Chosen (Second Sight) (2 page)

She threw herself into his arms, breathless, and her keys hit the floor. Her arms looped around his neck and he wrapped his around her waist. With her momentum, he swung her in a little circle and set her down in front of the door. He nuzzled into the long, dark hair at her neck and inhaled the faint scent of jasmine.

“What are you doing here?” she gasped, leaning back enough to see his face.

Golden flecks danced in her amber eyes, reflecting the bright light of the mid-afternoon. As often as he’d tried to visualize them or stared at his cellphone pictures, nothing did them justice. He was a moment looking into them until his gaze drifted down to her lips, curved into the most beautiful smile, but still full and glistening.

“I would have thought,” he said, leaning down to her, “that was obvious.”

• • • • •

Isabelle felt the muscles in Mac’s shoulders bunch up under her arms. She curved into him, her body fitting into its familiar spot against his powerful torso. His deeply blue-green eyes smiled down at her, watched her face, and then stared at her lips. As though he willed her with his gaze, she found herself closing the distance between them.

Mac’s lips were always a surprise to her. Unlike the hard slabs of muscle pressing into her chest, his mouth was warm and incredibly soft. It moved with a subtle rhythm, stroking hers, urging hers to respond, though that was the
last
thing she needed. If she didn’t dream of Mac at night, she fantasized about him during the day.

His lips slid sensually along hers and she immediately moved with them. Her lips pressed harder into his, and she felt his mouth throbbing, pulsing with blood, warm with life.

His tongue tested her and, as her lips immediately parted, he sucked her lower lip into his mouth and she ran her tongue across his upper lip. The stubble of his chin raked over her skin. The musky smell of him filled her nose. He captured her upper lip and her body immediately pressed forward.
 

Without warning, Mac drew back.

Her eyes fluttered open to see him stooping down low in front of her.

“What…?” she breathed.

He stood and dangled her keys in front of her.

“Maybe we should go inside.”

• • • • •

Mac unlocked the door and pushed it open. He grabbed his suitcases and set them just inside the door as Isabelle followed him in. Even as he closed the door, Isabelle’s arms slipped around his waist from behind. Her hands moved up his chest, grazed tantalizingly against his nipples, and then held him tight.
 

“How long will you be here?” she said into his back.
 

He glanced at the overstuffed suitcase, which she apparently hadn’t noticed. He turned to her, revolving in her grasp as he raised his arm to clear the top of her head. But when he saw her face, his chest tightened. The unmistakable look of pure delight as she’d come up the stairs had vanished. Her forehead was furrowed and her lips pressed into a tight line.

“Isabelle,” he said, taking her face between his hands. “What is it?”

She seemed as though she had to force a smile.

“It’s just that you’ve barely arrived,” she said, “and I’m already dreading when you leave.”

He took her in his arms.

“I know
exactly
what you mean,” he said quietly. “A few days. I’ll be here
at least
a few days.”

Hopefully, that was a lie.
 

But if she were to read him, he wanted his own thoughts vague: he was here to talk to Ben about a job–just like usual. He gazed down into her delicate face, still troubled.

Maybe I should tell her.

“It’s silly to dwell on it,” she said.
 

Stick to the plan, Mac, and for god’s sake stop thinking about it.

“You’re here now,” she said. “That’s all–”

He tugged her forward and captured her lips–tender, warm and achingly vulnerable. He would kiss away her sadness.

Her mouth opened to him–an undeniable invitation–and he kissed her deeply. With a bittersweet fervor, his mouth engulfed hers and he crushed her petite body to him. Isabelle clutched his neck and pressed herself hard against him. She lifted herself to her tip toes, her mouth searching, her head tilting one way and then the other, as her tongue wrestled with his. Her breasts pressed into his chest and the small of her back curved beneath his hand.

From the moment he’d stepped onto the plane, he’d anticipated this moment, able to think of nothing else, as he fought to keep his arousal in check. But now, as Isabelle’s flat abdomen pressed along him, his aching shaft throbbed so hard he thought it might burst. His tongue swept into her mouth. Her hips pivoted against him, rubbing and stroking, stoking his need higher with a need of her own.

