Isabel and the Wolf: (Part 2)

by Ariana Hawkes

  She’s like a comet, Isabel thought, watching the figure in the red dress growing smaller and smaller. A force of nature. There was something wistful in the sleepy afternoon, in the small town’s dusty streets, and the thought of possibilities that could slip away too easily.

  *

  Isabel took her phone out of her handbag when she arrived back home. She hadn’t checked it for hours, engrossed by Rob and Josie’s company. There was a message from Peter, sent two hours previously:

  Are you free tonight, Bella? Come to my house

  it said. Isabel bounded into her bedroom, leapt onto her bed and jumped up and down. The Wolf liked her! He wanted to see her again! Butterflies went crazy in her stomach. She flipped herself backwards, landing on her back in the middle of her comforter. The room was spinning a little as she lay staring at the ceiling. The desire she’d been repressing returned. She allowed herself to think about him, about his body, the fierceness of his kiss, the skillfulness of his hands. She picked up her phone, which had slipped out of her grasp, flipped onto her stomach and started to reply to him, saying, yes, she was free, and she’d come to his house. But then she stopped. She was tired from the day and the poor night’s sleep, and the thought of driving back to Black Peak City wasn’t appealing. It was his turn to make the journey this time. Still, she had a suspicion that Peter would be resistant to coming to her place, and she didn’t want to miss out on seeing him.

  “Ok, this can be the decider,” she said aloud. Her favorite dilemmas were the ones that could be resolved by taking them outside of her control. She typed into her phone:

  Yes, but can you come to my place instead? I’ve just had an exhausting day, and I need to conserve my energies ;)

  She hit send before she had a chance to delete the message. Despite being on the dating site and despite the brazen way she’d turned up at Peter’s house a couple of days before, a natural modesty would normally have prevented her from being so suggestive. She smirked, aware that the conversation she’d had with Josie was doing its work on her.

  Confirmation that Peter liked her quenched the anxieties that had been plaguing her for the past day. As often happened in similar situations, with the fear of rejection gone, the sense of urgency disappeared too. If Peter wouldn’t come to her place, so be it; they could meet another time. Very relaxed now, Isabel drifted to the bathroom to run a bath. While the tub was filling up, she looked through the downloads on her laptop for a film she could watch if he refused to come and see her.

  Peter didn’t keep her waiting long though. Within ten minutes, he messaged her back saying he’d come, or to be exact:

  I will come at 8. Please send address.

  Isabel whooped in delight. She sent her address through, and headed to the bathroom to prepare herself.

  Lying in the tub, she soaped up her underarms and legs and shaved them, careful to avoid any cuts or nicks. But when she came to her pubic hair, she stopped. Tiny, dark hairs were beginning to grow back since her last shave three days ago. This time, instead of clean-shaving the entire area as she usually did, she placed a finger over her Mount of Venus, stopping just at the beginning of her labia, and shaved around it. When she’d finished, she looked down at her handiwork. The faint strip actually looked pretty sexy, as if it was marking out a pathway. She ran her fingers over it, liking the feeling of having a little hair there.

  After the bath, Isabel ate dinner in her bathrobe, then went to her room to pick out some lingerie and a dress. She sifted through her underwear drawer, rejecting several options before choosing a cherry-red lace bra and matching panties. She combined them with a black silky slip of a dress with thin shoulder straps. As an afterthought, she slipped some black stockings on too, fastening the garter belt around her waist and threading the hooks underneath her panties before attaching them to the tops of the stockings. She stood up, liking the sense of constraint they gave her. She’d only worn stockings a couple of times before, but they always felt dirty, in some undefinable way that she enjoyed a lot. Her make-up was light, as it seemed silly to be too done up when she was at home, but she put heels on to make her outfit complete.

  Chapter Two

  Time passed quickly as Isabel tidied her house, making it look as presentable as possible for Peter. She opened a bottle of sparkling Californian wine and as she took a gulp to steady her nerves, he was knocking on her door.

