Isabel and the Wolf: (Part 3) by Ariana Hawkes Page B

back. They’d exchanged messages over the past days, light-hearted, playful fragments. She’d deliberately kept hers free of emotion, not daring to invest too much into their relationship just in case .
    She gave her sculpture a final polish and closed it in her studio, knowing from experience that it would be a couple of days before she could assess it objectively. She went out to get groceries, and, her spirits high from completing her project, she bought plenty of food for two people.
    As her Mini Cooper pulled into her driveway, her heart leapt. There was Peter, in his motorbike leathers, looking unbelievably sexy. He broke into a grin when he saw her, his eyes sparkling in the soft afternoon sun.
    “Hi, beautiful,” he said, and pulled her into a deep, sensual kiss.
    “You’re back!” she said.
    “I said I would be,” he replied, confusion in his eyes. Isabel laughed.
    “Come on, let’s go inside.” He took her groceries, and brought a large rucksack with him as well.
    In the kitchen, he turned out of his rucksack a bottle of añejo tequila, a bottle of triple sec, a cocktail shaker, ice, lemons and limes.
    “You make cocktails?” Isabel exclaimed.
    “I do now. You said you love margaritas, no?”
    “They’re only my favorite!” She stood and watched with rapt attention as Peter mixed up the ingredients.
    “Do you have salt? And martini glasses?” He added a thick rim of salt to each glass, just the way she liked it, shook the mixture thoroughly, and poured out the pale yellow concoction. He watched as she took a sip.
    “Absolute perfection!” she said.
    “Truly?”
    “Yes! I’ve never had better.” She took a bigger gulp, her taste buds exploding with the perfect balance of sweet, salty, bitter and sour.
    They had a lovely evening, kissing and snuggling lots, Isabel struck by how natural it felt to put her arms around him in a girlfriendy way. Now he’d come back to her, she felt calm, sure that they were together, but still longing for him to say the words.
    After the second margarita loosened her inhibitions, she took him back to the studio, and watched him anxiously as he took in her sculpture.
    “Bella, you’ve captured the essence of Gila!” he said. She grinned.
    “But, how did you know it was about Gila?”
    “It’s obvious,” he said. “It has the spirit, the depth, the wildness, combined with a sense of protection.”
    “Wow. I can’t believe you see all that! I think I had it in mind, subconsciously, but I was just letting my hands work as they wanted.”
    “Isabel, you’re a very talented woman,” he said, his voice full of admiration. “And I find that very sexy.” He lifted her up and placed her on a high workbench, evening out their heights. He started to kiss her. His mouth was hard and hungry on hers, and he tugged at her hair. He pulled the thin straps of her shirt down. She wasn’t wearing a bra and her breasts sprang out, the nipples hardening. She sighed at the feeling of exposure. He reached down between her legs and pushed her panties to one side.
    “Nice and wet for me, as always,” he said, and she moaned. He thrust two fingers inside her roughly, and she heard the slipperiness of her own wetness. He pumped his fingers in and out and her vision darkened as she became light-headed. It was hot in the studio, and she pulled her shirt over her head and cast it aside. Peter pulled his t-shirt over his head too, revealing his muscled torso, already glistening with perspiration. He pulled his leather pants off. There was no underwear to discard, and his cock was hard and dangerous-looking. In a single thrust, he was all the way inside her. She took a breath, as pain gave way to pleasure, and leaned back on her hands, watching the powerful motions of his pelvis as he fucked her on her workbench. His eyes were wild and yellow, the bones of his face more angular than ever. He stopped.
    “Turn around, Bella.”
    “Really?” She bit her lip. He gave her his