Entry tags:

hades, persephone

i want your love, i want your revenge
Who: Obed & Isobel.
What: Isobel gets her memory back.
Where: 104, then D3.
When: A day or two following this.

The dream had Isobel waking in a cold sweat in the apartment that had never really felt like hers since her memory had been wiped clean. She'd talked herself down, reminding herself that it was just a dream in the end, but sleep had eluded her for the rest of the night.

She'd gone through the motions required of her life otherwise; work, Hanni's needs, keeping her living space in order. Nothing that needed much thought or effort, which gave her plenty of room to worry over the dream. It seemed like it had ripped a hole in her mind; other memories, her memories were leaking back. By the time she'd finished another day and found herself seated on the couch, Hanni curled up in her arms as she read a book, there was so much that she was suddenly trying to juggle along with the idea that all of these thoughts were foreign.

When she found her eyes closing, the book in her hand drooping nearly to the floor, she let sleep roll over her and carry her off into the dark. Isobel found herself moving around in her own mind, where she felt like she was tripping over boxes of files and photos that were just that much out of reach inside her mental periphery.

"Persephone?" Isobel tested the word, a notch above a whisper and still well below a yell. She knelt, picking the lid off one mental box, sifting through neatly ordered memories. "Persephone," she tried, this time louder. She could feel something moving in the dark, awakening to her summons. "I want to talk."

Isobel rose to her feet, the box lid still in hand like a makeshift shield as she felt the woman approach. Clad in blue, with her face half in shadow, Persephone smiled to see her vessel again.

"Hello again, Isobel."

Isobel found herself smiling in return, set at ease in the deity's presence. She still didn't quite understand what all of this was, or what it meant, or even how it had happened, but there was a more pressing concern that she knew Persephone was capable of helping her with.

"I think it's time," she said, an unspoken understanding threading between the two.

Persephone canted her head, studying Isobel for a moment before taking a few slow steps forward. Isobel winced as the other woman raised her hand toward her face, cupping a cheek. Slowly, Persephone's smile widened, and she nodded.

"I think it is, too. Now," she cautioned, her grip growing a little firmer as a thumb traced over a cheek, "this might hurt."

"What—" Isobel's question was cut short as her mind seemed to explode with stars. Everything she'd forgotten, from the things Bryan had done in the past up until the present, to all the mental wounds she'd laid on herself in the wake of trying to understand Obed, and all that lay in between, came rushing back. Isobel felt her knees go weak, but Persephone caught her as she slouched forward, her mental self suddenly unconscious.

Isobel woke with a start, the second time in almost as many days, sending Hanni flying from the couch in surprise. She looked down to the little dog, her memory of how he'd come to be in her life and all that was associated clear in the warm gaze she settled on the animal.

"Hi, baby," she cooed, bending down to gather him up. Hanni all but jumped into her arms, nuzzling her head in familiarity as he seemed to sense a change in her. Isobel sat, getting her bearings; her head felt heavy, like a water balloon, and she needed time to orient herself. The apartment around her helped, but it felt hollow. Empty. She knew why she'd removed herself to it, but rather than chastise herself for a poor decision made under stress, she accepted it for what it was in order to move forward.

Carefully, Isobel rose to her feet and made for the front door. She plucked keys from their spot on the wall, hanging near the door; she shuffled Hanni to one arm, tucking him into her side.

"Are you ready to go get daddy?" she asked him, before reaching for the doorknob.

---

Isobel paused for a moment outside of D3; with Hanni wriggling against one arm, she raised the hand holding the keys to knock knuckles against the entry way's exterior, before remembering she still had a key that Obed had never asked for upon her moving out. She licked her lips, considering the option for a moment; a glance at Hanni stilled her resolve and she opened the door of her own volition, letting herself into the space that had not too long before been hers.

Shutting the door quietly behind her, she dropped Hanni to the floor; before she could curtail him, though, he sped off, out from behind the partition that hid the front door from the rest of the apartment. Isobel winced, but then followed, wondering how far she'd have to venture to find Obed. He wasn't in the living room or dining area, all of which had the lights turned off. Curtains were drawn, letting only small beams of light through into the dark interior. Hanni's claws rapped noisily throughout the space; Isobel made an attempt to shush him, trying to decide if she wanted to turn the lights on so she could better nab him from ruining her surprise, but then she heard him going off down the hallway toward Obed's office; the only place with lights on.

