and lets it run down her face and body, smiling like Mona Lisa.
** *
Isabel
What did I do to deserve such royal treatment? I open my eyes and Dylan is watching me with a grin on his face that shows his sheer joy in pleasuring me. Oh, how I love thee, Dylan Young. I was hoping to tie him down tonight and show him what I learned from my homework assignment this week, but he has other plans. I’ve been practicing on the ropes at home and hopefully I won’t make a fool of myself when the time comes to show my new skills.
We both get dried off and while I change into the sexy yellow chiffon dress Dylan has picked out for me, he call s Sawyer. He scanned the knife with some kind of high-tech device and sent the image to Sawyer in hopes that the fingerprint will be detectable.
I wonder how Sawyer and Sony a are getting along. It would fabulous if they ended up together. I wonder if either of them has been married before. I wonder if…
“What are you ch ewing on over there?” Dylan asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Sawyer and Sony a.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I hope things work out for them,” I say as I get my shoes on.
“And if they don’t?”
“What do you mean? Are they having problems?” I ask, feeling heartsick.
“No, but I just don’t want you to be disappointed if things don’t work out for them.”
“Well, I will be. I can’t help it. They seem so right for each other.”
“Oh, Isa, how can you know they’re right for each other? You don’t know anything about either of them,” Dylan says, half rolling his eyes at me.
He’s right, I s uppose. I don’t know them at all. I just like the idea of Sawyer being happy.
I’m daydreaming the entire drive to wherever it is we’re going. Visions of the wonderful paintings are still lingering in my mind. Being here in Paris is so surreal. Dylan hasn’t mentioned what happened last night and I’m thankful for it.
What the hell was I thinking anyway? I have no good excuse why I was out there so close to the ledge. It was just a moment of weakness. I push it to the back of my mind, along with all the other unwanted memories that are residing back there. The alcoves of my mind are getting crowded and the walls that I’ve put up there threaten to break free and let loose all the horrible things I’ve tried to forget. No - not here; not now. Pushing my shoulders back, I sit up straighter, resolving to myself that I’ll save that breakdown for another time.
Again, we’re in a part of Paris that isn’t mentioned in the tourist brochures. Dylan, Dylan, Dylan. He always has something up his sleeve and he does love his surprises. Dylan’s hands are on me – in my hair, around my shoulders, on my arm and thigh. I cherish the feel of his hands on me. His touch makes me feel secure. His hand slowly creeps up my thigh and his fingers find their way into my wet well, but he no sooner slips his fingers inside of me when we arrive at our final destination.
The neon sign out front reads Tatouage Mystique.
“It’s time to mark you as mine, pussycat,” he says in the lowest, deepest, most intimate voice ever uttered from his skilled mouth.
Holy possession . I guess my Dom was serious when he said he wanted me marked for ownership. So a tattoo it is. My stomach quivers with worry. I look over at Dylan and peek at him through the hair in my eyes. He pushes my bangs aside and kisses my forehead.
“Are you having doubts about doing this?” he asks anxiously.
“No, Sir. I want everyone to know I belong to you,” I announce and it’s the honest truth. I look forward to it.
A sexy-as-hell smile plays on the corners of his mouth and my insides go into complete meltdown. Seeing him pleased with me overpowers all my senses. I was built solely for the purpose of making this man happy and content, and I’m completely okay with that.
Inside the tattoo shop, I browse through the b ooks while Dylan speaks with a few of the artists. He pulls out a slip of
** *
Isabel
What did I do to deserve such royal treatment? I open my eyes and Dylan is watching me with a grin on his face that shows his sheer joy in pleasuring me. Oh, how I love thee, Dylan Young. I was hoping to tie him down tonight and show him what I learned from my homework assignment this week, but he has other plans. I’ve been practicing on the ropes at home and hopefully I won’t make a fool of myself when the time comes to show my new skills.
We both get dried off and while I change into the sexy yellow chiffon dress Dylan has picked out for me, he call s Sawyer. He scanned the knife with some kind of high-tech device and sent the image to Sawyer in hopes that the fingerprint will be detectable.
I wonder how Sawyer and Sony a are getting along. It would fabulous if they ended up together. I wonder if either of them has been married before. I wonder if…
“What are you ch ewing on over there?” Dylan asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“Sawyer and Sony a.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I hope things work out for them,” I say as I get my shoes on.
“And if they don’t?”
“What do you mean? Are they having problems?” I ask, feeling heartsick.
“No, but I just don’t want you to be disappointed if things don’t work out for them.”
“Well, I will be. I can’t help it. They seem so right for each other.”
“Oh, Isa, how can you know they’re right for each other? You don’t know anything about either of them,” Dylan says, half rolling his eyes at me.
He’s right, I s uppose. I don’t know them at all. I just like the idea of Sawyer being happy.
I’m daydreaming the entire drive to wherever it is we’re going. Visions of the wonderful paintings are still lingering in my mind. Being here in Paris is so surreal. Dylan hasn’t mentioned what happened last night and I’m thankful for it.
What the hell was I thinking anyway? I have no good excuse why I was out there so close to the ledge. It was just a moment of weakness. I push it to the back of my mind, along with all the other unwanted memories that are residing back there. The alcoves of my mind are getting crowded and the walls that I’ve put up there threaten to break free and let loose all the horrible things I’ve tried to forget. No - not here; not now. Pushing my shoulders back, I sit up straighter, resolving to myself that I’ll save that breakdown for another time.
Again, we’re in a part of Paris that isn’t mentioned in the tourist brochures. Dylan, Dylan, Dylan. He always has something up his sleeve and he does love his surprises. Dylan’s hands are on me – in my hair, around my shoulders, on my arm and thigh. I cherish the feel of his hands on me. His touch makes me feel secure. His hand slowly creeps up my thigh and his fingers find their way into my wet well, but he no sooner slips his fingers inside of me when we arrive at our final destination.
The neon sign out front reads Tatouage Mystique.
“It’s time to mark you as mine, pussycat,” he says in the lowest, deepest, most intimate voice ever uttered from his skilled mouth.
Holy possession . I guess my Dom was serious when he said he wanted me marked for ownership. So a tattoo it is. My stomach quivers with worry. I look over at Dylan and peek at him through the hair in my eyes. He pushes my bangs aside and kisses my forehead.
“Are you having doubts about doing this?” he asks anxiously.
“No, Sir. I want everyone to know I belong to you,” I announce and it’s the honest truth. I look forward to it.
A sexy-as-hell smile plays on the corners of his mouth and my insides go into complete meltdown. Seeing him pleased with me overpowers all my senses. I was built solely for the purpose of making this man happy and content, and I’m completely okay with that.
Inside the tattoo shop, I browse through the b ooks while Dylan speaks with a few of the artists. He pulls out a slip of
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