Isabelle was intoxicating, irresistible, and Mac knew he hadn’t just counted the days or even the final hours. He’d waited his entire life for someone like
her
.

His mouth devoured her as his fingers grasped her skirt and quickly drew it up to her waist. Her hips pulsed into him as he found the light fabric of her panties. He dragged them down, over her curved hips, past her thighs and let them fall. Slowly but deliberately, he backed toward the couch. He sensed her stepping out of the panties and, as the back of his calves hit the cushion, he quickly unbuckled his belt, unzipped the fly, and released his straining member. The bed could wait. Their clothes could wait. But what couldn’t was the need to be with Isabelle.

• • • • •

As Mac sat down on the couch, Isabelle steadied herself, hands on his broad shoulders. She straddled his thighs as his hands firmly guided her hips forward. Breathing hard, her heart pounding in her chest, she tried not to rush. But it wasn’t just her body that ached for him. Until she’d seen him sitting on the landing, she hadn’t realized how low she’d been. Everything in her said how right it was to be with him,
especially
like this.

As she lowered herself, she felt the tip of his rigid flesh press at her entrance. She sucked in a quick breath and closed her eyes at the incredible sensation. Even though he’d barely nudged inside, a deep shudder vibrated up through her core. The warmth that had already flooded between her legs spread higher. Whether she slid down or he pushed up, Isabelle didn’t know, but as his hot shaft moved deeper, Isabelle gasped and widened her stance to take him in.

Inch by inch, he began to fill her. The sweet, familiar pressure began to build inside as his thickness spread her ever wider. His molten member rose higher as she bunched his jacket in her fists. Her thighs began to tremble as she struggled against her own resistant flesh, the tightness at her entrance, and her breath came in short, harsh gasps. Her downward glide faltered but, rather than push upward, Mac’s fingers found the button at the top of her blouse.

She tensed as his fingers grazed her skin and her nipples pushed hard against her bra. As the first button came undone, a coil of anticipation wound tighter in her abdomen. Mac’s fingers quickly moved to the second button and, as he unbuttoned it, her hips pulsed forward and, balancing on her toes, she slid a little lower. His penetration seared into her, the pressure rising, her blood pounding in her ears. Her blouse tugged across her breasts as Mac worked on the third button. Her nipples ached as the fabric teased them and as the third button finally let go, her entire body quivered in anticipation and a low moan escaped her lips. Mac made quick work of the rest of the buttons and spread her shirt open.

“Yes,” Mac hissed, as the shirt fell from her shoulders to her elbows.
 

He pushed the bra straps down but, rather than unfasten the clasp in back, he peeled the cups down her breasts and bared them.

Without warning, a deep pang erupted in her sweet spot. Her hips bucked violently, her feet slipped from the floor, and she sank down on him.

An anguished groan was ripped from her at the sharp penetration–a sensation that veered between pain and a pleasure so intense it took her breath away. Though the shock of it threatened to overwhelm her, her hips moved of their own accord. They ground out a circular rhythm, as her sweet spot panged again and she groaned. In answer, Mac’s hips gyrated with hers. She felt him move inside her, the fullness pushing at her walls, as he immediately matched her movements. In some primal rhythm that neither of them seemed to control, they quickly moved together.

He surged deeper into her, his hands gripping her hips now. The moist warmth of his labored breaths caressed the burning tips of her breasts. His fingers dug into her and kept their bodies connected. With every revolution, she crushed her sweet spot on him–scraping against the V of exposed flesh above his shaft. Round and round her pelvis circled, moved by his hips or moving him, she didn’t know. The only thing she knew was it couldn’t stop, moving faster with each gyration. Mac not only kept pace but his hips also began to thrust. Down his hips sank as she circled hers back. Up they thrust as she circled to the front. He lifted her with each upward plunge and she rubbed hard against him. She rode the hypnotic beat, as pleasure flowed into her sweet spot, ecstasy built in her mound, and tension wound tighter in her abdomen. Breathless and frenzied, her body was not hers to control. And just as their rhythm crescendoed and couldn’t go any higher, Mac’s hands found her breasts.