Small and soft though they were, the sounds roused Obed from his work. The sound of a laptop carefully closing carried out to Isobel, followed immediately by his pleased exclamation.

"What are you doing here, little man?" Obed rose, his chair rolling backward from his paper-strewn desk. He leaned down and picked Hanni up, holding him close to his chest in spite of the black fur that immediately clung to his dress clothes. He petted the pom's head, rubbing at one ear, and looked up as Isobel strode in.

"Isobel…" He paused, blinking at her, uncertain what to say. "This is unexpected. Is everything all right?"

She paused halfway through the door, a hand on the knob to hold back what Hanni had knocked forward. Her mouth curved, eyes lighting at the sight of him; it was a completely different look than the ones she'd had previously, that said she did not know this man. After a moment, she realized she was staring. Isobel ducked her head.

"Yeah," she replied, pushing the door wider so she could take another step into the room. "I'm... I'm actually a lot better." Realization that she'd all but ran upstairs and barged in settled on her shoulders, making her self-conscious. She pushed through it, focused on what she'd come upstairs to do. With careful steps, she moved across the sedate but still grandiose interior of his office, one hand reaching out to a corner of his chair. "I just... I'd say I'm sorry to be interrupting you, except I'm not. I needed to tell you that... that I remember."

Obed was smiling before he realized he was doing so. Carefully he leaned down and placed Hanni on the floor; in straightening up, he schooled his face back into something less boyishly obvious. He moved closer to her, reaching out to brush gentle fingers down her arms.

"Everything? You…" His tongue flicked out to wet his lips. He hesitated now, fearful of learning this was all some cruel joke. The expression on her face showed it was not, and still some foolish part of him could not help but be afraid. "How? What happened? How are you feeling now?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, I should let you get your bearings, but I'm just…" He took her hand, squeezing it tight. "What can I do?"

Isobel shook her head, her hands rising to settle on his chest; for a moment, her fingers plucked at his shirt, the cool feeling of him beneath her palms.

"No, it's fine, I..." Her head tilted up to his. "You don't have to do anything. I... I asked her. I told her I was ready, and she... I mean Persephone." She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head again as though to rattle her thoughts into place. "Maybe we should sit down." She didn't wait for his agreement or permission, instead stepping back with their fingers still entwined. With the familiarity of one who had intimate knowledge of the apartment, she pulled Obed back toward their bedroom. Dropping his hand, she rubbed her face as she walked toward the bed's edge, plopping down atop it. He reached back out to her as soon as they'd sat, unwilling to lose that familiar touch now that he had at long last regained it; his hand rested just beside her thigh, ready for her to take when she saw fit.

"I had a dream, the other night; Hades and Persephone, after he'd... Kidnapping isn't really the word, is it?" Her hands fell into her lap as she looked back at Obed, unable to keep from smiling wide at the simple sight of him. She felt like he'd been gone for much longer than her memory had been missing. "And things just started coming back to me. So I asked her."

Obed blinked again, as though clearing fog from his vision. This speaking of Persephone as though she was someone else entirely felt utterly bizarre, and yet Obed knew it to be true. His own experiences with Persephone had taught him as much; few though they had been, they had made an impression he could not downplay. He shook his head, not fully understanding, and having far more questions to ask than he knew how to put to words.

"And she just… cooperated? I… that surprises me, given how thoroughly and quickly she took them from you to begin with." Worry shone in his eyes; he tried to tamp it down, but she could read it easily. "Are you sure this is for good? And even if it is, is it what you want?"

She nodded, her smile unerring; she reached back out for his hand without hesitation. "It is, Obed, I... I know that now. I know... I made a mistake. With you, with us." Her fingers squeezed his, sliding between each digit for a tighter hold. He shook his head, ready to disagree, but let her continue uninterrupted. "You were so good with me, even when I didn't know you. You helped me." Her other hand settled on his, sliding over his wrist so her fingers lay against his pulse.

"I think she realized I was ready to handle all of it. That I'd had the time I needed to understand things, to know what it is I want. And that's you, that's our life together. I know this is all sudden, I know it seems strange..." Her hands moved away from his, reaching for his face like Persephone had in her dream. Palms cupped his cheeks, thumbs moving over the familiar lines.

"I swear this isn't a trick. This is real, this is me. I'm sorry that I lied to you, before. I swear I'll never do it again. I want to use this second chance she gave us."

