isolt marcello

I'm more alive than I've ever been

It is not the pleasant heat radiating from the hearth's roaring conflagration that warms the vampire woman's skin and coaxes a rosy blush to the apples of her cheeks as she stands, body on full display, before her mate. Neither is it any trick of light that causes the subtle glint to skitter daringly across the cerulean pools of her eyes. It is nothing so obvious as this, but it is just as tangible a thing, that vibrates betwixt the two. It is a an erotic and pervading need, a lascivious invitation offered not with the lips but with the exposure of flesh and the come-hither looks being exchanged.

There comes a moment, however, when the subtly of looks simply will no longer suffice and Isolt approaches her husband. An impish simper plucking at the brims of her cherry lips as he all but devours her exposed flesh with his eyes before quite suddenly grasping at her, lifting her and bringing her towards him in a manner that draws a giddy laugh from within her. Her laughter dissolves just as quickly as it was uttered, replaced instead by a groan of unadulterated pleasure with the introduction of his lips to her tender, rosy skin. Slowly does her head lean back, the curtains of her eyelids drawing to a close, fingers raking gently through her husband's thick locks. She was a feast of flesh meant solely for him and she would allow him to partake for as long as he so desired, his mouth traveling upwards to caress the curve of her extended neck. It is no doubt quite obvious to both vampires that her body invites his advances, the sudden removal of her last scrape of clothing welcomed as such. But it is his next movement, the introduction of his fingers, which forces a desperate moan from her lips. Her head whips forward so that her eyes may meet his, one hand cradling his jaw as the other clasps roughly at the back of the armchair.

Isolt rolls her hips in tandem with her lover's rhythm, pressing against him in a vehement pursuit of the pleasure that they had both been denied for far too long. Soon, too soon perhaps, her body tightens with the throes of ecstasy, her lips finally finding Damon's. She kisses him, as deeply and wantonly as she ever has, for what feels like eons. When she is finally able to break their kiss, Isolt rests her forehead against that of her mate though her hands work deftly to grasp at the edge of his shirt. In a single, swift motion the vampire queen relieves her husband of this restrictive garment, the tender bulbs of her fingers running a slow and gentle trail down the length of his torso, delighting in the rise and fall of the taut cords of muscle beneath his skin. The plush pillows of her lips follow suit as she slides gently to the floor, hands working deftly at the clasp of his denim jeans. Her efforts are rewarded as she frees him from these material bindings, offering a first, tentative caress of her tongue on this most sensitive part of him. It had been far too long since last she had been able to pleasure him in this manner, depravation that is made evident in the ravenous manner in which she proceeds. The redheaded woman reacquaints herself quickly to the tempo that she knows he likes best, having become an expert in the art of pleasuring her husband and proving that even during this long drought she had hardly forgotten this particular skill.

But, just as she senses the impending tantric wave of his nirvana, Isolt pauses. A seemingly cruel choice, she would later admit, and yet it is this urgency, this frustration that she lusts for. Her teeth rake slowly against the cushion of her bottom lip before she mouths a wordless invitation to her lover. Take me.