Isabel and the Wolf: (Part 3)

by Ariana Hawkes

  “And you and your brother are both talented at working with your hands.”

  “David’s got a really good reputation. He does intricate, ornate work, and he’s getting to be known as a master craftsman,” she said, glowing with pride for her big brother. “We had a pretty standard childhood. Idyllic, really. We grew up right on the water, with a big garden. Our parents were real good about taking us to activities, like sports and music. I played soccer a lot until I was about 13, and then running track took over, and I trained five days a week.”

  “Sounds intense.”

  “It was good discipline. A lot of girls stop doing sport around that age, because they think it’s unfeminine, or they think it’s cute to pretend they’re weak, or they are weak because they’re starving themselves to try to resemble a celebrity Barbie doll. But running made me take pride in the strength of my body, and I think it made me healthily competitive!” She broke off, struck by the admiration in Peter’s eyes.

  “And when did you get into art?” Isabel laughed.

  “From the time I could first hold a crayon! I was always doing these really elaborate paintings as gifts for my parents. And by the time I was 10 or 11, I noticed that paintings turned out pretty much how I wanted them to, and that I was getting all of these ideas that I hardly seemed to have control over. I knew I’d major in art from when I was around 15, and from that point, I studied hard in my other subjects to make sure my GPA would be high enough, but art was my sole passion.”

  “But doesn’t it destroy your soul to do work for the corporate world?” Isabel paused. From another person, the question might have been insulting, but, coming from Peter, it was just direct. She shook her head.

  “No. I receive a brief from my clients, and they set various parameters, of course, but they’re usually pretty flexible. I obviously can’t do anything too out there if I’m working for financial companies, but they like to see a bit of individuality.”

  “What else are you working on?”

  “Oh – I’m surprised I haven’t showed you yet, actually. It’s a woodcarving. It’s abstract, but I’ve been drawing a lot from my recent experiences in the forest!”

  “That sounds amazing. I’d love to see it,” he said.

  “Ok, maybe after dinner!”

  “And you had a long-term boyfriend, you said?”

  “Yes – Jason. He was my high school sweetheart. We met when we were both 15, and grew up together. He also ran track, so we spent a lot of our free time together.

  “And you expected to marry him?” Isabel cast her eyes to a spot up high in the corner of the restaurant.

  “I did. But we grew apart.” She sighed. “We knew each other too well. And, for me, at least, there wasn’t anything left to learn.” Peter nodded.

  “I understand. Did he satisfy you sexually?” Isabel blushed, feeling awkward about discussing past sexual experiences with The Wolf.

  “No,” she said, at last. “He was a regular, mainstream guy.”

  “And your desires are not mainstream,” he stated.

  “No, they’re not. For a long time, I thought all they would be were desires, in my head, when I was alone. But when Jason and I broke up, I realized I had an opportunity to bring them to life.”

  “Which is where the website, and I came in?” He was grinning, and she grinned back at him.

  “Pretty much!”

  “I’m very glad I met you, Bella. And that you gave me another chance after our first meeting.” Isabel gaped at him.

  “I thought you were all angry that I was late?”

  “I don’t know what comes over me sometimes. I realize that I can take things a little too seriously.” His expression became vulnerable, and she sensed she was getting a glimpse into his soul – a softer and more compassionate thing than she had imagined.

  “That’s ok,” she said. “Let’s have a toast.” She was about to say, to a great dinner, or something equally light, but he cut in.

  “To us, Bella,” he said. They clinked glasses, and her heart filled with dizzy, blissful sensations.

  After dinner, they wandered up and down the main street, and Peter took her hand in his. She was ecstatic to be walking hand in hand with this sexy man, and drank in the glances they received – of recognition from people she was becoming acquainted with, admiration from others, and jealousy from a few. She was his, and he was hers. She knew that now.

  They took a taxi back to her place, and Peter didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave, that night, or the nights after. Days passed in a blur of sex and lounging, and taking delicious afternoon naps. She was sore and bruised from his cock, but she continued to crave it, taking him in her mouth when it hurt too much to have him inside her again.

