Grave Stones

by Calinda B

  He matched her, grinding his cock against her.

  She let out a gasp.

  He lowered his head, nuzzling her neck and shoulders, inhaling long whiffs of her scent. Opening his mouth, he gently bit into the curve between neck and shoulder. Then, his incisors dug deeper into her muscle, drawing pain, conveying dominance.

  She hissed, inclining her head in the opposite direction to give him greater access.

  After several seconds of painful biting, he relaxed his jaw and licked the tender skin he’d assaulted.

  Heat poured into the place he’d bit.

  “Oh, Jesus,” she moaned. She worked her hands under his shirt, sighing when her fingers met hot skin and muscle.

  He made gentle little nibbles against her neck with his teeth, teasing her. His nibbles became sucks, drawing pulls of pain alternating with pleasure. He sought her breasts and massaged and stroked them through the fabric.

  “Cillian,” she moaned.

  Working his fingers under her neckline, he tugged her stretchy shirt down over her shoulders, pinning her arms, tucking the fabric beneath her see-through bra, forcing her breasts out.

  Constrained by the spandex, her only comfortable option was to clasp her hands behind her back and thrust her chest out further.

  His eyes glittered, nearly black now, as he gazed at her bust. He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.

  She nearly lost her mind when he sucked one of her sheer-fabric covered nipples into his mouth. Her flesh puckered into a hard nub, aching for more.

  He sought her other nipple, sucking hard. He flicked her free nipple with his thumb. Abruptly, he pulled away and, pressing his hands on the wall on either side of her face, he rubbed his hips against her. He studied her with a serious, unreadable expression. Then, he bent one arm so his forearm pressed against the wall and rested his forehead against it.

  Is he reconsidering? Changing his mind? His cock pressed huge and hot against her belly. “Please, Cillian. You belong inside me.”

  “Not yet. It’s been a long time, love.” He pushed away from the wall. A sweet smile crossed his face. He cupped her face with his hands and gave her several soft kisses, like butterflies brushing her lips. When he pulled back, he said, “How many men do you know who can say they’ve waited three centuries?”

  She let out a throaty chuckle. “Only one.” She hesitated before asking, “Why me? How did I get so lucky?”

  He brought the tip of his nose to hers and nuzzled. “I’m in love with you, Lasairfhíona. Lord help me, but I’m in love.”

  His words brought heat to her heart. “Oh, Cillian, I’m in love with you, too. I thought you didn’t want me.”

  “I wanted you too much, Lassi. I’ve tried to resist you. God knows how I’ve tried.” Tortured anguish dragged at his expression, replacing the sweetness.

  She wanted to stroke his neck, his jaw, his shoulder, anything—but her arms were still bound by her shirt. Her breasts, poised as they were on top of her neckline, ached to be sucked. Her core longed to be explored.

  “I want you like I’ve never wanted before.” She opened her mouth to say something else but he pressed two fingers against her mouth to shush her.

  His hands slid down her sides as he crouched before her. Lifting her generous skirt, he disappeared underneath the gauzy fabric. He slid her panties to the floor.

  She kicked them off her ankles.

  “Open for me, Lassi, love,” he said from beneath the cloth. “Let’s see if I remember what to do.”

  She obliged him, spreading her legs wide. Her fingers dug into the plaster as his tongue lapped at her silk. “Good Christ, it must be like riding a bike because you’ll hear no complaints from me.”

  He pulled her butt cheeks apart, stretching her, as he worked his mouth along her core. His tongue danced along her clit. As he sucked her hard bud, she gasped with pleasure. Then, he thrust two fingers inside and stroked her G-spot, while licking her with long sweeps.

  “Cillian! You’re going to make me come!” Unable to control herself, her orgasm came hard and fast. She let loose, crying his name over and over.

  He laughed. It sounded like pure satisfaction, perhaps, the sweetest sound she’d ever heard.

  Her legs turned to jelly. She slid against the wall, wrestling her arms free of her shirt.

