*Isadora*
Lying on the mound of blankets, I decide it has been long enough since my head had smashed against the bricks and that I can safely go to sleep, and yet sleep refuses to come to me, all because of him. Beast. Micah. Mic.
It is an odd thing to find myself aching for his touch when he had merely dabbed lightly at my scalp, skimmed a finger along my jaw and then held me briefly when I swayed. Still I feel as though the length of his hard body has imprinted itself into mine. Or at least the part of him that had rested against me. He is just so much more substantial than me. He stands at least a head and a half taller, and the breadth of him makes me feel incredibly petite.
If I still lived with my old pack, would our paths have ever crossed …other than a sighting at a wedding or o
