Isabelle only wished she'd had the presence of mind to actually scratch something meaningful onto his back. A Mark, or her name, or even just a heart. But as it was, he was just getting some nice red lines and the sting that came with them.

And once he was squeezing her breast, she didn't care, either. Her nipples had hardened and her breasts were sensitive and she hissed some very dirty curses under her panting breath. But she was also looking up at him. She wanted this in her memory, the sight of him when he was focusing on nothing but her.

The look she was giving him was love and lust in about equal measure.