Isabelle's Awakening Ch. 06

Author's note:

Hello Readers,

I'm so pleased you're back to read the final, final installment of Isabelle's Awakening. This is my last submission to Literotica due to a desire to try my hand at self-publishing. However, I felt I owed my loyal readers one more round of Isabelle and Dillon before moving on. Thank you all for the love, feedback, and support you have shown since I began writing here so many years ago. Enjoy!

Jp Grace

**********

Isabelle sat at the kitchen table wrapped in her robe and glared at the website in frustration. Dillon's eyes mocked her from his picture. It wasn't fair. She was stronger than this. Unfortunately, she could only lie to herself for so long and staying glued to her laptop hoping he would contact her didn't do much to dispel that lie.

She snapped the lid closed with a decisive click. Enough torture for one day, it was time to get a move on.

Sipping her coffee, she tried to focus her attention on her schedule but it was pointless, her mind kept returning to Dillon and last night's dream. She was still shaken from the rapacious nature of their shared nightly sojourns. His presence in her bed and mind were impossible to ignore.

But it was silly of her to wish for contact now when she had been the one to run away six months ago.

Jesus, she had never experienced anything like that before and wasn't sure she wanted to again. No, that wasn't true; she did, but icy talons of fear held her in their terrible grasp.

Being with Dillon was terrifying and exhilarating. But what would it cost her? She had sold her soul for what she thought was love before and look how well that had turned out; separated from her husband and on the road to a divorce they had both agreed to. Her kids, when they deigned to visit, refused to spend more than a day or two at her new house. What time they were here was spent trying their best to avoid her or yelling at her. Not that she blamed them. She deserved their anger. Anger, however, wasn't going to heal their family.

Her husband felt differently. She had told him what happened and he had immediately and loudly asked her to leave their home. The guilt kept her from fighting for him or their marriage. Besides, she knew it was over. How could she ever be with him after Dillon? The answer was she couldn't and it wouldn't be fair to pretend otherwise.

Now she was alone for the first time in her life except for her German Shepherd, Lacy. Strangely, she didn't mind it, but she missed her family desperately. She missed the hugs of her children, the sloppy piles of dirty clothes, dishes in the sink, and the accompanying noises that came with a full house.

Needing an outlet, she filled her time with work. Since her only skills had been heavy in the mother department and light on actual outside work experience, she had decided to offer her services as a sort of helpmate to anyone who would pay her a decent hourly rate.

She had tacked up flyers at all the local grocery stores, laundry mats, senior centers, and community centers she could find, often coming home sweaty and exhausted. At long last, her efforts were starting to pay off.

Within a week the calls had started. At first, it seemed as if they were only curious, but then she got a few jobs, then a few more each subsequent week until she had no choice but to hire an assistant.

Francine, a young retiree, worked two days a week and was as sweet as they came. Their older customers loved her and frequently requested her for jobs. Isabelle understood their affection, as Francine was a fantastic cook with a warm, generous heart who often brought samples of her labors in the kitchen to Isabelle and their clients.

Since the work she performed was relatively simple, she had no need for a formal office space and had adopted a battered dining room table as her base of operations. Some customers wanted meals prepared, others wanted their laundry washed and folded. Older customers tended to need the most care but mostly wanted the companionship she and Francine offered. She ran errands, went grocery shopping and picked up after people. It was what she had always known, except now the family she picked up after was a hodgepodge of customers, her lone employee, and Lacy.

Still, she didn't regret it. Of course she regretted the pain she had caused her family but somehow, someway, she knew she would have been in this very same place at this very same time regardless of whether Dillon had entered her life or not. Maybe her intuition was stronger since "linking" with Dillon but her gut told her it was true. She wished she could have done it differently and spared her kids and husband pain, but it couldn't be changed. All she could do was move forward and hope they would forgive her in time. Judging by their non-existent relationship as it stood right now, it was going to take a long time.

