by Keri Lake
“I used to come here as a kid. Was the only place I could sneak away from my parents.”
“Really? You live in a freakin’ castle. With separate wings.”
“You’d be surprised at the lack of privacy. Someone always watching.” Two pieces of driftwood and dried seaweed scattered about the cave bed make for the perfect kindling, which I quickly gather. Situated far enough from the water, I dig a shallow pit in the sand and pile the desiccated tinder in the dip of it. With a strike of the match, I set the kindling aflame and the small flickers blaze with an orange glow that casts shadows on the walls.
Having fully scoped out the cave, her gaze falls on mine, and she flicks off the flashlight. “What were they watching you for?”
“When I was very young, my best friend drowned. Right here in this cave.”
Brows dipping to a frown, she glances around again, as if I’ve hidden his remains somewhere inside. “So … how is this your favorite place?”
“The hallucinations started here. For hours, I’d sit and talk to him. Conversations I’d never have the opportunity to have with him again. It felt as if he never left. Which brought me some peace.”
“So, they were watching for these hallucinations?”
“They were always watching.” I think back to the many times I felt someone’s eyes on me. The cleaning staff. The kitchen staff. All advised to pay attention. “Hallucinations, or not.”
“That must’ve been hell when you got older.”
“It was. Until I learned to stop hiding. Once everything was out in the open, they stopped watching.” My thoughts take me back to the day my father insisted that we lie to the media about Roark’s death. The way it felt, as if he threw me back into a sealed box again. “Unfortunately, you can’t always be an open book. Some secrets aren’t meant to be exposed.”
“Like what?”
“You asked how Roark died. The media painted a story that he went missing from the castle. They made the assumption that he might’ve ended up here, and water washed him away.” I stare off beyond her, the memories of that night playing on the fringes of my thoughts, and I will myself not to delve too deep into them. “Amelia was always very careful about her medications. I know this. But one night, she wasn’t, for whatever reason. He found them.” Frowning, I lower my gaze to my hands, where I rub my thumb over my palm, as I recall the weight of my son in my arms. The curve of his head in my palm. “It was an accident.”
“I’m sorry, Lucian. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”
“You’d be a fool to ignore the rumors entirely. The lies never added up quite right, but they were there to protect Amelia.” At the mention of her name, screams echo inside my head. “She just couldn’t live with what happened, I guess. Anyway, I’ve never told anyone the truth about that night until now.”
“I swear I won’t speak a word of it.”
“I know you won’t. It’s why I told you.” I reach out to run my fingers down the edge of her cheek, and grip her chin, studying the soft gray of her eyes. “There’s a certain freedom in confession. I feel somehow liberated with you.”
Taking the hem of her T-shirt in hand, I pull her into me for a kiss, and rub my palm over her toned belly, goosebumps bobbling against my skin that aren’t only from the cold. The band of her panties greets my fingers as I run my hand lower. “Lie down on the sand,” I whisper in her ear, palming the cheeks of her ass.
Without hesitation, she lowers before me and lies back on the sand, pulling her knees together as my jacket slips from her shoulders. The waves have already begun to reach for her, and it won’t be long before they find her.
I sink to my knees and pry hers apart, while she stares down her body at me.
Running my palms down her thighs, I dig my fingers into her flesh and squeeze, anxious to have them wrapped around my shoulders. At the first nudge of the rising waves, she looks up toward where the sea plays with her hair.
“Should we move back?” she asks, flicking her gaze between me and the waves.
Shaking my head, I unbutton my shirt, eyes locked on her as I peel it off my shoulders and toss it to the side. I hook the string of her panties and slide them down her thighs, over her knees, and chuck them somewhere behind me. “Put your hands on your knees.”
Once her palms kiss her knees, I slide her ankles wide and she gasps, looking down at me.
“Don’t move your hands, understand? You keep them there, no matter what. Do you understand me?”
She nods, curling her fingers over her knees, the digging of her nails and rapid contractions of her chest telling me she’s nervous.
Dragging my gaze from hers, I stare down her thighs to where the pink shell of her pussy begs to be eaten.
The first, heavy wave rolls in, splashing up over her shoulders to wet the thin T-shirt that turns almost translucent over her delectable, braless tits beneath. Round globes peek through the sodden fabric, and I lean forward to suck the salt across her nipple, taking the hardened flesh between my teeth.
She squirms and writhes beneath me, her fingers running over the top of my head.
Breaking the rules.
I nip her flesh, inciting a squeal, and set her hand back atop her knee. “Hands where I placed them.”