  It was Sunday morning before they surfaced. Isabel woke up to Peter kissing her fingertips.

  “Bella?”

  “What is it?” Isabel said drowsily, still half in a crazy dream.

  “I have to go away for a few days. Something family-related.” She snapped fully awake.

  “What’s happened?”

  “I can’t explain, I am sorry.”

  “Is it related to your family’s sickness?”

  “Yes, kind of.”

  “So you’re going to Romania?”

  “No, not this time, but I’m going to be out of town.”

  “When will you be back?” she asked, sitting up in bed.

  “Wednesday,” he replied. She was somewhat reassured by the confidence in his tone.

  “You’re not bullshitting me so I don’t harass you with a million questions?” she asked, in a small voice.

  “No. I promise. I give you my word. On Wednesday, I’ll be back on your doorstep.” He smiled and kissed her.

  “Ok.” She slid down the bed and snuggled into him. She brought her mouth to his and kissed his soft lips, darting her tongue into his mouth. Her hand slid down the six-pack of his torso.

  “Have you got time for one more?” she asked, and reached for his cock at the same time. Instantly, he grew hard, but, as she started to move her hand up and down his shaft, he pushed her off.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t. I’m sorry, Bella. I just can’t.”

  “But why?”

  “I’m just not capable right now.” He stroked her cheek, his eyes full of regret.

  “Are you sick?” she asked, in a sudden panic. How could I be so stupid? He’s said his family has a genetic disorder, so it’s very likely he has it too.

  “No, I’m not, honestly,” he said, and pulled her into a hug. She resisted, wanting to keep questioning him, but quickly realized it was futile. Instead, she let herself fall into one of their dreamy embraces, where time seemed to stand still, and all she was aware of was the sound of their breathing and the rhythm of their hearts.

  Chapter Six

  Her house was so lonely with him gone. They’d been pretty much living together for the past few days, and Isabel felt a physical wrench at having him separated from her. In what was a very short time, he’d opened up to her a lot, if not in terms of telling her his secrets, then at least in the way he’d allowed her to see a softness in him, and a generosity of feeling. She was head over heels, she admitted to herself. But, at the same time, she knew she had to keep a part of herself separate from him, at least until he told her the full story.

  To distract herself from her loneliness, Isabel invited Rob and Josie over for dinner. The couple came over and praised the airiness of Isabel’s place, saying it made a nice change from adobe. Josie was in high spirits, talking a lot and being overly affectionate to both Rob and Isabel.

  “What’s happening with the mutant wolves?” Isabel asked, as soon as they sat down in the living room. Rob’s face tightened.

  “We haven’t learned anything new, except that we seem to be the only conservation area having this issue,” he said. “We haven’t seen any more of these wolves either. But, last night, someone broke into the center, stole all of
the physical evidence of the wolves, and hacked into the computer and wiped all the data. It doesn’t really matter, as all the samples have been recorded and analyzed, and I’ve got the computer backed up, but the fact that someone stole it at all is majorly worrying.”

  “Someone’s got something to hide,” Isabel said. “But this doesn’t make any sense. Apart from suggesting that the introduction of the wolves was deliberate.”

  “And that’s what I’m having a hard time coming to terms with. Why would anyone do a thing like that?”

  “Beats me,” Josie said, in a light tone that made Rob frown at her.

  Isabel put together a simple meal of spaghetti with truffle oil, Italian sausage and lots of parmesan, washed down with red wine.

  “You were so lying about your cooking skills. This is the second thing of yours I’ve tasted, and it’s delicious!” Josie said.

  “I’d have a hard time going wrong with those ingredients!” Isabel replied. Josie seemed to get drunk after her first glass of wine, and her conversation got louder, and the words tumbled out after one another. Her outfit, a scarlet jersey wrap dress, was getting hiked dangerously high on her thighs, and the black lace of her bra was clearly visible at the neckline. When she went to the bathroom, the tension in Rob’s face eased.

  “I find Josie a little challenging to deal with when she’s like this,” he confided in a low voice.

  “She’s pretty lively, but that’s fine,” Isabel said. “Sometimes alcohol hits you way harder than you’re expecting.”