When not absorbed with work, she was obsessed with learning all she could about telepathy, specifically, how to stop it. After reading page after page of dry research papers, she still wasn't sure that was what she and Dillon shared, especially since six months had passed and she hadn't felt or heard any thoughts in her head except her own. If it wasn't for the dreams that haunted her every night, she could almost believe none of it had happened.

God, the dreams. Every night he appeared in her dreams and she was powerless to stop it. It was stalking at its worst and best. Escape wasn't possible. Hiding physically was easy in comparison to hiding her mind from a man who could reach her at all times if she wasn't guarding against it. And at night her mind escaped the restraints she put on it during the daylight hours and roamed freely.

Some nights the dreams were innocent, a silken caress on the cheek, a soft kiss placed just so at the side of her mouth; other times they were violent in their obsession and need. The dreams were also his way of marking her as his. That much she knew. There was no mistaking the decidedly avaricious nature of his thoughts during the night. Most of the time she woke tangled in the sheets, her skin slicked with sweat, and Dillon firmly in her head.

No distinct thoughts presented themselves though, just hunger so thick it coursed through her veins like old motor oil, slow to clear and harder still to get rid of. Not that she cared if he no longer talked to her via their thoughts, she didn't. It was just odd the connection they had had vanished like a puff of smoke the minute she walked away. Was their connection only viable when in close proximity? She had no clear way to test that theory as she had no clue where Dillon was and his website hadn't offered any clues. She wasn't sure if he was two miles away or a thousand.

Looking back, it all seemed rather ridiculous. They had communicated without speaking....with their minds for crying out loud! Isabelle shook her head. It seemed so surreal. She had spent quite a bit of time questioning her sanity since and no amount of reading up on the subject made her feel any better about the whole experience.

It didn't matter. She had to focus on what she had learned and more importantly, her future. Months of research had taught her the necessary skills to close off her mind when or if she should ever meet Dillon again. Part of her hoped she never had to put those newfound skills to the test and yet deep down she yearned to feel his touch again. The fact remained Dillon had a strong hold on her and coming face to face to him after what they had shared would be taxing in her current state of mind.

Sighing, Isabelle swallowed the last of her coffee and rinsed her mug before heading to her room to change into a light summer dress and flip flops; dressing how she wanted was another perk that came with being her own boss. She grabbed her bag and list of things to do and headed to her car. Time to get on with her future.

It was going to be a busy day judging by the seven a.m. phone call from Mr. Heidelman, a peculiar older gentleman, who had requested her services for the first time this morning. He had protested the cost at first but once past that hurdle had complained because she couldn't get there fast enough. Because he was a new customer who happened to live in a large senior development, she had rearranged her schedule to accommodate him and was scheduled to arrive shortly after noon. That was the ultimate beauty of having her own business, the flexibility to do what she wanted, when she wanted.

Threading her way through the usual early traffic, Isabelle went to her morning appointments, doing laundry for Mrs. Slathe, running Mr. Doldre to the grocery store and picking up prescriptions for several others.

When she finally arrived at Mr. Heidelman's modest brick house, it was well past noon and she was starved. He lived in a standard senior development with small cottages, duplexes and larger free standing homes scattered around an emerald green golf course dotted with expensive carts and rich seniors. Lots of rich seniors.

She smiled in satisfaction. This could be an extremely lucrative place of business.

She gathered her belongings and walked to the door.

She knocked and heard a gruff bellow from inside directing her to come in.

Upon entering the small foyer, she caught a whiff of spice, a hint of musk, and something else she couldn't place. She quickly brushed the uneasy sensation accompanying it aside.

"Mr. Heidelman? Hello! It's Isabelle from Senior Helpers."

"Be down in a minute," came the muffled reply from upstairs.

Isabelle looked about the entryway as she waited, noting the lack of personal effects at once. That was strange; most of the seniors she worked with always had a plethora of personal memorabilia displayed wherever there was a spare spot to put it. Curious, she peeked into what she assumed was the living room, but without any furniture, it was hard to tell.

