Isabel and the Wolf: (Part 1) (5 page)

Isabel walked up the couple of steps to the door and paused in front of it. Her heart was beating fast. Excitement tingled under her skin, moderated by a thread of fear. Peter was still very much an unknown quantity, but here she was, standing on his doorstep, obeying his orders not to wear any underwear. As if to remind her of this, a gust of the arid Mexican wind blew under her dress, lifting the skirt away from her thighs. She felt incredibly vulnerable.

She looked for a doorbell, but there wasn’t one. It seemed that the ornate doorknocker was actually designed to be used. She lifted it and rapped gently, twice.

The door opened almost immediately and Isabel took a deep breath. There he was, the man from the bar, filling the doorway, and even huger than she remembered. His appearance was midway between the conventional good looks of his photos and the shocked glimpse she’d had at the bar. There was the angular jaw and the full, firm lips. She thought she saw a hint of Native American, but maybe she was mistaken. He was wearing a simple black, long-sleeved, crew-neck sweater that revealed his broad, muscular shoulders, along with dark-colored pants. His piercing gaze was on her, with those unusual amber eyes, and she yet again had the sense that she wouldn’t be able to tear her eyes away before he did. A lopsided smile touched his lips.

“You’ve come,” he said.

“Yes – hi!” Isabel replied. He stepped back and allowed her to cross the threshold. She stretched up to him for a kiss on the cheek. He brought his face close, caught her hair in his hands, and, exactly as he’d done before, instead of kissing her, he took a deep sniff of her neck, first on one side, and then the other. She shuddered as his breath tickled her neck. He pulled back, looking pleased.

“You smell unmarked today,” he said.

“Uh, thanks,” she replied. Peter moved his hands to her waist. They were so large, they practically encircled her. Isabel liked the feeling of being held in his grasp, and was disappointed when he moved them to run his fingers up her back, and down, over her hips.

“Good,” he said, and she realized he was checking that she wasn’t wearing underwear. “Come inside.”

He walked ahead of her, along a short passageway and through a door. She followed him into a living room, larger than she would have expected from the outside of the building. The walls were the color of earth, and hung with photographic prints. There were three bookcases and several low leather sofas in shades of brown and ox-blood, and the floor was wooden boards, covered in animal skins. On the opposite side of the room was a fireplace with a lit fire, gas, she was sure, but it looked like genuine wood flames. It was an enticing space, and so much more than she had expected it to be. Isabel had imagined a bachelor pad – sparsely decorated, and maybe a little neglected. She couldn’t identify a woman’s touch anywhere; in fact it exuded masculinity. But at the same time, it was kind of opulent, in a very earthy way. She found herself wishing she could get down and roll around on the rugs.
Maybe later,
she thought, with a secret smile.

“This is – amazing,” she said.

“Thanks,” Peter said, absently, as if it hadn’t occurred to him before. He took her handbag from her and put it on a side table, and shut the door behind them. Then he stood directly in front of her.

“Please take your dress off,” he said.

“What?” Isabel gaped at him.

“There’s no need for clothes in here.”

“But – ” she faltered. She expected to be seduced, wanted to have her clothes taken off her. Despite the frisson that arriving at his door without any underwear had given her, it had already deprived her of the pleasure of being stripped, piece, by piece, by piece. “So, you expect me to get naked for you, when you haven’t even kissed me yet!” she almost shouted. For a moment, Peter looked confused, and then a shadow passed across his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m forgetting my manners.” He stepped close, and, putting his hands on Isabel’s shoulders, kissed her on the lips. The touch of his mouth on hers was electric. His lips were as firm as they looked, yet soft. Isabel sighed. She opened her mouth to him, and he responded, his tongue flickering between her lips, then probing deeper into her mouth and softly circling her tongue. Shivers ran through her, hardening her nipples, which pushed at the light material of her dress. He kissed her more and more deeply, and a tingling began to grow inside her. His hands ran up and down her body and the tingling turned into a deep, throbbing ache. She felt a flicker of panic. This was a sure sign that she would begin to get wet. And, with no underwear on, there would be nothing to stop it. As if on cue, she felt the first hint of moisture at the tops of her thighs. She pressed them tight together. Unfortunately, this only increased her arousal, and her clit began to ache as well, eager for attention.

