Charlotte Boyett-Compo- Windspectre (6 page)

His hand cupped her ass, his fingers slipping wickedly against the cleft, pressing the silk of her suit into the valley there. He moved so she was walking backward until her back was against the wall and he was crowding against her with his muscular flesh.

"I'm not …."

"You are mine,"
he interrupted her
. "I have claimed you over and over again. Do you not remember?"

Vague, erotic images flitted across her mind and made her womb clench with memory. She knew these arms that held her, these hands that touched her, this body that pushed against her. She knew these lips that were trailing kisses down the side of her neck, the warm breath, the very smell of his brawny body.

He removed his arm from behind her and used both hands to ruck her skirt upward, exposing her legs and lower body to him. His stony erection was tight and hard against her belly as the fabric of her skirt was moved aside.

"Are you ready for me, Sweeting?"

"Please," she begged. Her head was swimming and faint speckles of light were exploding at the periphery of her vision. The perfume of gardenia wafted beneath her nose to mingle with his male scent and it made her giddy, made her lower body ooze with need.

His fingers made quick work of her panties, ripping them from her with a satisfying sound that made her sigh with lust.

"Are you ready for me, Sweeting?"
he asked again, the tips of his strong fingers playing along the wet folds of her sex, one dipping just a centimeter into her channel.

"Oh, yes!" she breathed, trembling now. She ached to feel him inside her. Her breasts tingled, wanting him to crush them to his chest, her nipples hard as little pebbles as he leaned into her.

"Then take what I am, Beloved."

He thrust into her and Cathleen cried out, completely filled by his massive shaft, the very head of it spreading her vaginal walls wide.

"Take all that I am, Beloved!"

She felt his bite spreading heated tremors down her neck and the suckling sounds he made only added to the increasing arousal that had her panting as he pumped into her cunt. He was rock-hard and stretching her to the point of pain as he thrust deep and like a piston between her legs.

Her hands were on his broad shoulders as he pushed her up the wall. Her legs locked around him and his thrust went so far up inside her she screamed, but it was not so much the pain of his solid invasion as it was the purely lustful lunge that had caused it.

She felt him spurt inside her—his cum thick and almost too hot to bear. His lips were buried against the column of her throat and he was drawing not only one hell of an orgasm from between her legs, but the most erotic, intense sensations she'd ever known from the very soul of her.

"Mine!"
he bellowed and with one final brutal arch of his hips, Cathleen sank into merciful oblivion, the darkening of the dropping sun outside shutting off all light to her world.

Epilogue

It was all she could do to drag herself out of bed the following morning. She was so dizzy, so sick to her stomach, she could barely walk. Between her legs she felt a soreness that made her wince when she peed. She felt raw, abraded, her insides bruised and battered.

She nearly passed out when she got up from the toilet and had to grab at the towel bar to keep from doing so. She stood there panting, her head swimming, her eyes aching abysmally from the brightness of the bathroom lights. Her head hurt so badly she could hear the rush of her blood through her ears, every beat of her heart, every breath she took.

Going to the vanity mirror, she stared at herself and was stunned to see how pale she was. She couldn't make out her facial features for they looked blurred, but her paleness, the luminosity of her flesh alarmed her.

"What's wrong with me?" she whispered, putting a hand to her throat.

There was pain there and she traced her fingertips to it until she felt the burning area that pebbled beneath her touch. Two distinct holes were on the side of her throat, but though she bent close to the mirror, she could not see them. Even up close, her features were blurred, indistinct.

Fumbling for a washcloth, she wet it and passed it over her face without bothering to wring it out. The coldness of the water did little to revive her and when she ran the cloth over the wounds on her throat, she whimpered.

"Doctor," she said. "I've got to see a doctor."

From far, far away, she heard his sensual voice:

"You need only me, Beloved for I will care for you as you need to be cared for."

She dropped the cloth into the sink and spun around—nearly falling as her aching, dizzy head spun even more—but there was no one in the room with her.

"Do you want me, Cathleen?"

The voice had come from behind her—from the mirror—but when she jerked around again, she saw only herself in the mirror, but the image seemed to be fading. She pressed up against the sink, her face only inches from the glass. There was now a very hazy outline around her—like a mirage in the desert—and it was undulating.

"Do you want only me, Cathleen?"

"Yes, but what's happening to me?" she asked for even as she stared into the glass, her image was wavering, turning less substantial.

"Are you ready for me, Sweeting?"

She stepped closer to the mirror for there in the glass was her handsome lover.

"Are you ready to join me? To let me take care of you for all time?"

"I want to be with you," she said, tears gathering in her eyes. "But if you are stuck in the mirror …."

His hand came out of the mirror.

The End