  Slightly giddily, as if the small amount of wine she’d drunk had gone straight to her head, she ran to the door and threw it open. The Wolf was standing there, his frame filling the doorway. He was wearing a black button-down shirt, revealing a triangle of olive-skinned chest, and black jeans. The hungry, almost hostile look she’d seen in the Silver Dime Saloon was in his eyes once more. Hairs prickled on the back of her neck and along her arms, with the confusing mixture of desire and trepidation that he elicited from her.

  He stepped towards her and Isabel held herself still, wondering if he was going to sniff her. He didn’t disappoint, beginning at the hollow at the base of her neck and moving up and around to the nape of her neck, before finishing just behind her left ear. Unconsciously, she held her breath until he’d finished.

  “I can smell the woods on you again,” he said.

  “Wow… I was there earlier today actually,” Isabel said. “I had a bath afterwards though, quite a long one.” Her hand moved to her hair. “Do I have some pine needles in my hair, or something?”

  “I can’t smell a man on you this time,” he said, instead of answering her question.

  “Good,” Isabel said, hesitantly. Peter leaned towards her and kissed her on the mouth, a quick, full-lipped kiss, with a flicker of tongue that disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, awakening nerve endings all over her body.

  “Let’s go inside,” she said, and stepped to the side to let him pass. She closed the door and skipped ahead to show him through to the house. Deciding it would be inappropriate to take him straight to the bedroom, she led him into her living room instead. “Take a seat,” she said, and went to the kitchen to pour a glass of wine for him.

  When she returned, he hadn’t sat down. Instead, he was prowling around the room, looking at her things. She’d done the same thing at his place, she reminded herself, but there was something deliberate about the way he was moving, as if he was trying to assess the space, measure out its boundaries. Isabel sat on her sofa and watched him. His edginess was making her nervous, and she was reminded yet again what an unusual person he was. She forced herself to relax and enjoy the sight of his physique, muscles twitching and straining beneath his clothing. Now it was her turn to stare – except that he wasn’t walking around naked.

  “That’s one of my pieces,” Isabel said, as Peter looked at a sculpture on a side table. It was one of the final projects from her degree and she was justifiably proud of it. It was a bronze cast of a Medusa figure, nude and on her knees, with the snakes on her head wrapping themselves around her body.

  “Nice, very natural,” Peter said. “I didn’t know you made art.”

  “I guess we haven’t spoken about much at all,” Isabel said, with a laugh. “I’m actually a full-time artist.” He turned to her.

  “That’s amazing. I didn’t know people could live as artists.” His tone was unguarded and his face had taken on a beguiling openness.

  “Oh, it’s not impossible, but sometimes you have to compromise your principles.”

  “You should never do that. You have real talent,” he said.

  “Thanks,” Isabel stuttered. She wasn’t used to guys being as serious as Peter and it threw her off kilter. “So, what do you do for work?” she asked lightly. Immediately, his face transformed, and the hard, hungry look returned.

  “It’s not important,” he said, in a rough voice. Isabel stared at him. It was like a door slamming shut on a promising morning. She continued to stare at him until her shock had subsided, and her reactions had begun to gather themselves in her brain and form themselves into word
s. Slowly, she pulled herself to the edge of her seat.

  “Look, I know this is some kind of game that we’re playing – only, I wish I had a better idea of what the rules are,” she said. “And for you it might not be ‘important’ who we are as people, but it actually really matters to me!”

  Just as swiftly, Peter’s expression changed again, and he looked almost – wounded – Isabel thought, with a small, sharp shock.

  “But you asked me what my job was,” he said. “And most people’s jobs don’t define them. What if I told you I was a door-to-door salesman, for example?” Isabel burst into laughter. The idea of Peter knocking on doors, trying to persuade people to buy something was hilarious. “You see, there’s something ridiculous about that, isn’t there?” Isabel nodded minutely, and the corner of Peter’s lip curled, not quite into a smile.

  “The truth is that I don’t work at all. Not in the conventional sense, anyway. But, in American society, to say you don’t have a job suggests you’re of a low social status.”

