Chapter 37

Isabella

I woke slowly, my consciousness drifting between dreams and reality, surrounded by an unfamiliar comfort. The mattress beneath me was nothing like the cheap, lumpy thing at home—this bed seemed to cradle my body perfectly. The pillow carried the scent of pine and leather, with a hint of cologne—Michael's scent.

I opened my eyes as soft morning light filtered through the large windows into Michael's bedroom. For a moment, I was disoriented, then memories of last night flooded back—the restaurant, the blindfold, moonlight ice cream, and three pairs of hands and mouths exploring my body... The recollection made my cheeks burn and my heart race.

A glass of water sat on the nightstand, placed there by Michael after I'd fallen asleep. I had told him it wasn't necessary, but he left it anyway. This small, thoughtful gesture warmed my chest, as if something soft had filled it.

I vaguely remembered waking in the middle of the night, parched, and feeling incredibly grateful as I drank that water. Afterward, I'd fallen into the most restful sleep I'd had in months, maybe years. No tossing and turning, no anxiety—just complete relaxation under Michael's protection, like being wrapped in a warm cocoon.

Now, in the hazy morning light, I felt a solid warmth against my back, a heavy arm draped around my waist. Michael's steady breathing tickled my hair, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of deep sleep. This intimacy should have made me uncomfortable—I rarely allowed people into my personal space—but instead, I felt secure, anchored.

Half-asleep, I shifted slightly, my hand accidentally brushing against something hard pressed against my lower back. At first, I thought I was dreaming, but a low moan that escaped Michael's lips made me realize this was fucking real.

Fuck!

My fingers froze, but not before I'd felt enough to understand what was happening. That massive thing pressing against me made me both excited and scared, my body involuntarily trembling. My wolf stirred with excitement too.

God, wouldn't that hurt? The thought came unbidden. How could something that big possibly fit inside me? I'm still a virgin, for fuck's sake...

Despite my inexperience, my body responded immediately, heat rushing to my core, my sex instantly wet. My wolf paced restlessly beneath my skin, purring with satisfaction, eager to pounce.

"Good morning, Isabella," Michael's voice rumbled low in my ear, sleepy and rougher than usual.

I froze, mortified that he'd caught me touching him. "I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Don't apologize," he chuckled, the sound vibrating from his chest to my back, making my heart beat faster. "It's a natural reaction."

He didn't pull away, seemingly content with our intimate position. I remained motionless, acutely aware of every point where our bodies touched—his chest against my back, his erection pressing into my backside, and his warm breath on my neck making my skin burn.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, his breath warming my neck and raising goosebumps.

Eventually, we separated, and I watched as Michael stretched and stood. Wearing only his underwear in the morning light, I could clearly see the defined muscle lines of his back, tribal tattoos flowing with his movements. His shoulders were broad and powerful, his waist narrow. My mouth went dry, and I swallowed hard, my eyes glued to him.

"I'll make breakfast while you freshen up," he said, pulling on a pair of sweatpants after his shower, but leaving his upper body bare. "The bathroom's all yours."

After he left, I took my time in his spacious bathroom, marveling at the endless hot water—something the pipes in my rundown apartment could never deliver. I used his shampoo, his familiar scent embracing me like a hug, making me wet again between my legs, causing me to clench my thighs in embarrassment.

After washing, I realized I had nothing to wear. Last night's dress was beautiful but inappropriate for morning. After hesitating, I opened Michael's closet and selected a soft, worn college t-shirt. It reached mid-thigh on me, loose but comfortable.

I headed downstairs, following the aroma of coffee and sizzling meat. Michael's cabin was even more beautiful in daylight—exposed wooden beams, large windows bringing the forest inside, furniture that looked both expensive and comfortable.

"Hope you like your meat medium-rare," Michael called from the kitchen. "Most werewolves do."

"The bloodier the better," I agreed, settling onto a stool at the kitchen island.

Michael brought over a plate of food—steak seared only on the outside, nearly raw inside, eggs with perfectly runny yolks, and fresh fruit. My stomach growled, last night's "activities" having left me famished.

"This looks amazing," I said, cutting into the steak and taking a bite, the flavor exploding on my tongue, rich and primal. I couldn't help the satisfied moan that escaped me.

Michael's eyes flashed gold at the sound. "Glad you like it."

To my surprise, breakfast conversation flowed easily, with none of the awkwardness I'd feared. Michael talked about werewolf history with the natural ease of a professor.

"Did you know that Golden Omegas were considered sacred in ancient wolf culture?" he said while refilling my coffee. "They were thought to be embodiments of the moon goddess, capable of uniting rival packs through multiple mate bonds."

"Really? I never read that in history books."

"Most werewolf history is oral tradition," he explained. "The Black family has the largest private collection of werewolf historical texts. I've spent years studying them."

I found myself fascinated by his knowledge, asking questions and listening intently. Talking about this made me feel at ease, not constantly thinking about my body or our relationship. Michael wasn't just a powerful Alpha; he was intelligent, considerate, and passionate about his research.

"You know," I said between bites, "this is nice. Talking like normal people."

Michael smiled warmly. "We are normal people, Isabella. Normal werewolves, anyway. Being mates doesn't mean we can't be friends."

Friends. The word settled comfortably between us, giving our relationship a new dimension I hadn't expected but welcomed.

After breakfast, Michael offered to show me around the cabin. "It's not much, but it's home," he said, leading me from room to room.

The cabin was larger inside than it appeared from outside, with beautifully decorated rooms including a study filled floor-to-ceiling with books. Most surprising was how different it was from what I'd imagined an Alpha's home would be—not opulent like Richard's penthouse, but warm, cozy, and lived-in.

"It's beautiful," I said sincerely. "It suits you."

Michael beamed with pleasure. "Thank you. I designed it myself."

As noon approached, I felt the need to return to my own space and process everything. "I should head home," I said. "I have a doctor's appointment today."

"With Sarah checking on you?" Michael asked, and I nodded. "I'll drive you."

"Oh, I can take the bus—"