Isabelle's Awakening Ch. 06

A slight lift of his eyebrow was his only reaction but it was enough.

Her stomach trembled. She ignored its ominous warning.

Dillon stood and reached for her dress. With cool firm hands, he unbuttoned it, pushing it off her shoulders until she was completely exposed. With detached and efficient movements, he made quick work of her bra before sweeping the remains of their lunch off the table. He sat her down on the edge, her toes barely brushing the floor.

The hard wood at her backside was a reminder of how far she had fallen, of how far she would go to have this man. She no longer cared. If she was a slave to her desires, then so be it. If only the object of her desire would hurry the hell up.

His eyes raked over her, carnal possession in his slow heated perusal. Her body no longer belonged to her and she found she preferred it that way.

His eyes dropped to the thatch of downy hair at her center. The center he had stuffed full of grapes and was now presumably going to retrieve. Her mouth went dry and her insides clenched.

He cupped the back of her neck and held her in place until she met his gaze.

I've dreamt of you every night. Isabelle, you are everything to me. Don't ever question it again.

Isabelle stared into the fathomless depths of his eyes and felt warmth suffuse her entire being. His declaration illuminated every dark corner of her soul, a bright light of belonging on every little hurt and slight she had ever suffered, every insecure, unsure part of herself she kept hidden from others. His acceptance, nay, pride in who and what she was, was one of the reasons she loved him so. What was more seductive than a man who loved and took pride in his woman? Who celebrated everything about her and desired her body to distraction? She couldn't think of a single thing.

He moved a hand to her neck, his thumb pausing at the pulsing beat under her jaw before running over her shoulder and down her arm. Capturing her hand, he brought it to his lips and kissed her fingertips.

Isabelle fought to maintain her composure. Was Dillon being romantic? The man who demanded things from her she sometimes didn't want to give was showering sweet kisses on the tips of her fingers and she found it terribly appealing.

A shiver coursed through her, impossible to hide. As if hiding from him was even a remote possibility.

He smiled.

Smug bastard.

Leaning forward, he licked her neck before nipping at her ear.

Her fingers itched to touch his hair and she reached for him only to be firmly directed to leave her hands at the edge of the table.

Of course, he always had to have it his way.

My way, yes. I suggest you remember that.

As if I could forget...

I'll make sure you don't, my dear.

My gratitude knows no bounds.

He tweaked a nipple in response, forcing her to re-think her momentary lapse of obedience.

Seconds later, his mouth replaced his fingers and her nipple was bathed in the sweltering shower of his tongue. Rough and silken, he lapped and suckled until her nipple poked into his mouth impudently and without any of the pride beheld by its owner. Oh no, her nipple practically begged to be in his mouth, quivering and stiffening with only the slightest provocation from him.

She should have been embarrassed by her reaction to him, but she was beyond caring if it was right or wrong, if it was proper or not, being with him lifted those boundaries and freed her to act according to how she felt, not how she should feel.

He moved his head back and forth, giving equal attention to both aching and stiff peaks.

Her head dropped back, her weight shifting slightly until her body was arching away from her precarious position at the table's edge.

You're lovely like this, Isabelle. Open and mine to do with as I please.

Images flooded her mind. She could see herself in his eyes and it wasn't what she expected. Yes, she was splayed for his view, wantonly so, but it was his vision of her as the center of his soul that had her eyes drifting shut in pleasured bliss.

His thumbs brushed over her nipples and she jumped at the change in texture. He pinched and plucked until she panted in concert with each careless twist and tug.

Patience, Isabelle.

Her jaw snapped closed at the reminder of her earlier boast. She was certain he was attempting to make her pay for her perceived transgression. Well, she wasn't new to his brand of punishment. If anything she had watched and learned a few tricks of her own.

He cupped both breasts and lifted them up for his inspection before savagely twisting the tips into submission, bringing forth a whimper from the depths of her throat.

Raw need hissed through her veins, thick and all consuming when he dropped to his knees before her. Framing her lips, he watched her face while casually gathering her pussy in his relentless grip.