  Cillian fell back onto his ass. In one quick move, he shoved his pants down. His large cock sprang free. Holding out his arms, he rolled backward. “Come here, love. Climb on.”

  “Oh, Cillian. You’re beautiful. You’re a work of art, you are.” She pressed her hand to her mouth, in awe of his perfection.

  He grinned. “If I’m a piece of art, you’re the artist. You’ve brought me more joy than I’ve ever experienced.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I’m not looking for words, love. I want to plunge inside of you. I’ve craved you since the moment we met.”

  She crawled onto his hips. First, she unclasped her bra, flinging it across the room. Then, she lifted onto her knees and fit the head of him into her core. As she sank onto his thick erection, they both let out a moan.

  “Jesus,” she whispered.

  “I’m sure he’s watching,” he said.

  She stilled. “Buzz kill, Cillian. I forgot you’re a priest.”

  “Never ordained.”

  Relief washed through her. “Never?”

  He shook his head. “Father Quinn mentored me but he wouldn’t make it official. We aimed for legitimacy, not perfection.”

  “Well, then, non-Father Ward. That changes things. I might stop this short of hell when I die.” She held her thumb and forefinger a centimeter apart. “There’s hope for you and me both.” Grinning wickedly, she met his gaze.

  He returned the grin. “It’s a valid loophole to be sure.”

  “I think you’re tucked into a sweet loophole.” She laughed. Her head fell back, spinning with pleasure. She ground against his hips.

  He clutched her hips, his fingers digging into her muscles, as he bucked into her.

  She grabbed her forearms and hung on for the ride, gliding against him.

  He let out a roar of release. “Lasairfhíona,” he cried.

  His skin grew luminescent.

  Buzzing electricity shot through her. Sensation unlike anything she’d ever experienced rippled through her, like she’d been plugged into some universal socket of energy.

  “Oh, God, Cillian. My whole body is an orgasm.” She writhed against him. Pleasure shot through her like bottle rockets of bliss. It seemed to go on and on. Finally, she collapsed against him, molding herself into his electric heat. “Levia-love, huh?” she whispered into his shoulder.

  “Who knew?” he murmured. “It’s all new to me.”

  He caressed her hair, letting his fingers comb her tresses.

  She fell into quietude, unwilling to think about anything except the feel of his splendid body beneath hers.

  “Lassi.”

  “Mm hmm.”

  “The floor is having its way with my bones.”

  “Oh!” She pressed her forearms into his chest, propping herself up like a sphinx. “Where can we go that’s more comfortable?” She rolled from him, letting his now soft cock slide from her core. “I miss you already,” she whimpered.

  “I’m sure I can get it up again.” He grinned. “I need more practice.”

  He rolled over and pushed up to standing. Extending his hand to her, he helped her up. Then, he led her through the front room, past the tiny kitchen, toward the back of the house.

  A blur of fur shot from the small, simple bedroom.

  “What the...” she exclaimed, leaping to the side.

  “Your kitty lends me his comfort from time to time.”

  “Huh. What a traitor. He’s supposed to be my familiar.”

  “He’ll come around. He needs time. He loved Roberta.”

  She eyed him. “Are we talking about you or Crusty?”

  With
out answering, he drew her toward the bed. “Sorry it’s so sparse. I haven’t many needs. Until lately.”

  He gave her a rueful smile.

  She glanced at the double bed, covered with an old, colorful quilt. Two pillows lay pushed against the headboard, like he’d been reading or resting. A cross hung behind his bed. A wardrobe made of dark wood stood against the wall. A side stand, made of the same wood, sat next to the bed. “What are you saying? I’m a need?”

  “Like essential food. Intense cravings. Extremely unholy-like.” He settled on the bed and stretched the length of it, propping his head against the pillows. Then, he patted his chest. “Come here. Rest your head upon me.”

  She curled up next to him, pressing her ear to his beating heart.

  His arm curled around her.