Taking the fabric of her shirt in a tight grip, I tear it down the center, jostling her pretty tits, before I let each half fall against her chest. Eyes wide, she lifts her head, staring down at her tattered shirt.
She looks like a mess I want to lick clean.
The sight of her exposed skin tempts my fingers, and I run them over her breasts, giving one a light slap before I take her now fully exposed nipple into my mouth again.
Another wave splashes over top of her, and her muscles jerk against my lips, while I work my way down her body, trailing kisses across her wet stomach, until I reach the apex of her thighs. Once my tongue reaches her sensitive skin, the sweet flavor hits the back of my throat, and my eyeballs damn near roll back in my head.
Like sucking the juices from an overripe peach.
Arms wrapped around her thighs, I draw her closer and lower to my stomach, while the sound of her soft moans echo in the cave.
Another wave, and she jerks in my grasp.
“Lucian.” The breathless tone of her voice, laced with a small bit of panic, spirals down my spine. “The waves …” A push to the top of my head fails to break my tonguing of her pussy, and I reach up to place her hand back on her knee. Again. “The water … it’s rising.” Another moan bounces off the cave walls, as she seems to fight to stay focused.
“I’ll stop when you come.”
Panting, she squirms on the sand, thighs trembling in my palms. “I can’t … I’ll drown before then.”
“Then, I suggest you quit talking and relax.”
One long suck of her clit, and her whimper dissolves into a moan, her back arching up off the sand. Another wave crashes around us, and her thighs flex, but I hold her down and flick my tongue along the silky walls of her narrow seam. Her fingers curl over a handful of my hair, only this time I don’t bother to place her hand back on her knees, because she opens herself wider to me. “Good girl.”
Another wave follows the first, this one splashing against my face, and when I lift my head from her slippery flesh, I notice the water level is at her ears. I dive in again, and she cries out, nails digging into my scalp.
More licking.
More sucking.
The waves come faster than before, the tide rising with every ticking second.
Her moans begin to heighten, and another wave crashes over top of us, the salt in my mouth while I eat her underwater. A cough sputters from her throat, and she sucks in a gasp, before another wave rolls over top of her.
I slide two fingers up into her velvety depths, while the wave retreats, and she arches again, her outcry cut short by yet another wave.
The water begins to linger, the tide rising higher and higher with each passing second. Pushing to my knee
s, I pump my finger in and out of her, watching as another wave comes over top of her.
She tries to sit up, but I slam my mouth against hers, kissing her as I ease her back into the sand.
“Come for me, Isa,” I say against her lips, before another wave mutes out the world. This one doesn’t retreat, and the burn of her nails digging into my skin, muscles stiff and trembling, is her body finally edging toward climax.
I can feel it culminating inside of her, as she squirms less and trembles more, as if saving her oxygen for the big finale.
She jolts up on a gasp and tips her head back, exhaling the most tortured moan I’ve ever heard. A cross between pleasure and agony while she seizes and twitches. Tiny contractions pulse around my fingers still lodged inside of her. Deep heaving breaths saw in and out of her, while the waves knock her body around. When her eyes find mine, there’s something new swirling in their depths.
Something darker.
Sexier.
I want to taste it on her lips like an addict watching someone get high for the first time.
With a handful of her hair in my fist, I yank her head back and seize her mouth, eating the drunken euphoria of her climax.
She climbs onto my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck, as she kisses me with the ferocity of a wild animal. “What happened to me?”
“La petite mort.”
“What does that mean?” The satisfied purr of her voice only stokes my need for release, like hot coals on the verge of igniting.
“Death,” I say, shoving a hand down into the pocket of my pants, from where I fish out a condom. I nudge her up off my lap just enough to undo my pants and spring my cock free. Tearing the condom from its packet, I slide it down my shaft and line my tip to her entrance. Back against the wet sand, I scoot the two of us away from the rising tide, closer to the warmth of the crackling fire, and she impales herself down my length. Palms to her hips, I lower her onto my eager dick, and the sound of her moan coils around my senses like a poisonous vapor. Won’t take much after watching her climax, and holding her steady, I stare up at her flawless face, while hammering my hips into her tight little body.
This girl has corrupted every fiber of my being, and no one will ever be good enough after her. No one will ever compare to the flesh and blood fantasy before me. She’s mine.
The breath of new life. The steady pulse in my veins. The long-awaited beat of a heart that’s been dead too long.
My kindred flame.