Abruptly, The Wolf stopped kissing her. Isabel stared up at him unblinking. He inhaled hard through his nose, and the eyes looking back at her had a glint of something predatory. He bent down and caught at the hem of her dress. He lifted it up to her hips, then her waist. Dimly aware that there was no going back now, she raised her arms for him, and he pulled it up, and over her head. He gathered the dress up in his huge hand and threw it on the side table, next to her bag. Then, he stood at a distance and looked at her. Isabel squirmed at being so suddenly naked in front of him, and she fought the urge to cover her body with her hands. She looked down at the floor in discomfort, but she could feel his eyes on her full breasts. Her pale pink nipples were so hard that they were almost painful, and she burned to feel his mouth on them. He remained silent. Slowly, she forced herself to look up and meet his eyes, and was relieved to see approval in them. She watched as his gaze dropped lower and took in her slender waist, the taut plane of her stomach and her softly curved hips. Then his eyes widened.

“No fur?” he said. Isabel’s hand instinctively moved to cover her mound. She had removed all of her pubic hair, as she had done since her late teens. She loved the way the whole area felt so soft and sensitive beneath her fingers.

“No. I – ” Isabel hesitated, unsure how, or why she should be explaining herself. And, anyway, weren’t men supposed to like women to be shaved?

“It’s ok. I like it,” Peter said. “I just didn’t expect it, that’s all.”

“Oh, ok. Good,” Isabel said, relieved, glad she hadn’t just committed some unknown faux pas. He looked her in the eye again and made the smallest sideways movement with his head. She knew that meant she should move her hand away. More self-conscious than before, she returned her hand to her side and stood to attention while he continued his inspection of her body. She hadn’t even realized she’d been staring fixedly at the floor again, but when she glanced up, he was still staring at her shaven mound. Even worse, there was a definite smirk on his face. He could see she was wet. From the intensity of the ache inside her, she wasn’t surprised, but, at the same time, she hated to appear so easy. She felt her cheeks flush, but with a superhuman effort, she stood stock-still. His smirk broadened into a grin, and still he kept on staring. A hot anger kindled inside Isabel at this stranger, standing there, making her feel uncomfortable.

“Have you seen enough?” she said sharply. The Wolf’s head jerked, as if her words had broken him out of a trance. But instead of answering, he walked around her in a slow circle. Her body trembled as she felt him taking in her rounded rear, and she heard a whisper of appreciation from him. A youth spent running track had made it stick out provocatively in two high globes, which always embarrassed her, but she was aware that men loved it.

“You have a lovely body,” he said at last. “Now, shall we have a drink?”

“Erm, yes,” Isabel replied, thoroughly confused by the course of events. The normal order of what should happen when you went to a man’s house for the first time had been completely shaken up. She also had the sense that she’d only now passed his assessment, and been accepted by him. As humiliating as this felt, it was also very arousing.

She watched as The Wolf walked across the room to another door, opened it and disappeared. His gait was more of a prowl than a walk. It was long and light-footed, revealing muscles straining beneath his clothing at every step. Despite the strangeness of the situation, her desire for him hadn’t lessened one bit, and she ached to be touched by him, all over. But right now, Isabel didn’t know what to do with herself, naked in his living room. He hadn’t invited her to sit down and besides, the nagging, unignorable wetness between her thighs would be bound to leave a silvery trail on his furniture. Instead, she crossed the room, to look at the bookcases. The animal skins on the floor felt amazingly soft to her bare feet.

A lot of his books looked vintage, she noted, vaguely. She saw some fairy tales and some of the classics that she loved best. He came back into the room. He seemed pleased that she was looking at his books. He brought a glass of what looked like a dark spirit over to her. Isabel took it from him and sniffed.
Whisky? Brandy?
It smelled a little like both.

“Tequila,” he said. “Añejo.” She tasted it. It was rich and deep. Nothing like she’d had in bars. It was almost overpowering, but very moreish, and it lit a path of fire down to her stomach. The Wolf went over to the sofas and sat down, spreading himself in a reclining position. She looked at him questioningly, sensing that nothing would happen tonight without his permission.

“You can keep looking at my books,” he said. “I like to watch you.” Isabel turned back to the bookcase, trying to fight her awkwardness, and her awareness of his eyes burning into her.

“Are some of these first editions?” she asked.

“Some,” Peter replied. She raised an eyebrow; they wouldn’t have come cheap. She flicked a glance at him. He was still lounging, watching her calmly. Slowly, slowly, she allowed herself to take pleasure in the situation, knowing that the eyes on her were appreciative. After all, this was what she’d come for – to feel dominated, objectified by a man’s desires. She was glowing with the simple pleasure of being watched by this strikingly good-looking man. She crossed over to the photographic prints, watching out of the corner of her eye as his head moved to track her steps.

“You have a light step,” he said. “It’s uncommon in females around here.” She
was
walking lightly, she realized – padding almost.
Did she always walk like this? Maybe only when she was stark naked in a strange man’s house.