She was proud of her restraint. Her face didn't reveal the tumultuous storm of emotions raging inside her. But on the inside her womb quickened, her stomach fluttered, and her heart thundered like a hummingbird in flight.

With one hand on her stomach and the other on her hip, he guided her with a not-so-gentle push back onto the table, spread her thighs even wider, and fastened his mouth on her clit in a move so quick she didn't even have time to register surprise before the heat of his mouth removed all thought.

One.

Ohhh. The significance of that tiny little number hit her like a brick.

Nibbling on her lips, he worked his way to her opening, licking up the wetness gathered there in efficient brisk movements. As usual he preferred to torture her beyond comprehension.

I see you're learning.

Kiss my pussy, Dillon.

I intend to. My way.

Grrrr.

Dillon chuckled against her lips, the vibration tickling her sensitive flesh and making her squirm. For once, he didn't deny her, applying his mouth most diligently to her moist middle, a fact which didn't escape her attention even in her hazy state of mind.

Isabelle sucked in her breath and sagged against the table, her strength disappearing under the onslaught of his mouth. He bypassed her lips and forced his way into her opening, his tongue probing for the fruit hidden in her honeyed walls.

So tight, love. I might be here awhile.

Her heart raced at the implication while she clutched at his tongue with her body.

Dillon worked his way past the tightened cluster of muscles, swooping in determinedly, unmercifully.

She knew the exact instant he located a grape as his whole body went rigid between her thighs. With lips parted in fascination, she watched every excruciatingly slow movement of his mouth as he worked to pull his prize from her body.

He leaned back, the fruit cradled in his supple lips, its slick surface proof she was a slave to his desires. And her own.

So slippery, Isabelle. So fucking slippery. I had to suck and pull so hard to get it out.

Isabelle nearly choked as he put words to her own thoughts, momentarily surprised at how linked they truly were.

Hmmmmm. Yes.

It was the only coherent thought she could answer him with, she was too busy watching him savor the fruit coated in her pussy juice. He chewed it with such precision and appreciation, as if enjoying a gourmet meal one slow course after another.

Just think how many more are left....

Stars danced in her head as his intent sank in. There were no words. He was a beast to tease her and he knew it. The acknowledgment did nothing to quell the fluttering answer in her pussy.

Two.

Oh fuck. She unconsciously opened her legs wider, sacrificing herself up to his very capable mouth.

He glanced down at her offering, a sardonic twist to his lips, before he applied his fingers to parting her folds until she was fully exposed.

How does it feel to watch me loving your pussy? To see me eating grapes drenched in your arousal?

Hot, so incredibly, hot, her entire body was burning from the inside out, she wanted to answer, truly she did, but logical thoughts were battling with fiendish biological needs, the ones demanding he shut up and get back to what he was doing.

Tell me.

Marshalling her errant thoughts, Isabelle focused on answering him, no longer questioning her obedience.

Like a Goddess, worshipped and loved. And so alive. So fucking alive.

Hmm, good, love. You are worshipped and loved. By me. Always.

With that, he turned his attention to showing her, his diligent mouth bent on tasting the lips guarding her opening.

She fought to keep her eyes open so she could continue to watch him. She loved watching him. He was an animal rutting with his mate and it was glorious to behold the power he exhibited over her and over his own self-control. Glorious and frustrating.

He accidentally-on-purpose grazed her clit with his chin and she jumped. She hesitated to voice the plea echoing in her head, but she prayed he would apply his attention to the overheated and swelling button at the center of her desire.

He obliged her. Not the way she wanted, with slow lapping licks that would cool her off. Oh no. That would have been too easy, too straightforward, and wouldn't involve making her beg like a frigging lunatic. No, the diabolical son-of-a-bitch rested his chin on her pulsing flesh and simply pressed down. It was effective, she'd give him that. It stopped the incessant throbbing. Temporarily.

As soon as he lifted away from her though the blood rushed back into her nether regions at an alarming rate and she soon realized the pulsing wasn't as strong as before.

It was much, much stronger.

His attention wandered back to his objective and he left her erratically pulsing clit to move back to her opening. He licked softly.