Frowning, she cast a cautious glance at the stairs and seeing no evidence of Mr. Heidelman, treated herself to a mini-tour of the bottom floor, starting in the dining room that led into the kitchen. Sparsely furnished at best, it held a tiny mahogany table with two chairs in a nook off to one side and a utility room but not much else.

Concern for Mr. Heidelman's sterile existence puckered her brow. Clearly Mr. Heidelman needed more than just help around the house, he needed a friend.

Hello, my dear. Have you missed me?

Isabelle stiffened sure she hadn't just felt Dillon's familiar presence in her head. No, of course not. She forced her jaw to relax while simultaneously strengthening her inner resolve to forget about Dillon. It was natural for her to feel him because she'd been thinking about him this morning. He couldn't be here.

Throwing her shoulders back, she walked through the rest of the house determined to put thoughts of Dillon from her mind. After walking aimlessly down a hallway leading to an office with a desk and chair only, and through the sparse living room, Isabelle was getting anxious for Mr. Heidelman to make an appearance.

She called to him from the stairs and again received a muffled reply in response.

Her eyebrows knit in concern. Perhaps Mr. Heidelman needed help. She tentatively put a foot on the stairs, unsure if her concern overrode his right to privacy.

Oh, why can't I be here?

Isabelle stopped in her tracks, icy trickles of awareness dancing down her spine. Hearing Dillon once might be construed as her mind playing tricks on her, hearing him twice did not bode well.

Closing her eyes and drawing air deep into her lungs, she mustered all the skills she had learned to effectively block a telepathic connection. In her mind she carefully constructed thick concrete and brick walls, twisting them around and around in a maze designed to confuse any who dared enter. Once that was complete, she surrounded herself with a blinding white light for protection and sealed it tightly around her mind. Probing for outsiders, specifically Dillon, she felt nothing.

At first.

Then a wispy tendril of need began to swirl through those carefully constructed walls. It wasn't obvious. No. If it had been, she would have recognized it for what it was. Instead, she followed the trail of warmth it was marking through her mind, unaware of the lurking danger it posed.

Yearning so deep it pulled the air from her lungs enveloped her from inside out and Isabelle was left without any doubt as to who was responsible.

Dillon was here.

**********

Dillon calmly walked down the back stairs into the kitchen and smiled at the silly mind games Isabelle was trying to play. It was pointless, but he admitted to a certain level of satisfaction at seeing her going through the same mental machinations he had when he discovered their shared ability. Sensing her walls weakening, he infused his next thought with a meaning she couldn't ignore and was rewarded with a sharp gasp from the other room.

She had learned too quickly to shield her mind from him. He didn't like it, but he wasn't worried. He knew he could access all of her thoughts if he chose; it just took a little extra effort when she blocked him. He was content to let her believe she could have her own private thoughts and make her own choices. For now. Besides, it was cute the way she thought she had a choice.

He hummed a tune while he prepared sandwiches. Slathering mayonnaise and mustard on the bread, he wondered how long it would take her to realize he was here. He knew from past experience Isabelle had little patience. He added the lunchmeat and cheese and wasn't surprised when he heard the tell-tale creak of the kitchen door opening. He turned away to hide his smile.

Isabelle walked into the kitchen and Lord Help him; all thoughts of food left his mind and were immediately replaced with thoughts of eating her on the counter instead.

Isabelle smiled up at him in acknowledgment of his last thought and snitched a piece of cheese out of his hand, never once giving away her astonishment at seeing him again. Although judging by the clamor of thoughts in her head, she was extremely surprised. Shocked even, but not displeased, he noted.

**********

Isabelle chewed slowly, giving herself some time to regain her composure before turning her attention to the kitchen. It was a standard issue kitchen, decent cupboards, beige countertops and average white appliances. Her perusal included Dillon assembling sandwiches on the beige island in the middle of the room.

"So this is your place, Mr. Heidelman?" She asked, smirking. She refused to let him see how his presence was affecting her.

She flicked her eyes over him briefly, taking in his lean, muscled form draped in faded jeans and a t-shirt. He looked tired, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes more prominent than she remembered. Hmm, maybe the situation had affected him more than she thought. His ridiculously soft lips were quirked in a half-smile and his eyes, God, his eyes, thundercloud gray and piercing, were exactly as she remembered.