  “But – ” A hundred questions hung on Isabel’s lips, but the cool amber of his eyes prevented any of them from being released. She sensed Peter was pleased by her silence, the tightness in his body easing. In a swift movement, he crossed the room and sat on her armchair.

  “Come and sit here,” he said, patting his thigh. Wordlessly, Isabel stood up and walked over to him. Backing awkwardly onto his lap, she placed her arm around his shoulders. She felt tiny sitting there, a breakable doll. The spicy, masculine smell of his body, familiar from last time, was strong, and the unwavering gaze of his eyes was almost hypnotic. He cupped her jaw with his huge hand and kissed her. The press of his lips was firm, and she resisted, then yielded to the invasion of his long, flickering tongue. She shivered, arousal mingled with uncertainty at sitting on this unsettling creature’s lap, feeling like he could devour her at any moment. The Wolf’s hand moved to her thigh, to the place where her dress had ridden up and a sliver of bare flesh at the tops of her stockings was exposed. He murmured a sound of appreciation into her mouth. His fingers stroked her skin, along the top of the stocking, pausing and plucking at her garter, as if he hadn’t come across one before. Isabel began to enjoy her vulnerability and his gentleness, willing him to move his fingers higher and higher. His fingertips traced circles across each thigh, and then up, along the edges of her panties. He hovered over her panties, and then, seeming to change his mind, he grasped the hem of her dress with both hands and lifted it, pulling it up to her waist and then all the way up, over her head. Depositing it beside him on the chair, his eyes flickered over her body, taking in her meticulously-chosen lingerie.

  “Please remove your underwear,” he said. Dismay threw an ice-bucket on Isabel’s desire.

  “Hey – no – hold on a minute,” she almost shouted. “I’m not just going to get naked like this, in my own house. I mean, don’t you even want to see my underwear? Most guys are really into this kind of stuff, you know?”

  “I’m not most guys, Isabel,” he said into her ear, in a soft voice that carried the slightest hint of a warning.

  “No, you’re definitely not,” she said. “But don’t you ever take pleasure in undressing a woman? I mean, slowly, sensually?” Peter was silent for a moment.

  “I haven’t really thought about it,” he said eventually.

  “Well, maybe you should,” Isabel said. Uncharacteristically for her, she stretched her body out on his lap, displaying it to him for best effect. He looked at her lingerie, as if seeing it for the first time. She watched as he took in the full curve of her cleavage in her red balconette bra, the tiny lace triangle of her panties, disappearing between her thighs, and the garters that sneaked under her panties, the ribbons running down the middle of each soft thigh and clipping onto her black stocking tops. She saw his pupils grow larger, and, as she adjusted herself on his lap, she realised they weren’t the only things growing. Her ass cheek settled right on his crotch and he made a small sound. Isabel allowed herself a secret smile.

  “Your underwear is very sexy,” he said, at last. He ran his finger along the edges of the cups of her bra, dipping into the valley between her breasts. Then, he bent his head, putting his mouth there. His thumb dug into the soft flesh of the top of her thigh, brushing against the flimsy material of her panties. She sighed, savoring the sensation of him appreciating her in a far more sensual way than before. An ache was growing inside her, and she could feel herself beginning to get wet.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Bella,” he said. She loved the way he said “beautiful”, the soft way he pronounced an ‘r’. Isabel snapped out of her dreamy arousal.

  “You’re not American, are you?” she demanded. Peter met her eyes.

  “It took you this long to figure that out?” he said and laughed. It was a low, gravelly sound. “I’m from Romania,” he said. “Do you know where that is?”

  “Somewhere in Eastern Europe. But I couldn’t tell you more than that.”

  “It’s a very old country that touches the Black Sea in the east and reaches deep into Europe, full of beautiful mountains, sheltering ancient kingdoms. Our people speak the romantic tongue of faraway countries, like Italy and Spain.”

  “It sounds amazing,” Isabel said, eyes shining. “I’d love to visit it.” His eyes widened briefly. Isabel frowned, unable to decipher his reaction.

