Isolde cleared her throat and looked down at the large hand cupping her breast through the silk kimono. Malachai smiled, showing a little fang.<br/><br/>"Feels right, don't it?" he asked as he backed out of the car and slammed the door.<br/><br/>They drove back toward Boston, this time, Malachai drove like a Sunday driver. Slowly, leisurely. He switched on some smooth jazz with no vocals. He stretched his arm across the distance of the console. A tug at a curl by her ear brought her hair tumbling door.<br/><br/>Isolde smiled coyly at him.<br/><br/>"That feels right too, doesn't it?" she remarked as he caressed the back of her neck through her hair.