mind grappled with the sensations overwhelming her normally eminently sensible thoughts.

Scared?

NO!

Liar.

Without fanfare he slid the grape into her sheath, forcing her to swallow her deceitful claim. In some recess of her mind she could admit to her fear; not of him or his games, but of her reaction. He had the ability to see everything, nothing was sacred, and he used his knowledge unashamedly.

How many grapes had she fucking peeled anyway?

Six. That's enough. For now.

What are you doing, Dillon?

Shhh, Sweet Pussy, I'm busy.

Damn you, Dillon....why?

Because I have no choice.

His last thought succeeded in quieting her rioting emotions. She had thought she was the only one to feel that way, as if all choice had been eradicated from the first moment he had entered her darkened room so many months ago. How else could she explain her reaction to what should have been a traumatic event? To what normal people would scorn her for if they knew? Fate? Mental illness? She didn't know. She only knew the compulsion to be with him was the single most compelling thing she had ever felt in her life and no amount of logic or reason could change it.

Reeling, she risked opening her eyes to see him watching her with glittering orbs that had haunted her for months now, the intensity and desire just as strong as she remembered. She could look at him forever and never tire of losing herself in his hooded gaze.

His grip tightened on her legs and she looked down to see his strong hands digging into her thighs and just like that the balance of power shifted ever so slightly.

She allowed a small smile to grace her lips, careful to turn her head so Dillon wouldn't see. It was pointless, really, he could sense her gloating but she liked playing the game with him.

Ah, so clever, Isabelle. So very clever. I wonder if that smile will remain when I hold you hostage in my mouth, your pussy desperate and quivering with need. Will you smile while you beg?

Isabelle gritted her teeth which effectively wiped the smile from her lips. She had no need to beg. Sooner or later he would give her what she wanted; it was simply a matter of patience. Yes, patience. She only needed to practice patience and Dillon would give her what she needed.

She answered him back with a toss of her head and a cocky I have no need to beg.

Jasmine30
Jasmine30
242 Followers