  A vast stillness filled the space. It probably came from him, not the words in some ancient book, or a belief system. No. His peace is born of sorrow, struggle, and grief, and doing what needs to be done. It rises from atonement and penance. She let her hand stroke his strong muscles. He didn’t manscape. She doubted he knew what it meant to trim and wax. No, as she fingered the curls on his chest, she couldn’t imagine a smooth-skinned Cillian. Everything about him is perfect.

  Her mind began to wander. And what of the Dearg-Due? Cillian’s and the red-blood sucker’s lives are intertwined. She was wronged. He was wronged. They both pay for their past but he has room to evolve. What about her? Sure, he keeps her contained but I heard with my own ears the way she can express herself. She still feels rage and sorrow.

  “Cillian,” she said softly, in case he had fallen asleep.

  “Mm hmm,” he said, stroking her back in response.

  “You know how the Dearg-Due is simply trapped in her grave for all of eternity?”

  He tensed, ceasing his caresses.

  “Yes,” he said cautiously.

  “Do you think there’s a way science can do what magic can’t?”

  “I’m not sure I’m following.”

  She rolled to sitting, folding her legs demurely. Her gaze swept the length of his beautiful body, from his dark, tousled hair and his handsome face, on down to his feet. Perfect. Good grief, the man is fine.

  “You’re so beautiful,” she murmured.

  “I can say the same.” He rested his hand on her thigh. “But tell me where your mind has gone. Does it ever rest?”

  She chuckled. “Sorry, no. Always churning, making butter out of milk.”

  “Or, trouble and change out of systems that have been in place for a long time.” He frowned. “You’ve certainly stirred things around here, Lassi-love.”

  “I guess they needed stirring.” She trailed her fingertips along his skin. “Anyway, I wondered about the poor Dearg-due. Sure, you can pile rocks on her, but you can’t ever help her find her peace.”

  “No.” He crossed one ankle over the other. “I can only do things to keep life safe here in Ballynagaul.”

  She sniffed. “Safe. This village is a cesspool of secrets.”

  Scoffing, he gave her a side-eyed glance. Then, he made circles on her inner thigh with the tips of his fingers.

  She shivered. “I got to wondering if there’s something science could do for the red-blood sucker that magic can’t.”

  He tapped her temple. “You’ve got interesting ideas, love.”

  “She needs peace, same as you.”

  He let out a long, deep sigh. “Perhaps. Not sure either of us will find it, science or not.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I broke three centuries worth of a vow maintaining the ruse of priestly celibacy. That’s nothing to sneeze at.” He chewed on his lower lip. “I’d like to leave things alone and restore some peace in my heart.”

  “Yeah.” She stroked his bulging biceps. “Do you ever feel like a fraud? I mean, there are people who trust in you as God’s ordained representative and all.”

  He snorted. “I’ve had lots of time to think over the years.”

  She smiled. “More than most, to be sure. Anyway, I’m not certain what I feel about religion and salvation and such, but it seems you might want to deal honestly with the people who literally put their faith in you.”

  Her eyebrows drew into a crease.

  He reached over and smoothed it with his thumb. “You’re thinking too hard. Time has taught me that if nothing else, God’s true message is love. The truest messengers are those who serve with compassion, charity, and love, no matter the stripes on their collar. I’ve been very much the parish priest every single day of 250 years, and I don’t intend to stop anytime soon.”

  Icy splinters of fear wound their way into Lassi’s heart. She drew her hands back and placed them in her lap. Then, she looked down at her nakedness and wanted to be anywhere but here. Her head turned this way and that. She grabbed the edge of the bedspread and tugged it over her lap.

  “What’s going on, Lassi?” Cillian’s face was dark with concern.

  “Nothing. I’m cold, is all.” She refused to meet his eyes.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Believe what you like.” She bunched her hands together to keep them from reaching for him.

  “Tell me what’s bothering you, love.” His head tipped to the side.

  “What was this?” Her words came out all snappish and sharp. She gestured between them.

  “What do you mean?” He pushed himself up to sitting, still leaning against the pillows.

  “Was it some grand experiment? Did you revisit your old ways as an 18th-century player? Oh, no, no woman will ever get their clutches into Cillian Ward. He’s too hot to handle. He needs to spread his seed.” Inwardly, she groaned. You’re doing that thing you do. Stop it.