Obed's hands raised, his cool fingers circling her wrists. He kept her touch close to him, felt the warmth of her against his stubbled cheeks. He did not hesitate now; he had already waited far too long to tell her so many things.

"Of course," he said, his voice hoarse and rough with unfamiliar emotion. "Of course, Isobel. I love you. I'm sorry I kept things from you. I'm sorry I wasn't… what you needed, or even sure how to ask what you needed." He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her fingertips, breathing her in like a drowning man searching for air. The shadows gathered beneath his eyes felt lighter; the ache in his shoulders seemed less burdensome. He laughed, a mirthless sound. "I"m not very good at this. But I love you, and I'm going to keep trying. For as long as it takes. I promise."

Her smile reflected his emotions, tinged with some regret for what had happened between them. Her fingers played over his face as she replied.

"I don't think either of us are very good at this," she said. "But at least we're through that? I'll help you, and you help me, and we can figure this out. Because all I want is you." Isobel tugged Obed's head forward, setting her forehead against his. He was as unnaturally cool as ever, but it was a familiar and comfortable feeling for her.

"There's just one other thing we have to deal with," she continued, her voice lower. The smile on her lips dissipated completely. "Bryan."

One single word, and Obed's face became a stony mask. His anger over Bryan had been long in the building. In his well-intentioned desire to allow Isobel her independence he had stepped too far back, had given Bryan too much rein. He kissed the tip of her nose, and nodded against her forehead.

"We will," he said. "This time for good. Tell me how to help."

Isobel sighed, pulling back. Her hands dropped away from his face, coming to rest on his side and leg where she was now seated flush against him.

"I don't... I don't know what to do, exactly. The police aren't helping, obviously, and..." She shook her head, one hand rising to tuck hair behind her ear. Her eyes rose from being cast down toward his shape and the bed to study his face. "Do you think you can find him? After... After everything I saw on the internet, the things people said..."

His lips drew to a thin, pale line. She paused, the same hand as before moving forward to rest against his neck; she could feel his pulse beneath her palm. "I don't care what they say. That's not the man I know. But if you have a way to find him, before he finds us, again, that...would be a real advantage."

At once Obed's thoughts went to Carver. He had kept his right-hand man busy of late, too busy to ask questions or pry where he wasn't wanted. Now, with one issue set to rights and a new one on the horizon, it seemed an opportune time to call his friend back home. And even outside of Carver's help, the rumors swirling on the internet were not entirely untrue; Obed had no shortage of less savory backup options at his disposal, and this situation provided ample reason to make use of them. He met her eyes and gave one single, curt nod.

"I'll find him," he said. "And when I do… what then?"

The look on his face said far more than his words. In that moment she could have asked of him anything at all, and he surely would have provided.

Her gaze was equally level with his own, but for the first time in this new encounter, she felt unsettled. Isobel shook her head; her hand fell back to picking at the side of his shirt, a finger curled inside a belt loop as if to hold him close.

"I don't know," she said, softly. "I hadn't... I haven't thought that far. I just... I just remembered everything," she added, the side of her mouth quirking in a half smirk. "I think finding him, knowing where he is—that's a good start. And we can plan something, after that." It was something better taken a step at a time, she decided in that moment. She changed tack, scooting close enough to him to put her head back on his shoulder.

"Would it be all right, if I stayed here tonight? I could stay on the couch, or... I don't want to impose, or make you feel like I'm jerking you around, but I feel better here. With you."

He nodded, her hair sliding soft against his cheek. "I'd like that," he said. "You take the bed. If you like I can use the couch or stay in my office. There's always work to be done." And more now, he thought, eager to begin his hunt for Bryan. Already he had no shortage of ideas regarding how to deal with his quarry; but time would grant them perspective, and ultimately the decision was hers and hers alone. His arm slipped around her shoulders, protective, and pulled her closer still.

"That's completely the opposite of what I said," she chided with some amusement, her arms sliding a little tighter around his middle. He still felt cold, even this close, but with her ear pressed close to his torso, she could hear the rhythmic and familiar beating of his heart. "And you work too much, anyway," she continued, pulling back to look him in the face. "You look exhausted, Obed. You need more sleep, and you're not going to get that on the couch." A tentative tongue moved over her lips, her eyes drifting down before she pressed her mouth to his.

