I jolt from my memory, my heart pounding with the residual anger I felt in that exact moment she said those first words to me. My Isobel. My Snow.
I let my eyes take in her unconscious body, the restraints were necessary, she was unpredictable at this current moment and while the knife I took to the abdomen earlier did in fact make me want to fuck her senseless, there was only so much my body could take. I had to change her from her clothes, they were wet and bloody from our little scuffle in the snow and now she wears one of my t-shirts and nothing else.
She looks good.
Really fucking good. These past three years away from me have been good to her, she has meat on her bones and delicious curves, her skin healthy and glowing and her black hair glossy and luscious. Everything about her was perfection.
I shake off the feelings she evokes from me, and continue to stitch up the nice hole she put in my body. I should have anticipated it, but I was too caught up in the feel of her against me that I forgot she would likely be carrying more than just a gun.
She made me weak, sloppy even, but that was okay. Around her, I’d be anything she wanted me to be, just as long as she stayed.