  “I hardly plan on spreading my seed,” he said, looking perplexed.

  “Were you only attracted to me because of the Finn magic bond? Did you think to try out a new arrangement, where you get a house cleaner, a cook, and a good fuck? Is that it?”

  “Not what I was thinking, no.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  Shut up, shut up, shut up. “You’re going to dump me, aren’t you? This was some sort of one-off, wasn’t it? And you’ll get to go back to your priestly ways and think about the time a Finn lass almost got the best of you.”

  His mouth opened to retort. He closed it. Opened it again. Closed it again. Then, he said, gently, “I think you should return to Dublin as planned. I’m afraid I’m not going to beg you to stay.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “I was joking outside when I said that. It was a joke.” Her hands flew about, gesturing wildly. “I can’t believe I let you get inside me, Cillian Ward. You can keep your Ballyna-fucked-up village. I’m out of here.” She rolled from the bed with a huff.

  “Lassi. I don’t want to end things this way.”

  Her heart squeezed itself into a tight ball. “But you do want to end things, am I right?”

  “No, I...”

  She waved her hand in the air. “Save the speeches for your parishioners, Father Ward. This was fun, but...” Her eyes blurry with tears, she searched for her clothes and yanked them on. “It’s over.”

  “Lassi, wait. Let me explain.”

  She whirled to face him, wincing at the anguish on his face—anguish she’d put there with her sharp-tongued fear. “I’m sorry, Cillian. This was a mistake.”

  Pivoting, she stormed from the cottage, determined to never return.

  Chapter 26

  Numbly, Lassi raced along the trail heading away from the rectory. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

  A gorgeous sunset cast beautiful hue across the sky.

  “Where’s the fecking windstorm when you need one? This place has been shite weather until now.” She cast her gaze at the sky. “And now you’re all, ‘Oh, hey, look at me, I came to show you how Bally can look on a good day and beg you to stay.’” Her face scrunched. “You wanted him to beg you to stay, didn’t you, Lassi-girl?”

  She quickened
her steps. When she arrived at the road leading to her cottage, she spun around to give one last look at the home of Cillian Ward.

  He stood in his yard, wearing pants but no shirt, looking like sorrowful heaven. His arms hung limply at his sides. His hair whirled around his face in wild waves, like a stormy sea.

  For a few seconds, she stood staring at him.

  He kept a steady regard of her, as well.

  The seconds stretched into minutes. The moment became weighted with choice, like that goddamned Ballyna-gravity held her in place, forcing her to make a better decision. But I don’t have a choice, do I? This was a one-off for me, too. He can’t simply up and change his responsibilities, now can he, love me or not? He still must maintain his role as a priest, right?

  She curled her fingers into a small heart over her chest.

  He rested his hand over his breastbone.

  She nodded.

  He lifted his chin in acknowledgment.

  She raised her hand in farewell. Then, she spun on her heel and hurried away, before she did anything stupid.

  Back at the cottage, she entered and clomped into the bedroom. It looked welcoming. Someone will like living here. It’s got the potential to be a special place. In fact, maybe it won’t have to harbor heartbreak, the way it did when crazy Roberta lived here. I sure hope that’s true.

  A soft meow sounded. She turned her head to see Crusty standing in the doorway. He looked at her expectantly.

  “You’re a traitor, you know that, right?”

  He rubbed his cheek against the door frame.

  “You can claim the house all you like but someone else is going to be living here. You’ll want to high tail it up to the rectory to live with Cillian.” Her heart clenched and a fresh wave of tears assaulted her eyes. “Fecking hell. I’m in love with a man I can’t have and who can’t love me back. Not and keep his appearance of vows.”

  She stepped toward Crusty.

  He kept up with his rubbing against the door, marking it good and strong.

  She crouched in front of him.

  He didn’t hiss and run.

  She held out her fingers to him.

  He politely sniffed them.

  She scratched the top of his head.