After a moment, she pressed him down to the bed, rolling as best she could atop him. What few objections he had were fleeting, and disappeared altogether beneath the touch of her tongue. He hesitated only an instant. Then his hands raised to her hips, holding her so gingerly she could barely feel his hands at all. Every move he made was a question: his slight shift beneath her, the subtle parting of his legs, the roll of his shoulders as he settled deeper into the mattress below them. He opened his mouth to her, letting her take what she wanted.

How quickly the thoughts of their problems disappeared; Bryan was nothing more than a distant memory as Obed felt her tongue on his. It had been months since he had touched her so, and now every ounce of his attention was devoted to relearning her, remembering all those distant intimacies he had missed more than he could ever admit aloud. His hands pressed more firmly on her hips. He pulled her closer, fitting her body to his own.

His momentary hesitancy made her wonder if she'd stepped too far, but then he seemed to answer his own unspoken question; Isobel pressed her lips harder on his, her tongue running along the seam of his mouth and then inside as she groaned into him from the simple but long lost feeling of his touch. Her legs straddled his hips, her hands knotted in his hair for a moment as everything felt suddenly set to rights.

Then, with some unwillingness, she disentangled herself and pulled back, sitting atop him as her hands moved down his chest. She already found herself panting lightly, her chest rising and contracting from sheer excitement. Isobel swallowed a draught of air, trying to calm herself, but when she spoke next, that same excitement sent a shiver of anticipation through her voice.

"Is the briefcase where I left it?"

Obed's body responded before he could find any words. He might have felt embarrassed at the skip in his pulse, but it was a sensation he had missed too much to feel anything but pleasure at its return. His hands moved down her thighs, fingers splayed, his nails scratching at her, his eyes following the path his hands had made. She slithered away from him, leaving him lying on the bed; her smile was like a quickly distant moon retreating into the distance. He raised himself up onto the blades of his arms, propped where he could see her as she retrieved the case.

It was indeed where it had last been placed, in a shelf in the adjoining bathroom to their once-shared bedroom. Isobel used a towel to clean it of a thin covering of dust, and then carried it back to where Obed waited.

Setting it down on the bed, she popped the locks on either side of the handle, but did not immediately open it. Instead, she moved slowly from her bent over position, studying him, until she was straight again. Then the lid came up, her hands moving of their own volition in gestures that were long remembered. She pulled the riding crop out first.

The head of it traced a path from Obed's knee to his thigh, where it made a small but electric snap against his still-clothed flesh. Isobel smirked. "Up."

Again he responded without hesitation. He rose from the bed, a gleam in his eyes, an answering smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. He kept his hands at his sides, though he desperately wanted to touch her, to bring her close to him once more. Careless, he let his hands clench to fists in response to this, until his nails bit into his palms and he realized what he was doing.

He watched her, still silent, and risked a single small step toward her. She moved toward him as well, but it was not to allow him to complete his clearly telegraphed intent—instead the crop came up to land its leather tongue on the edge of Obed's chin, sliding down to press firmly against his Adam's apple. The motion forced his head back and up, giving clear instruction as to just who was in control of the situation.

Isobel held the crop in place for a moment, waiting for Obed to relax. Then, keeping the crop pressed tightly to Obed's flesh, she traced a slow and careful path down to his shirt, which she toyed with by turning the crop on its side, allowing the leather tongue's bend to catch on each button of his neatly-pressed clothing.

"Off," she said, the crop making its way from his chest to his stomach, at the ready to reprimand him again if he attempted to do anything outside of her commands.

His little smirk was gone. What replaced it was something that, to anyone but her, would have been unreadable. Only she could see the want the thin line of his lips worked to contain, the anticipation his staunchly squared shoulders gave away. Steady fingers moved to the top button of his shirt. He worked his way down, following the path her crop had drawn, unfastening each button with slow deliberation. His head did not lower from where she had directed it; he only watched her, awaiting her next command, as his dress shirt fell open and slid to the floor. A thin white undershirt bared his shoulders and arms. He stripped this off as well, and dropped it alongside finely pressed black cloth.

Familiar brown eyes watched the discarding of those two simple items of clothing; her gaze dragged itself up the same path that her crop had traveled only moments before, following a thin line of hair that stopped at his navel, the gentle rise and fall of his stomach turning into abs turning into his chest. Crop by her side, Isobel slowly and deliberately closed the distance between them; she looked anything but a dominatrix in the simple white shirt and black pajama bottoms she was wearing, but there was a shift in the way she carried herself. She passed the crop from one hand to the other as she came parallel to him but facing the opposite direction; her now emptied hand came to press on his naked stomach, fingers skimming his waistband from hip to center.