"Yes, I bought it to fix up and sell," he answered, his eyes roaming over her in their usual proprietal way.

"Ok." Isabelle crossed her arms over her chest, feeling vaguely unsettled. She had shared so much with Dillon, she knew he did things to her heart and mind that were beyond her control, but she didn't even know if he liked mustard on his sandwiches or not. It was not a comforting thought.

"I do."

She looked at him blankly.

"Like mustard," he added helpfully.

She shot him a poisonous look, but he remained blissfully unaware of her displeasure.

"Fine, big shot. In the future please refrain from reading my mind." She resisted the urge to put her hands on her hips.

He smiled down at her and her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were warm and smiling; his thoughts were not, in fact, they were downright steamy.

One image in particular caught her attention. A lone ice cube teased her clit while his warm tongue swirled between her folds. She looked away before she threw open the freezer door and got the ice cubes for him.

"That includes sending me your thoughts as well," she added primly.

He only grinned and went back to the sandwiches. He placed them on a plate, grabbed a bag of chips and a bunch of grapes and carried them to the table. He came back for a couple of water bottles and napkins. Then came back one more time, grabbed her by the hand and half-walked, half-dragged her to the table.

"Come have something to eat, you haven't eaten in a while. Some food will do you good."

"And you would know that how?" she asked.

Dillon raised an eyebrow at her.

"Okay, fine, but I'd like to wash up first."

"Of course."

Isabelle narrowed her eyes at him before walking out of the dining room. She was halfway up the stairs before she remembered that she had no clue where the bathroom was. She turned around to go back and ask when he yelled out.

"Second door on the right."

Right, of course, she forgot the amazing mind reader was downstairs invading her every thought.

"I heard that, too."

Isabelle rolled her eyes before continuing up the stairs. She found the bathroom and washed before returning to the dining table.

Dillon hadn't touched his food while she was gone.

"What's up?" she asked slipping into the chair opposite him at the small table.

Instead of replying, he reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. The gesture was unexpectedly tender and caught her off guard.

It was one thing to think she knew her lover's thoughts and emotions; it was entirely different seeing that tenderness reflected in his eyes and in his touch. Isabelle had trouble swallowing past the lump in her throat and instead concentrated on the food he had spread out on the table. She helped herself to a sandwich and some grapes.

Dillon shook his head, presumably to clear it and piled two sandwiches, a handful of chips and grapes on his plate. They ate in companionable silence; each lost in their own thoughts and yet inexplicably linked. She would reach for a chip and before her hand would reach the pile, Dillon would hand her one. It was a slightly unnerving, if efficient system.

"This is strange. I'm used to having conversations with people, not sitting in total silence while we transmit thoughts via our minds," she fussed with the napkin on her lap while she waited for his reaction.

"It is a little awkward right now, I'll grant you that. I understand you're uncomfortable with our abilities. It's weird for me, too, but we're going to have to find a way to deal with it. Like it or not, it's here to stay."

"I don't like it."

Dillon chuckled in agreement.

"I'm not an expert on the paranormal but it seems we share some form of mental telepathy. Judging by what I've learned from my research, our link is unusually strong." He shrugged apologetically while his lips curved in amusement.

"Your research?" she raised a brow in his direction.

"Yes, my research," he answered before taking another bite of his sandwich.

She played with the crusts of her sandwich, but felt his eyes following the movements of her fingers.

"What exactly did your research entail?"

He didn't look surprised she had asked.

"Well, there's the internet, obviously, and books from the library. And my own personal experiments, which are, by far, my favorite form of research." He leered at her.

"Yeah, I know you like to play with my mind. Don't worry, I totally know that." She rolled her eyes.

"I love playing with your body; your mind on the other hand, is an endless labyrinth that I will never tire of trying to solve." He winked at her.

She ignored him.

"What makes you think our link is stronger than most?"

He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before answering.