She tensed.

He nipped softly at her lips.

The small pool of liquid beneath her grew.

Isabelle moaned, the fever burning through her veins leaving her so senseless she begged.

Hurry, oh please, hurry.

Dillon laughed. The sound of his amusement was almost worth the price of submitting to him, of admitting to her weakness and need. Almost.

He slid a long agile finger deep into her sheath.

She cried out, hips rising and falling around him. It was worth every single second.

Oh what a sweet pussy you have for me. So tight. I'm going to have to really dig around, you're squeezing so hard and they're so high up....

He pushed until he could go no further.

Panting, Isabelle felt every ripple, every ridge of his finger, every flex of his knuckle, it all registered in glorious waves until her entire being centered on those pulses like they were her last lifeline. And perhaps they were.

Swirling his talented finger upwards and around her sensitized walls, he located a second grape, but made no move to retrieve it. He was too focused on tormenting every patch of flesh he could find.

He was good, she'd give him that. But then, she'd already known that. What she hadn't known was how many areas of her body could be used against her. How many places he touched that suddenly felt an overwhelming need for more, and how many areas brought such incredible joy and pain. Mostly sweet, yearning, breathless joy; pain when that joy turned into acute, aching need essential to her very being.

Like when he bumped her cervix and her entire body curled up, the thought of him so deep he butted against her womb turning her into a frenzied animal no longer able to contain her rutting instincts.

Yes, give it to me, my sweet.

For once, she obeyed without question, too far gone to rebel, her desire overwhelming her need to remain independent.

She offered her pussy up to his mouth, like a lavish banquet spread out for a king. And like a royal, he didn't hesitate to partake of the feast set before him, taking bites out of her succulent lips, drinking deeply of the wetness pooling at her center, and tasting every inch of skin she displayed for him.

Isabelle couldn't bring herself to look away from the sight of him kneeling at her core and loving her the way only he could, dominantly, sweetly, and with such skilled mastery over her body, her breath caught and held.

He withdrew his finger, his hot tongue spearing her in its stead in a never-ending search for the elusive grapes.

Her hips rose off the table and arched towards his mouth, silently begging him with her mind. The torment was almost too much but she never wanted it to end.

He flicked at her walls leisurely in response and she knew he would never cede to her wishes, unless they were in direct correlation with his.

You're learning.

Shut up, Dillon and get back to work.

He chuckled at her entrance and she felt it thrum through every molecule of her being.

He withdrew his tongue and applied his lips to her center, sucking at her until a lone grape broke free with a little pop and landed in his mouth.

He smiled and resumed his gentle lapping, tucking the grape into his cheek she presumed.

Her insides were burning up and all Dillon cared about was making sure she submitted to him. But she had, multiple times. What would it take for him to submit to her?

He didn't answer the question posed in her mind. Instead, he stood and picked her up.

Momentarily shocked out of her delirious state, Isabelle squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He strode from the room and up the stairs to what was obviously the master bedroom, with floor length windows on three sides framed by brown silky drapes, a comfortable sitting area, and well polished oak dressers and night tables. It also had a matching bed that dominated the room with its sheer size.

He gently deposited her to her feet and pushed her against the nearest wall. His mouth claimed hers while his hands sought hers out. He clasped them together and brought them against the wall, trapping her between their intertwined fingers.

Hungrily he nibbled at her lips, coaxing her to open for him. Isabelle let herself be swept away by the intensity of emotion conveyed in his kiss. His soul reached out to hers and there were no more thoughts, just love and sweet, wet kisses.

Without warning, he released her hands and moved his over her body.

Mine.

She attempted to answer him, but her senses were coming alive with the feel of his powerful hands stroking her sides, cupping her breasts, and slipping over her buttocks. She couldn't feel him in her mind the way she had earlier and she briefly wondered what he knew about their abilities and whether it had included a lesson on blocking thoughts.

Rough hands skimmed her thighs with warm palms and probing fingers and she let her suspicions slip away like a child's lost balloon, drifting out of reach as she succumbed to his seductive mouth.