Instead of plunging below, they curved inward, driving nails into the blank canvas of his pale skin. He sucked in a hard breath. She drew four equidistant, raised lines diagonally across his stomach, then across his chest; one drew blood, the red a pin prick that was almost barely noticeable had he not been so pale. It welled, and then began to drip a slow but steady line over one nipple. Isobel leaned in, her mouth hovering over his shoulder, hair cascading down to cover her face. Then the crop drew up his backside, and he started, one quick lashing leaving a long, angry streak that disappeared all too quickly for her liking. The hand that had started carving up his front moved down, looping an index finger through a belt loop.

"Off." She stayed close, close enough to touch; even through the fall of her hair, her gaze was on his face, her mouth smirking, watching the rioting desire he attempted to cap play itself out plainly to her glittering eyes.

Obed hesitated, then, but only for a moment. He thumbed the button of his trousers open, using that motion to conceal the slight tremor in his hands. The soft drip of blood caressed his nipple, teasing it to a peak; he ignored this, focusing only on her face, and on the small motions required to leave him bared before her. He shucked trousers and underwear in a single motion. They pooled at his feet, but he dared not step away from them. He did, however, risk one foolish thing: His fingers flexed, stretching out toward the thin cloth covering her thigh. He felt her warmth beneath it, felt the familiar, taut muscle of her body, and again his own stirred in response.

He let his hand fall back to his side. His face betrayed the pleasure he felt at contemplating his punishment for this small liberty; his eyes met hers, satisfaction gleaming brightly in their cold blue depths.

Her smirk chided him as small, incremental shakes of her head acknowledging his trespass but showing she found it funny instead of offensive. Isobel took a step back and raised the crop, bringing the longer strip of it across his knuckles like a nun might a naughty schoolboy at a Catholic school. He sucked in a sharp, hissing breath, flexing his hand to try to lessen the sting.

She moved back again, this time circling around his back to the other side. The crop reached out, brushing the backs of his knees.

"Down."

Small hairs raised on his arms at the soft touch of that crop. He knelt as she bid, still facing stalwartly forward. He could hardly resist a few sidelong glances at her, but slowly he was getting accustomed to his role in this game, and taking it more seriously than perhaps he had at first. He rocked back onto his heels, his palms flat against his bare thighs. It was this that made him feel most naked, most vulnerable before her, and he found that in spite of the warmth he felt rising to his face, he did not mind the sensation in the least. He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, but there was none; only this servile position, and the heightened awareness of his flushed arousal.

Isobel finished her circle, bringing herself back in front of him. The crop switched hands, allowing her dominant right to reach out and cup his chin, tilting his head back.

"You're not to worry about anything except pleasing me; understand?" Her fingers held his jaw carefully; less like something she did not wish to deign to touch, but more like a prized possession that should be handled with care. Her palm pressed under his chin, allowing her thumb to trace the outline of a cheekbone. Her mouth smiled along with the gesture, the expression softer than before. "I want you to be so tired out at the end that you sleep without dreams."

He smiled at that; it was impossible to do otherwise. He tipped his head into her touch but her hand fell away, and the crop came between two hands as she paused above him. Then she stepped back, putting the crop down on the bed as she removed two other items from the briefcase—a blindfold, and a pair of handcuffs. The latter was done quickly, his hands locked behind his back. The other Isobel took her time with, splaying the elastic band out wide between her hands as she let his eyes watch the slow descent of his loss of sight.

Hands lingered on the side of his head for a bare moment, and then he was bereft of even that. Still, she lingered close enough that the sensation of her presence was nearly overwhelming. Then, she stepped away, saying she wanted him to follow; the sound of feet pressing carpet, finding the few spots that creaked. Cloth sliding over skin, the sound of a form pressing to a bed.

"Come here, Obed."

She had not commanded him to rise, and so he didn't. He leaned down as best he could, working hard to keep himself balanced and aloft without the benefit of his hands. He could not see her path, but he had heard it, and he remembered it well enough. And if he focused hard enough, he could at times smell the faintly floral, subtly earthy scent of her. He shuffled forward slowly, his knees scratching against the hardwood, carefully following the way she had led. He felt rather than saw the bed rapidly approaching; he raised himself up only then, standing only to return to his knees on the bed.