  “It’s home,” he said, and shrugged.

  “But you must have been here a long time?” she said. “You barely have a trace of an accent.”

  “Ah, not so long,” he said, and fell silent.

  Isabel’s fingers played on the back of his neck, enjoying the softness of his skin, while she tried to work out what she could say to that. Peter made it easier for her by beginning to kiss her hard. His hands went around her waist and held her tight, his mouth ravishing hers with a bruising pressure. Isabel kissed him back with the same intensity, his urgency driving her crazy. His hardness pressed against her and she badly wanted him inside her. Her thighs slackened and Peter slipped his hand between them. She let out a groan at the contact, and he echoed it, a low sound close to her ear. From the heat she was feeling, she knew her panties were probably damp. Reaching behind, she put her hand on his crotch. He seemed ready, more than ready. She couldn’t wait any longer. She took hold of his zip and eased it down. But Peter pushed her hand away and zipped it up again. His other hand slid into her panties and touched her lightly. As his fingers came into contact with her aching clit, her hips bucked. Immediately, two of his long fingers slid inside, curving deeply into her. Isabel gasped and her vision darkened; it felt so good. She could feel how slick she was on his fingers, and her muscles clenched in little spasms as he moved them in and out. She let out a sound of frustration; his hands were incredible, but she wanted more. She began to wriggle on his lap, taunting him, deliberately bumping against his cock. He wasn’t biting though. Every time her hand wandered over to his zipper, he pushed it away again. At first it was like a tease, and then it started to kill her arousal. The final time she tried, he grasped her wrist in his hand.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked, her voice wobbling. “Don’t you like me or something?”

  “I do like you, Bella, and I do want to couple with you, but this isn’t the right place,” he said.

  “My apartment isn’t the right place to couple?” Isabel turned her head as far as she was able and looked at him incredulously. “How is that even possible? And I’m starting to think that you may be bullshitting me, as it seems that your apartment wasn’t the right place to have sex either!” Peter turned his head away from her and Isabel thought she saw a flicker of embarrassment. She climbed off his lap and stood up, needing to create some physical distance from him.

  He stood up too, towering over her, his eyes boring into hers. Isabel swallowed, a crazy idea running through her mind that he was considering whether to pounce and tear her to pieces. Somehow, she stood her ground. He stared at her with his yellow gaze a
nd she fleetingly understood how a rabbit must feel in car headlights, every muscle poised to respond to its instinct to run, but somehow hypnotized by an overwhelming power. The atmosphere between them was so charged that when he began to speak, it was a shock.

  “I was looking for a strong woman,” he said. “But you have surpassed even that.” He gave another deep, throaty laugh. “My requirements are very specific, I am aware, and I understand if you are unwilling to comply with them. In that case, we must say goodbye to each other. But, if you choose to surrender yourself to me, then you must do so fully, and with no further questions about any of my actions. Do you understand me?” Isabel nodded.

  “Good. The choice is yours, and it is not one to be taken lightly. I will give you a few minutes to decide.” With that, Peter stood up and walked out of the room, in the direction of the front door.

  Isabel watched him go, his large, agile figure, the bulge of his crotch clearly outlined in his black pants. All she could think was how much she wanted to be taken by him. The urge for him to dominate her was absolute. She didn’t wait. She rushed out of the room after him.

  Peter was standing on her veranda, leaning against the entrance way and looking up at the sky.

  “I’m ready,” she said simply.

  Chapter Three

  Isabel couldn’t work out whether this was the stupidest or most exciting thing she’d ever done. She was in Peter’s car, something black and sleek, which she’d barely registered as she was being carried across to it. She was covered with some animal skins he’d given her, and, underneath, she was naked.

  After she’d verbally signed away her autonomy to him, he’d walked her back into her house, and stripped off all of her underwear, smoothly, without fumbling over the catches of her bra or garter belt. Then, he went out to his car and brought her a pelt to wrap herself in, before lifting her up as if she weighed no more than a cat, and carrying her out to his car.