• • • • •

Mac could no longer resist the creamy, proffered flesh. It softly filled his palms, plumped beneath his fingers, and he squeezed.

“
Oh god,
” Isabelle groaned.

The voluptuous undulating of her body suddenly erupted into writhing. With their rhythm broken, his pelvis flew into a savage beat of its own. As he slammed upward, her shuddering body squirmed atop him. Her back arched as he drove upward only to curve wickedly forward as he released. His hands ravished her breasts, kneading and massaging, as she struggled to hold on to the sleeves of his jacket. He surged upward repeatedly, the speed of the strokes increasing even as their length shortened.

“Mac,” she gasped. “
Mac!
”

She thrashed on top of him. The heated core of her vibrated around him, tugged on his stiff flesh, stroked it and swelled it to the brink of torture.
 

Suddenly, her abdomen convulsed as a deep grunt flew from her lips and the center of her clamped down hard.
 

“Isabelle,” he hissed as his climax exploded inside her.

As her glistening body swayed and shuddered in his hands, he plunged over the crest with her and gave up control. His release came hot and fast, spewing upward in an incredible rush. He closed his eyes to the white heat of it and felt her climax spasm along his entire length. Wave after wild wave of crushing clenches bore down on him as his flesh leapt inside her. The convulsive release robbed him of air as his lungs refused to work. His breath caught with each constricting clench and she forced him to erupt again. He groaned loudly, jackknifing up under her, just as she pitched forward against his chest.

They both sucked in a convulsive lungful of air and, as he wrapped his arms around her, her abdomen spasmed yet again. Mac’s hips pulsed up under her in answer, his thighs easily lifting her along his chest. Her clench quickly ebbed as her arms tightened around his neck. Her entire body trembled with her release, her lungs heaving. Her breasts vibrated against his chest and his pelvis jumped back to life, pushing upward once more, before he was finally able to settle down. At last, an enormous rush of relief flooded through him and he hugged her tight.

Together they pulled in one harsh breath after another, Isabelle’s head resting against his shoulder, his hands pressed against her back. Minutes passed as their labored breathing eventually subsided and finally ended in shuddering gasps. Neither of them moved a muscle, until he rested his head on the edge of the couch, closed his eyes, and slowly smiled.

Though Mac had expressed misgivings about the high-crime Rampart district, Isabelle had insisted that the original Tommy burger was only original if it came from the first restaurant in the chain. Besides, it was a quick drive. And now that they had their burgers and stood at the narrow wooden shelf that served as the establishment’s table, Isabelle watched Mac polish off the last of the chili cheeseburger.

Normally, she’d grocery shop before Mac came into town but, with the surprise of his arrival, there’d been no time–and Isabelle wasn’t complaining.

The last rays of the evening sun gleamed off the high-rise towers of downtown to the east. Like watchful sentinels, their reflected, eye-watering stares dotted the city, catching unsuspecting motorists and maybe a few diners at Tommy’s.
 

“So, who was the woman in the Tercel?” Mac asked.

Isabelle was using a plastic fork to dip a french fry into the little, paper cup of catsup and paused.
 

“Tercel?”

“The red Toyota that dropped you off,” Mac said, dipping a fry and popping it into his mouth.

“Oh,
Yolanda
,” Isabelle said. “A psychic friend of mine.”

“A psychic
friend
,” he said, smiling. “I don’t think you’ve mentioned her before. Someone you met through…work?”

Isabelle frowned a little as it occurred to her how little she and Mac actually knew about each other. For a moment, she was reminded of Yolanda’s advice.

Psychics and non-psychics. They were from two different worlds.

“Something like that,” Isabelle said, setting down the fork.

“Have you known her long?”

Isabelle recounted her history with Yolanda, from that first day to the present. It hadn’t taken long since there really wasn’t that much to tell. All they really had in common was psychic ability.
 

“In a way,” Isabelle said. “We’re opposites. She sees the future and I see the past.” She paused for a second. “In fact, this morning, she offered to read my future.”

It was the tiniest of movements but Mac’s eyebrows went up for an instant and his smile dimmed. Now he stared down at the can of soda in his hand.