The mattress creaked and sank beneath his weight. He moved forward, but on the softer surface he found himself wobbling unsteadily. He pitched forward, and only just righted himself before falling onto her. He allowed himself a nervous laugh. Then he lowered himself, slower and more controlled than before, and pressed his mouth to the soft arc of her calf. Isobel had started up, almost sitting, when Obed nearly fell, but the sound of his timid amusement reassured her that he was fine. She didn't want the game to go too far, for him to not enjoy himself; it would miss the point entirely. Teeth sank into one side of her bottom lip as she smiled at the sensation of his mouth on her skin.

A hand groped for the crop she'd left on the bed, and she leaned back on her elbows for a moment, reaching forward with one hand to draw an outline along his shoulders.

"I said, come here," she repeated, striking him between the shoulder blades once. The hand holding the crop went to the back of his head, grabbing his hair to semi-gently lead him up. He could not suppress his answering groan. "I want your mouth where it belongs."

Whatever arousal he had felt before was nothing in comparison to this. With her hand in his hair he allowed himself to lean farther down to her; his stomach taut, he held himself as steady as he could, praying he would not fall for good this time. His body strained, but he remained bowed tightly above her, and in short order his mouth found the apex of her thighs. His lips parted on her, his tongue tracing the soft lines of her body. Gently he pressed his tongue into her, lapping at the sweet, slick heat he found there. Isobel moaned as he set to work, her legs pressing down into the comforter to level herself up toward his mouth.

Some part of him wished he could see her as he mapped out her body with teeth and tongue. The rest thrilled at the darkness around him, the uncertainty that came with every small move she made. Anticipation raised the short hairs at his nape; it pushed him onward, made him move on her with an ever growing hunger. Her fingers drew tighter in his hair, the hard shaft of the crop pressed into the back of his head. It and she shivered with each caress, her hips gyrating upward toward everything he was doing.

"Over... up more... Oh God, yes, right there." Her instructions were the same as every other command; soft but forceful, and her hand loosened enough to pull back, drawing nails down over his scalp. Leaning back on an elbow, she petted him, her head held up to watch his movements. "Make me come, Obed; prove to me that you're going to be better to me, this time. You have to earn it."

He leaned into her, pressing more firmly, nuzzling into her as she guided him to the center of her pleasure. His tongue delved deeper. He sucked harder at sensitive skin. His actions said more than his words ever could; each pass of his tongue, each scratch of his stubbled chin against her flesh spoke plainly how he felt about her. He leaned forward too hard; he felt his balance teetering, and this time he simply accepted it. He buried his face between her legs, her body the only thing holding him remotely upright. And still his tongue worked, greedily bringing her to the cusp she craved.

A few minutes more, and that cusp came quickly; Isobel's head tilted back, then forward as she fought mixed feelings to let her body go and the desire to watch Obed at his work. She bit her lip as a moan dribbled out of her, following the dark pleasure that slowly waved out from her groin to the rest of her body; what was more, a second orgasm followed quickly on the heels of the first, laying her out flat on the bed. The feeling overwhelmed her completely, her form writhing under Obed's singular but intense touch. Her fingers curled in his hair again, holding him and his mouth fast against her until the waves were slowly receding.

She came back up on elbows, hands on Obed's shoulders to draw him forward. "You get a treat for that," she murmured, her voice not quite her own. As he moved with careful, hobbled steps, she scooted down, aligning their bodies. Her mouth caught his, tasting the salty flavor of her own vulva. A hand broke away from his shoulder, traveling down, finding him already achingly hard. For a moment, she turned away from him, groping for the briefcase and a condom; even with her mind spun out, she had no desire to repeat the events that had brought them down this long and winding road in the first place. Once that last item was in place, she pulled Obed down on top of her and placed him just before her entrance. The crop passed over his buttocks, a quiet promise of what still lingered.

He found it more than enough encouragement. With her hand on him, guided by the shape of her and the press of the crop of his backside, he pushed slowly into her. He pressed his mouth to the column of her throat, slick lips kissing a path down her skin as she took him fully in. He groaned aloud, trembling with exertion and overwhelming need. Still bound and increasingly exhausted, it took a concerted effort for him to find his rhythm at all, let alone to keep that pace. But he managed, goaded on by the softness of her body around him, the close, tight warmth he had missed for so long. Isobel gave him further encouragement, bringing the handle of the crop down across his backside.

