Brant's Return

“I guess it does.” We were both quiet again for a few minutes, Belle looking thoughtful. Her stomach growled, breaking the silence. She looked up at me, laughing softly.

I grimaced. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you anything to eat. Except maybe some old spider bodies in the corner.”

She laughed again and shivered. “I’ll survive one night.”

“We’ll plan to head back at dawn’s first light.”

She nodded, yawning. It was still relatively early, but she had to be tired after all the spent emotions. I was too, now that I thought about it. “We can make a bed of sorts in front of the fire if you’re tired.”

She nodded. “Here, I’ll help.”

I gathered a few more heavy linen tarps from the old trunk, shaking them out well before bringing them over and in a few minutes we had a makeshift bed on the floor. I grabbed our coats, which were mostly dry, then folded them to form pillows. It would do for one night.

I lay on my back, staring at the black, shadowy ceiling above, feeling tired, but also restless. Awkwardness filled the air between us. I wasn’t sure if I should try to make it less so by talking or whether I should just force myself to fall asleep. But then I heard Isabelle’s soft snore next to me. I smiled in the dark, turning toward her and watching her for a few minutes as she slept, her expression peaceful, mouth parted slightly.

I must have slept for a time too, because when I heard Isabelle crying out softly in her sleep, I opened my eyes groggily, somewhere between a dream I couldn’t piece together and reality. I blinked at the fire, noticing that it was half the size it’d been what I thought was only minutes before. It would burn for another hour, maybe two, but then it would go out. That was okay. We had covers for warmth and it would be dawn soon enough.

Belle let out a tiny sob as if she were having a bad dream and I rolled toward her, pulling her against me and holding her close. “Shh,” I whispered. “You’re okay. Just a dream.”

She stilled in my arms and for several minutes I just held her, whispering words of comfort, her muscles relaxing and her body melting into mine. She turned slowly, hesitantly, until we were face to face. For a moment she simply stared into my face in the very low flickering light. She brought her hand to my cheek tentatively, turning her fingers over and moving them down the stubbly skin of my jaw. Isabelle reached for my hand, bringing it to the naked flesh of her breast.

Every cell in my body went on high alert, and I pulled in a sharp breath, my already half-hard erection surging forward. “Isabelle,” I said, my voice raw, suddenly desperate. My mind felt foggy, my fingers itching to trace the soft, full mound under my palm, but I fought to stay lucid, in control. I did not want her to regret anything about tonight. I didn’t want her to act out of a neediness that stemmed only from what she’d spoken of earlier, need that would be gone with the morning light, leaving only embarrassment and remorse. No, I wouldn’t risk that.

“I’m sure, Brant. Please, I”—she lowered her eyes, her lashes creating dark crescents on her cheeks—“I want you.”

Maybe it was the word want instead of need. Maybe it was just that my control was hanging by such a delicate thread, but at her assertion, I brought my lips to hers immediately, a groan of desire vibrating in my throat and passing into her mouth as she opened, allowing me entrance. We kissed for long minutes, tasting, learning, my body growing hotter, harder, my need increasing until it was pulsing, throbbing in both pleasure and pain.

I moved closer, my erection probing her stomach and she broke from my mouth, a gasp on her lips as she tilted her head back, giving me access to her smooth, sweet neck. I licked and kissed it, moving my mouth to the soft place behind her ear, the spot that made her gasp and press herself against me. Oh Jesus. She was sweet.

I rolled partially on top of her, feeling wild, wanting to taste every part of her, but forcing myself to slow down, to take my time. I would enjoy her because Lord only knew if I’d get a chance to do this again. But I’d also give her the opportunity to halt things if she changed her mind.

Please don’t change your mind.

She gripped my head in her hands as I licked at that soft spot that drove her crazy, moving lower, kissing the dip between her breasts and then taking a nipple into my mouth and rolling my tongue around it once, twice.

She cried out, the sound shooting to my cock and causing it to harden painfully.

I licked and sucked at her nipples, the soft skin of her breasts, over them, under, and then back to her nipples until she was gripping my hair and rolling her hips. “Brant, oh God,” she moaned. “I . . . please don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” I promised, returning my mouth to the place between her breasts. Her husband’s key was a warm piece of metal just above my lips and I leaned up, making eye contact with her as I lifted it. She hesitated very briefly but raised her head, allowing me to remove it and set it on the trunk next to where we lay. I moved my mouth back to her breasts and then lower, trailing my tongue down the middle of her stomach, my hand gliding over her ribs. I felt the smooth but raised skin of a scar under my fingertips and lifted my head, seeing the place where she must have been shot. My chest tightened for what she’d been through and I brought my lips to the place where she’d healed—the proof of her survival—circling it with my tongue, brushing my lips over it and kissing that tender spot reverently. She stilled as I did so, pulling in a quiet intake of breath and letting it out slowly, running her fingers through my hair gently. It felt as though her tender affection communicated thankfulness. That she understood just how in awe of her I was.

After a moment, I moved past that memory of pain, dipping into her bellybutton and then kissing the petal-soft skin underneath. Isabelle’s grip on my hair loosened and she seemed tense suddenly, unsure.

“Brant?” she asked, sitting up slightly, her stomach muscles tightening beneath my mouth.

I kissed downward, pulling at the waistband of her underwear as I did so, using my arm to slide them underneath her bottom and down her thighs.

I thought I felt a hairline scar right before I made it to the soft hair covering her feminine mound and it caused my heart to skip a be

at. Oh, Belle. That small line, the proof of her motherhood, another scar she carried. How did she feel when she looked at that one now? Was she glad she still wore that mark, or did it bring her sorrow? “Belle,” I murmured, as tenderness so deep I feared I’d fall into it, opened inside me. That, combined with my raging desire for her was an exhilarating cocktail of need I’d never felt before. It was slightly terrifying, but I didn’t want to stop. If anything, I wanted this to go on and on for as long as this night would last.

I pulled her underwear farther down her legs, gripping her hips as I pulled her legs apart gently. She sat up a little more, leaning on the backs of her forearms, her eyes wide as she stared at me. “You can’t . . . I mean . . . what are you? Ohhh,” she moaned a startled sound of deep pleasure as I licked straight up the seam of her sex, circling the small nub at the top. She fell back on another soft gasp as I sucked gently. Had she never had this done to her? No, that couldn’t be true. She’d been married.

Even the vague thought of Belle with another man made my stomach muscles tighten uncomfortably, and then she cried out, a mingling sound of pleasure and surprise when I gave her a deeper suck. Possessive. Her thighs clamped around my head, and she lifted herself to me slightly, pressing herself against my face, asking for more. A heady surge of satisfaction filled my chest at the mere idea that I could be the first man who’d ever tasted her this way. Pleasured her this way.

I kept working my mouth, sliding a finger gently inside her and groaning when I felt how wet she was, how aroused.

She said my name, her voice high pitched and breathy. It sounded like a question, like encouragement, like wonder all mixed into one exhaled word.