He broke away from her and used his body to urge her back against the wall. She allowed it, waiting in breathless anticipation for his touch.

Only he didn't touch her. He hovered, his mouth a scant centimeter from hers. He was close enough for her to feel the warmth from his body penetrating hers. But he did not touch her.

Isabelle could feel the heat of his breath wash over her, making her crazy with need. She leaned forward.

Never one to give in too quickly, he moved back and watched her with lazy eyes. Without uttering a word, either out loud or in her head, she read his desire, his need, and his love in his eyes. Something else slightly sinister in form occupied those thoughts and yet she wasn't afraid. Judging from the frown her thoughts caused him, maybe she should be.

Dillon reached out and cupped her pussy, claiming her in one possessive clutch. Her lips parted for him immediately, as if silently acknowledging his ownership.

She worked to breathe air into her lungs but lost the battle as warm fingers slid between her folds. He toyed with her, slipping a finger between her lips to graze her clit ever so lightly, enough to tease but not enough to satisfy her urgent cravings.

Her hips tilted upwards, eager for his touch.

She held back her moan of frustration simply because there was no point in releasing it. Dillon did not care if she was frustrated or boiling over with lust. He had his own agenda, always his own motives that drove him to torture her in any way he chose. It was who he was. It was who she had fallen in love with. The strong man who only strove to please her and bring her out of herself in ways she had never dreamed of, who was somehow able to reach into her soul and lay bare her desires. And the man who then did all he could to fulfill those desires.

She raised her head to watch him and found his eyes focused with laser-like precision on her mouth. Involuntarily she pursed her lips, anticipating his mouth on hers. As he leaned in closer, her breathing slowed and she waited for his kiss, his branding. It never came.

"Do you want me to kiss you, Isabelle?" he whispered hoarsely as he lingered near her mouth.

She nodded in response, unable to voice the words necessary.

"Not good enough, my Belle. Tell me."

Isabelle raised her eyes to his before answering.

"Kiss me, Dillon," she begged hoarsely.

"What are you going to do for me if I give you what you want?"

She felt her mouth open in shock. What game was he playing now?

"What do you want?"

He smiled.

"Everything," he said simply, "starting with those luscious grapes."

Isabelle couldn't form a reply as she was unceremoniously picked up and dumped on the bed in an ungraceful heap. She swallowed the curse that sprang to her lips as she scrambled into a less awkward position.

Dillon casually circled the bed, eyeing her with a predatory gleam in his eyes. She reached out with her mind and tried to figure out what he was planning but his thoughts remained a blank. Oh, she still felt his love and his need for her, just no specific images or words.

Frustrated and worried about his control over her in every situation, Isabelle squirmed under his gaze. She was powerless to do anything about it. Dillon always seemed to have the upper hand and had no qualms about using his power either. She eyed him to gauge his response to that but he only paced grimly around her, devouring her flesh with the heat of his gaze.

A twisted smile framed his lips and she knew then he had decided on his plan of attack.

Dillon?

She probed delicately, afraid to look and yet unable to stop herself from trying. The strange tingling she had felt earlier began to invade her limbs, the molten heat pooling at her center.

It was useless, he was closed to her. The only way she had of reading him was body language and all his lean body was communicating was danger, not lovemaking, although there was some element of that in his stance. Overall, she sensed his desire to brand her, to use her in ways she had never been before and it sent chills racing over her arms.

He gazed at her with his half mast eyes and smiled. His smile was not the smile of a lover. No, it was the smile of a conqueror, of a warrior swooping in to claim his prize after a hard fought battle. No tenderness or care was evident in that smile. It was a smile that would have scared even the most battle hardened soldier. She was no soldier but nonetheless squared her shoulders and defiantly raised her chin to meet his eyes.

His smile widened and her gaze faltered briefly, too afraid of what that widening smile meant.

Tonight I will claim you as my own... show me.

Isabelle watched his eyes as the thought entered her mind of exactly how he wanted her to show him. She had every intention of obeying his command, for make no mistake, that's what it was, but she wanted to see his intentions in his eyes.