A few slow, deep strokes and he seemed to find his balance. His lips and teeth remained at her clavicle, kissing her sharply, drinking in her sweat-damp skin. He sighed her name as he pushed back into her, his pace quickening, and a shudder raced down his spine. Isobel pressed her legs wide, her own hips moving against his, following the tight, quick movements he managed to eke out. She struck him across his lower back and butt as he drove deeply into her, shuddering moans underlining her own pleasure.

"Do you want to come?" It was less of a question, but the breathy quality of her voice, words strained to be spoken as her body spit out garbled words, twisted the statement. "Beg for it, Obed; use that mouth for what it's good for." She struck him again, shivers running up and down her back as she felt herself cresting a third time; almost there, but not quite.

His broken groan was muffled against her skin, vibrating through her as he drove into her again and again. Somehow he found his breath long enough to gasp out an answer. "Please, Isobel." He shuddered. His body arched, mindless, to the touch of the crop. As she struck him again, he cried out in pleasure-tinged pain. It took him a moment to form a full sentence, and even when it came it was broken up into hoarse, halting syllables. "Please may I come?"

She felt herself unable to hold back, from either her own orgasm and from bringing their game to an end. She nodded, her words on the heels of that motion.

"Yes, God, yes," she said, her arms coming to wrap around him as her legs bound his hips. Her own orgasm rolled over her, bowing her spine. Her mouth moved closer to his ear, and filled it with sounds of her own pleasure along with more encouragement, more urgings to take what he'd earned. "I want you to come, Obed, come in me, now."

A heavy shudder raced down his spine. He bowed sharply against her as he came, crying out, unabashed, against her cheek. Her voice echoed in his ears, pushing him all the higher even as his orgasm crested and passed. He trembled, slumping against her, held up only by the tight circle of her body. He kissed whatever skin was in reach, tasting sweat and lust on her sweet, soft skin. "I love you," he panted, his body quaking once more. He stayed buried deep within her, unwilling to leave even as his wrists and shoulders and his still-tensed abdomen begged for relief. He sucked in a deep breath, quivering still.

He nuzzled into her, his knees at last giving way. His head turned, his cheek coming to rest at her chest. "Thank you, Isobel. Thank you."

She cradled him, her face tucked into his; her hands found the restraints around his wrists, plucking at the chain binding him.

"I love you," she whispered back, the words small and fragile and for his ears alone. She held him tight for a few moments, feeling every muscle straining to hold himself; she did not want to be the one to disentangle them, but the point of the exercise was to exhaust him, not bind him permanently. Gently, she turned him on his side, pulling his member from within her, and moved her hands to remove the blindfold from his eyes.

"Hello," she cooed, brushing his nose with her lips. He smiled softly, tipping his head shamelessly toward her. "One sec, OK?" Isobel moved quickly, sliding across the bed for the key to the handcuffs. They were removed as quickly as they'd been put on him, and Isobel set them with the key still embedded in the lock on the nightstand. All her attention was turned back to him, a veil of concern set over her face. "Are you all right? Do you feel OK?" She slid back down next to him, her hands going tentatively to his waist and chest.

"Mmhm."

He wriggled closer to her on the bed, too tired to play at elegance or disinterest. He slipped the condom free and dropped it to the floor. Then his hands found her shoulder, her hip, and pulled her nearer to him. They were both slick from their exertions, but he only wanted her closer; he kissed her softly, letting her feel the fullness and sincerity of his smile. She displayed no hesitance in returning the gesture, her mouth still curved even after he pulled away. Isobel pressed her forehead to his, tucked next to him on the bed.


"I've missed you," he said. "I've missed this. I…" He sighed, and tucked her head into the column of his throat; she nuzzled happily into his still-cold skin. "It's good to have you home."

"It's good to be home," she agreed, her own eyes slipping closed. Any other thought of Bryan or of the other things they still had yet to face evaporated completely from her mind, instead happily wrapped in the safe familiarity of his arms. Isobel held back falling asleep until she heard his own level breathing slow, the beating of his heart in her ear soften. Smiling once again, she pressed her nose into his skin and drifted off to the scent of him, and wanting nothing more.