BRILLIANT SLIPS of golden morning sun filter into the sparkling kitchen of the Hiarton manor, highlighting on crystal gleaming surfaces. A huge island rests at the centre of the large room.
At the edge of this pristine island sits Arielle, in lavender shorts and a draping cotton shirt. The shirt is tied to a knot over her belly and milky white skin peeks out from below her navel. She stares bespectacled, straight ahead at the MacBook balanced on the island surface. She peeks closer and the cushioned stool bends slightly. Her brow furrows, and the curved brown hairs stretch beautifully.
There was still no word from her Investigative alliances.
She had earlier on notified her ex-SEAL of a bodyguard about the 'suspected tampering of her father's grave.' The man had gone into full detective mode almost instantly, and she is sure he'll get something.
All she has to do is wait.
But the Red.
Dear God!
It's a fucking nightmare. A weird, hot and drugging nightmare. His hands are possessive, strangling even. Yet she wants more. Wants him. With a feral desire that racks her bones, turning her into jelly.
The dreams will mortify a normal human. It's crimson hue and darkly intensity. The passion will singe their soul.
Her hands go to her neck, and she fingers her throbbing pulse. Her body turns flush as she remembers his touch.
His faceless mask.
She had clutched the red strip as she pushed her fingers deeper into her tightness, moaning as his toned form melded into the shadows. Her climax washed over her with a blinding brilliance and she shivered and moaned as dark images of him spun through her mind.
Eventually, she had gone lax, leaning into the watery depths of the claw-foot tub as she freed the crimson strip from her tight grasp. Her wolf had whimpered. Actually whimpered. Yes, it was that good.
She smiles into the screen as she recounts her sultry bathroom ménage with the invisible hotness.
Padded footsteps echo into the kitchen and seconds later, Fallon appears. Arielle quickly hits a key and the entire display of various red cloths and their meanings disappear.
"Morning!" Fallon offers, her lips twitching.
Her eyes go over Arielle's bare legs and she swallows.
Arielle sees all this of course, including the dilation of her blood vessels as heat spreads through her in response to the released hormones.
"Morning," she replies.
Fallon hesitates a little, peering into her eyes.
"Michael.... Michael said you're leaving," she says. "Are you?"
"Yes," Arielle calmly replies.
"I'm coming too," Fallon states a second later.
"No. You're not."
"No?"
Fallon walks over to the kitchen island and peers deeply into Arielle's ocean eyes.
"I'm coming," she states blandly.
"You can't, Fall. This is different," Arielle says, standing up. She's barely moved two steps when Fallon pushes back on her until her ass hits the island's edge. Fallon meets her eyes and she looks away.
"No, Fallon. You can't come."
Fallon places a manicured finger on her chin and inclines her eyes to hers'. A moment passes, and some unfathomable speech passes between them but it's clear the deadly attraction pulsing between them.
Fallon's eyes take a shimmery sheen.
"I love you, Arielle. Please, don't let go," she whispers.
A second later, their mouths crash into each other passionately. Fallon grabs Arielle and angles her head, deepening the kiss. Arielle moans into her and she lights afire.
Her hands disappear under Arielle's shirt and she runs her palm over her ample flesh. Fallon whimpers, squeezing down. She pulls a nipple and Arielle breaks the kiss. Her head falls back and the glasses come off. Fallon sucks down on her neck, her hand snaking down into Arielle's shorts. Her eyes start to glow bright-green in passion when the MacBook dings.
A bluish tinge dots the screen with a notification. Her superior eyesight brings the words nearer.
It reads; MATCH FOUND FOR CRIMSON STRIP.