Dimly, Isabel registered that the prints were of scenes from nature, mostly alpine, but they didn’t seem to be local scenes. Although, her ability to assess anything was being compromised by her overwhelming arousal.

Suddenly, there was a sound behind her – somewhere between a word and a growl – and she flipped her head around to look at The Wolf. He was no longer lounging, but sitting up straight, poised on the edge of the sofa. At the same moment, he stood up and, in three steps, was behind her. His hands clasped her breasts and his dark head bent towards the base of her neck. His teeth nipped at her skin, and then he bit into her flesh, hard, thrillingly. Isabel cried out, both in shock and pleasure. The touch of his hands on her breasts was intense, and they felt small in his grasp. He kneaded them as his teeth grazed her neck, pinching her nipples. She let out a moan, giving voice to her pent-up arousal. At that, he lifted her up as if she weighed nothing and carried her over to the sofa.

Peter laid Isabel down on her back, and climbed on top, his body arching over. She looked up at him, imagining she was the prey of some predatory animal. Thick muscles bulged in his forearms as he balanced his weight above her. He brought his head close, and his mouth was on hers again. She licked at his lips, tasting a slight saltiness, probably her own perspiration that he’d picked up from her neck. His tongue slid into her mouth. It felt long, and it slipped in deep. At first, she tried to resist its intrusion but quickly realized she couldn’t. Instead, she let herself surrender to it, sucking on it as it filled her mouth.

Then The Wolf’s mouth was on her neck again, his tongue lapping at her throat, from the hollow between her collarbones, up to her chin. It was a surprisingly delicate sensation, leaving hardly any trace of moisture. Isabel sighed; it was also very lulling. As aroused as she was, she almost felt she could go to sleep, with her throat bared to his ministrations. Peter stopped and looked into her eyes. She smiled at him drowsily, thinking he was looking for reassurance, and he smiled back at her. He lowered his head and she again felt his teeth grazing the side of her neck. They were unusually sharp, and she sensed that he was holding back, and that they could puncture her skin very easily if he chose. He bit down a little, and the pain combined with her arousal into a shiver that ran all the way through her. The Wolf moved from one side of her neck to the other, sinking his teeth more deeply into the base of her neck, close to her shoulders. Almost without knowing it, Isabel was letting out little moans and gasps, fearing his teeth, desperate for another nip. His hands were in her hair now, pulling her head from side to side as he chewed at her neck. Her thighs were pressed tightly together, and she ached for him to be between them, but he straddled her, frustratingly out of reach. She was reaching a state of abandon, unable to control the sounds she was making, or the way her body was twitching, craving his touch.

At last, Peter pulled back and looked into Isabel’s eyes, the expression in his amber ones inscrutable. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head sideways and fastened his entire mouth over her throat. Isabel felt his teeth closing around her windpipe, and, gently, but very definitely, he shook his head. Immediately, she went still. Were his jaws strong enough to crush her throat? She didn’t know, but it seemed possible. Her breathing was shallow, but she felt unafraid. After a few seconds, he let go, and his tongue returned to the hollow at the base of Isabel’s throat, softly circling it. She lay quietly, a deep calm coming over her.

Now, The Wolf straightened up and sat back on his haunches. He pulled Isabel’s knees up, so her legs were bent in front of him, then pushed them apart. He lay down again, with one leg on either side of him this time. She felt the unmistakable bulge of his erection pressing between her thighs, and the evident sign of his arousal excited her more. But, a second later, he shifted lower on the sofa, so his mouth was once again level with her throat, and she stifled a cry of frustration. Starting at her collarbones, he traced a burning path with his tongue, down to the valley between her breasts. His hands cupped each breast, as his tongue gave them flickering licks, one after the other. Isabel began to tremble. The way he was caressing her breasts was incredible, and he hadn’t even touched her nipples yet, maddeningly circling around them instead. She looked down and saw that her nipples were hard peaks, aching for him to take them into his mouth. At last, he stopped teasing her, and his tongue flickered over her right nipple. Isabel’s body jerked in response. She was amazed, her breasts had never been this sensitive before. The Wolf’s mouth was doing something crazy to her! He took her whole nipple into his mouth and sucked on it gently. His left hand continued cupping her breast, squeezing it slightly. He began to suck harder, drawing more of her breast into his mouth. The sensation was intensely erotic. Isabel watched him. This was nothing like the half-hearted licks she was used to from Jason, who said he loved breasts but had no idea what to do with them. She had the strangest sense that he was feeding from her, suckling her.