Isaac cried out in surprise at the sudden rush of feeling and arousal slamming into him like a freight train, eyes comically wide as his knees buckled. Slumping against the wall, he gazed up at the approaching figure, pleading with his eyes as he let out a pitiful little whimper.
Slowly, she reached out, brushed her fingertips against his skin. It was less shocking this time; she was prepared for it. “I think,” she said, equally slowly, “you put yourself in danger resisting. You won’t hurt me unless the heat forces you into it. So let go. I’ll catch you. You won’t hurt me.” She put all her trust, all her love, and all her stubbornness into those last four words.
He hummed and his entire body arched up to push into her fingers, desperately seeking her touch as it calmed down the fire burning through his insides somewhat. “I won’t hurt you?” he echoed hoarsely and eyed her for a long moment, before launching forwards and slamming their lips together.
She stumbled backward at the force of it; she hadn’t been braced for werewolf body. She fetched up against one of the bookcases, his need spreading into her body through the touch, and bit at his mouth. Her fingers hooked into claws, and she dragged her nails down his back, making a half-moan, half-growl kind of sound.