isolt griffin

I'm more alive than I've ever been

A smile, lascivious and playfully guarded, pulls across Isolt's lips as her husband obliges her with the caress of his calloused hand upon the heavenly suppleness of her breast, the tantalizing twist of her stiffened nipple sending a wave of erotic current sizzling through the clandestine vines of every nerve in her body. The moan that slides from betwixt her parted lips is admittedly unstoppable, an animalistic and basial sound that seems to reverberate off of every surface within the finely-adorned cabin. "I don't think I'm the only one," she offers in a heady whisper, her teeth raking seductively at the succulent cushion of her lower lip as a hand slides behind her to caress the telling bulge in her lover's trousers, a few soft fingertips perusing the impressive length of him, her own body nearly aching with the mounting sexual tension as a long, slow moment of attention is offered to the sensitive head.

She can taunt him no further, it would seem, as Damon lays her down upon the sprawling, lavish expanse of the bed. Months prior she would have been hard-pressed to allow him such an adulterated view of her pregnant frame, Isolt having grappled intensely with the notion of allowing her lover to gaze upon her bare form so freely when she was so significantly more... ample in nearly all of the places that she had once been taut. But no longer does she fret for criticism that had never arrived and truly never would have, gazing freely at the taut form of her husband as he disrobes before her. At her offered nod he approaches, the sensation of his flesh against her own as he positions himself between her parted legs is almost cruel in its understated sensuousness. And as he presses himself into her, her legs wrapping about him in a manner that could be described as naught but primal greed as she is intent upon having all of him, a breathless gasp passes from her lips, azure eyes darkening with the lowering of her lids as Isolt presses her fire-crowned head into the forgiving down of the pillow.


The evening passes with an encore or three, the newlyweds delighting unabashedly in one another, lavishing adoration upon every inch of flesh laid bare for the taking. And as the barest, telling glow of the coming dawn extended its wanton fingers from the horizon to lighten the night's serene darkness, Isolt settled herself into the crinkled linen of the bedspread at her husband's side, content to simply drift off into the tranquility of slumber beside this man she loved so completely. But it is the soft, loving caress of his lips that draws her back from the precipice of this deepest sleep, the blue of her eyes appearing slowly from beyond the curtains of her eyelids to meet the enticing grey of his. His query though, is met with the furrowing of her delicate brow. "Yes, but... why?" Hardly is there time for further questioning before the fire-crowned vampire is lead from their quite literal love nest, one hand fisting into the linen sheet to wrap it haphazardly about her bare frame, and out onto the deck already gleaming beneath the tentative fingers of dawn's first light.

Subconsciously does Isolt's hand clasp ever tighter about that of her lover, a tremor erupts from the base of her spine to rattle its vibrations about her entire body even as Damon pulls her closer to his chest. Vampiric instinct wages a harsh, profound battle against the trust she harbors for the man before her, though even as the first crescents of sunlight swell from their cradle beyond the horizon her bare feet do not move to return her to the safety of the cabin. In truth, the only part of the youthful woman that does move is the hand that maintains a not-inconsiderable and vice-like grip upon the sheet that swathes her, the knuckles bleached white with the fierceness of her hold.

And then...

There is nothing. There burns no searing pain upon the pallor of her undead hide, no acrid sizzling to make her stomach turn. There is only a most pleasant warmth that settles upon her upturned face, riding the curves of her exposed shoulders. So remniscent is it of the sunrise that Tetradore had gifted her all those years ago that a smile blossoms at the very edges of her plush lips, the fire in her gossamer locks burning anew in the sun's generous light as her eyes glisten an entirely new shade of clearest blue. Her freckled nose crinkles just so as a slender line of crimson, telling of the joyous tears that are to come, appears at the brims of her lower lids as Isolt turns her head to look upon her husband. "How did you do this?"