Taken (Second Sight) (10 page)

Mac’s hands gently moved her shoulders as he continued to slowly thrust and Isabelle sat back, sank lower, and felt him move into her. The fullness she’d been seeking pushed at her walls, stretched her, impaled her and her moan mixed with Mac’s as his hips continued to slowly rise.
 

But as her back began to arch, Isabelle realized that Mac had grasped her hand. Confused, she forced her eyes to open. Even in the dim light, she could see what he was doing. He had unclasped the closure on the remaining glove. Slowly, he rolled the fabric down her hand, lightly tugged at each of the fingers in turn until her thumb came lose first. Tension coiled inside her as, one by one, he released her other fingers. And as the fabric slipped completely away, the anticipation was nearly too much. She stared at him, his fingers on her wrist, sliding higher, tugging her forward. She had no choice but to lean toward him and for an instant, she imagined the fine hair of his chest under her palm or the thick hair at the base of his neck running between her fingers. Her breathing quickened and her heart leapt into her throat and the night air seemed cool on the back of her hand. But neither of those things was to be. Instead, something she had never envisioned happened. As Mac’s gaze locked with hers, he brought her hand to his mouth, gently turned the palm to him, and kissed it.

Her climax was instantaneous, soul-shattering, an explosion of agonizing pleasure. And as Isabelle felt herself lose control, the reading began. Mac’s wild release joined hers as the sensations of it flowed through her, entwined with her, and spiraled impossibly high. His whole body spasmed as a chain of contractions possessed her. His elation poured into her even as his seed shot upward. Blinding ecstasy took her breath away and it was impossible to know if it was his or it was hers, or if it even mattered. There was no such thing as a barrier, as their bodies merged, completely joined, and the intolerable pleasure plunged them over the crest.

Isabelle heard her own scream in Mac’s ears, felt his anguished cry tear at her throat, as the peak of the climax claimed them. Though she felt as though they’d barely moved, fireworks burst behind her eyes and forced the air from both their lungs. Deep inside, in a place she hadn’t known existed, Mac completed her. It was exquisite, it was torment, and suddenly it was gone.

Isabelle collapsed. Grey haze swirled in every direction as she fell and she was only dimly aware of Mac’s arms around her. In the next moment, she lay on his heaving chest. The harsh rush of his breath flowed past her and she struggled to get hers under control. But for once, she didn’t wait for the images to fade or hope that the gray haze would clear. Instead she hoped this feeling would last forever.
 

“I love you, Isabelle,” Mac breathed.

“I know,” Isabelle gasped. “I truly know.”

• • • • •

Not only was there the smell of brewing coffee but that had to be toast and eggs.

God, that smells good.

Isabelle rolled over in the sheets, inhaling deeply and stretching. Suddenly, though, she sat up and looked at her hands. She wasn’t wearing gloves.
 

The images of reading Mac had settled easily into her consciousness. She ran her fingers lightly over his pillow. The images and feelings were there but they flowed lightly, smoothly, like the reading itself. If she wasn’t thinking about it, she might not even notice.
 

Elated, she wrapped the sheet around her and ran down the hallway to tell Mac.
 

“Mac!” she said, but stopped dead center at the kitchen door.
 

He was standing in his briefs and had just finished spooning scrambled eggs onto two plates. There was a strange sense of déjà vu as Isabelle cast her mind back to a different scene that seemed very long ago.

“Good
morning
,” he said, setting down the pan as he immediately strode over to her. “I’d forgotten how coffee and eggs can get you to wear a sheet.” Mac remembered too. He wrapped his giant arms around her as she held the sheet and lightly kissed her. “That’s something I could get used to,” he said, ending the brief kiss though he didn’t let her go.

“I think you’ll have to,” she replied, as a little anxiety intruded. She paused but then went ahead. “And also the fact that I know, or will know, everything.” Though she sensed–no she
knew
–this wasn’t a relationship-killer for Mac, she felt she had to say it. “I’ll know more about you than you’ll ever know about me, even if I tried to tell you everything.”

A sad smile crossed his face as he brushed back a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

“Your father did the best he could,” Mac said quietly. “But a father is still no substitute for a mother. Especially when your ability surfaced in high school.” Isabelle’s mouth fell open as she stared at Mac’s, not believing the words coming out of it. “The weather on the day of the funeral would have been cold, back east in the late fall. But it matched the feeling you had inside.”
 

She could only gape at him.

Is this how people feel when I do a reading?

“You
amaze
me,” she finally whispered.

“And I haven’t even told you the best part,” he said.

Isabelle’s eyes suddenly misted up.

“One person at a time,” Mac said hugging her tighter, “you pushed everyone away.” He held her close. “But not me, Isabelle de Grey.” His gorgeous eyes bored into hers. “I am yours. And
you
,” he said, lowering his face to hers. “You are mine.”

As his lips melded with hers, she let the sheet go and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her hands ran into the wonderfully thick and sleek hair at the back of his head. As the gray haze of the reading began to fill her vision, Isabelle finally believed what Mac had known all along. She
was
his and that was never going to change.

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Copyright © 2013 Hazel Hunter

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