  “No, it’s more than that. She gets into these really hyperactive moods, and sometimes, to be honest, I feel like locking her into a room until they’re all over. And I feel terrible for saying that.”

  “How often does this happen?” Isabel asked, carefully.

  “About once a month. And before you say it must be a women’s thing, I have plotted the dates, but it doesn’t seem to correspond.” He looked down at the table and Isabel watched him, trying to gauge how much it would be appropriate to say.

  “Have you discussed it with her?” she asked.

  “I’ve tried. I really have, but, it’s like, at the time, she doesn’t see anything wrong with the way she’s acting, and afterwards she doesn’t recall that anything’s been different. So when I bring it up, it makes her anxious – like telling someone they were sleepwalking the night before, or something – and she gets really upset. It’s not worth it. It only lasts a day or two, so I guess I can deal with it.”

  Josie was back. She landed heavily on her chair and grinned at the two of them.

  “So what did I miss?”

  “Nothing much, we were just talking about Gila again.”

  “Hey, where’s your man?” Josie asked, as if she’d just noticed that someone was missing.

  “Oh he’s away for a couple of days.”

  “I didn’t know you were seeing someone seriously, Isabel,” Rob said.

  “It’s a little soon to say it’s serious, but things are going well,” she said, her cheeks warming with pleasure.

  “Tell us about him, Bella!” Josie said, and Isabel picked up something sardonic in her tone. She scowled at Josie.

  “He’s a really cool guy. He’s an artist too,” she lied, knowing Rob would ask about his career. “He does conceptual paintings. He has a Harley. He’s not from the US – he’s from Romania, actually.”

  “No way! Did you know Josie’s family is Romanian, from way back?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Isabel replied, catching Josie’s eye. It was too much to have told him that Peter was Romanian, but, after the way Josie had been acting, she didn’t care.

  As soon as Rob was away from the table, Isabel glared at Josie.

  “It was you who didn’t want me to mention Peter, and now you’re bringing him up!” she hissed.

  “Oops!” Josie said, sounding drunker than she could feasibly have been. “It’s just hard to keep him out of my mind sometimes.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Isabel asked, but she didn’t get an answer, and then Rob was back.

  After they’d left and Isabel was doing the dishes, she turned Josie’s behavior over in her mind, trying and failing to draw any new conclusions.

  *

  Isabel woke in the middle of the night. The clock told her it was 4am, but the moonlight was shining so brightly through her curtains that it seemed like dawn. She had an overwhelming urge to see the moon, unobstructed by glass. As she’d done weeks ago, she put her dressing gown on and went outside the house. With the grass tickling her bare feet, she looked up at it, huge and low in the sky, and a perfect round. She stared deep into its shadowy face, trying to find meaning. It felt benevolent, a gentle face, and, as she stood there for longer and longer, it seemed to be calling her, telling her to abandon her earthly possessions and follow its pure white iridescence.

  She had no recollection of going back inside, and was surprised to find herself waking in her bed the next morning, instead of spread-eagled on the lawn.

  *

  Tuesday couldn’t go fast enough, and on Wednesday Isabel worked relentlessly, putting the finishing touches to her woodcarving. She told herself that she wanted to have it ready to show Peter, which was true, but it was mainly to distract herself from thinking he wasn’t going to come 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 fi
nd 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 uncompromising stare, and she shuffled down off the bench and obediently bent over the table. He yanked her panties down as far as her knees, and pushed his cock into her again. She panted and gasped as he pounded into her, harder than usual.

  “Is this too much for you, Isabel?” he asked, through clenched teeth. His voice sounded different, growly and throaty.

  “No,” she managed to say, between pants. His orgasm close, he fucked her faster and faster, and they both climaxed at the same moment, her vaginal muscles contracting hard around his pulsing cock.

  “I wish my art had that effect on everybody!” she said, when they’d pulled themselves up from the bench.

  “The sculpture is incredible, but it was more your beautiful body that did it for me,” Peter said, stroking her ass.

  They had dinner and watched a film, a quirky comedy, and Isabel thought it was adorable that she had to explain some of the jokes to him.