Every muscle in my body is a wire ready to snap, as this girl works me to climax. I want to come so fucking bad, but I wait. I wait for her, because in the last two days, I’ve learned one thing about Isa Quinn: there is nothing more beautiful in the world than watching her shatter. A sight I could eat for breakfast every day.
The waves climb higher, splashing around us in white, salty spray.
Her moans escalate, penetrating down to my bones, and I let out a groan, my stomach tight with excitement, as her juices wet my cock on every withdrawal. She pants through her nose, the first flicker of climax breaking across her face.
Brows winged up, she digs her nails into my chest, clenching her jaw.
“Come on, baby.” I guide her hips along the length of my cock, driving deep each time she comes down on me.
She cries out, back stiff, muscles trembling, and the sound of her long, tortured moan is music to my ears.
I draw my dick out of her, and she scrambles off of me, as I tear away the condom and stroke myself to finish. White ribbons of cum spring from my tip, captured by her mouth.
“Ah, fuck.” I stare down my body, watching her lap every drop, as bullets of pleasure shoot through my muscles, bathing them in a warm, tingly aftermath. Panting hard to catch my breath, I feel her tongue dance over my stomach, lapping up the fallen drops of my release.
When she lifts her head, I want to frame her face that wears the shine of my cum glistening across her mouth.
Ravishing.
The day I learned to climax while holding my breath, I thought I’d touched heaven, while traipsing the line between life and death.
It turns out, heaven is a nineteen-year-old girl who sleeps with a pocket knife under her pillow.
And I’m the selfish bastard who intends to keep her all to myself.
Chapter 51
Isadora
Another week seems to fly by, and somehow it’s Friday again. Each day is spent stealing glances of Lucian, shy smiles, secret touches, and hiding away from the other staff to make out in the shadows. We’re like children, sneaking around the manor, as if they don’t already know what’s going on.
Every night, Lucian comes to me and takes me for hours, in positions I’ve never imagined, before he carries me to the bathroom to clean me up. Most mornings, he’s gone before I wake.
I’ve not yet seen his bed, which I suspect is his way of ensuring that I remember what this is between us, and I do. But I want more, and I hate that about all of this. I hate that his touch lingers for far longer than I care to admit, and that the sound of his voice consistently leaves my panties a soaked mess, as if I’ve somehow been primed and trained to respond to it that way. The dreams of him, in his absence, have grown more vivid, darker than before, and I’ve begun to fear them less. Just as the sounds and shadows in my room at night no longer startle me awake.
My cravings have also intensified.
This morning, during my shower, I let the water from the spigot run over my face, as I touched myself, aroused by the lack of breath. The memory of Lucian’s riveted expression in the cave that night, sparkling with some kindred understanding, swirled inside my head while the evidence of my climax ran down my leg.
I haven’t decided yet, whether I’ll go home for the weekend, or spend it at the manor, as Lucian insisted. Aside from the brief visit to the bar, I haven’t seen much of Aunt Midge. But maybe I need a couple days away from him. To distance myself from this growing obsession that’s sure to destroy what we’ve established between us.
I don’t know what’s happened to me in the last week, but since that night in the cave, my preoccupations with the master of this manor have brought me to a heightened need that scares me a little. As if he’s the only one who could possibly understand my sudden fascination with this newfound thrill.
Outside, a black object flutters by my window, breaking my thoughts. It hobbles and flits about the sill on the other side, but the black wings are unmistakable. A raven, or crow. When it finally settles, it tips its head, and I stare down at the bird with the missing eyeball. Perhaps the one I saw the first day, while riding with Aunt Midge. The strange bird caws and flaps its wings again, and in seconds, it takes flight, smacking into the glass.
My muscles flinch, and I step back, frowning. The bird hits the window again. And again. As if it’s trying to come inside, not aware of the barrier there. Its squawks grow louder, and its determination to come through has me backing farther into the room, until the door on the opposite side hits my spine. The obnoxious cawing continues, and I slip out of my bedroom, deciding to head to Laura’s room early today. A tremor hums beneath my skin as I glance back to my room, to be sure it didn’t break through, before shuffling down the hallway to the first floor.
When I enter Laura’s room, Dr. Powell is packing up his bag, stuffing a stethoscope inside. Laura smiles as she sits watching him. The new nurse, who I’ve not yet met, bustles about the bed, and pauses to toss the blue pad into the trash.
“Ah, look who’s here, Laura. Your babysitter has arrived!”
“Companion. And she isn’t terrible. I suppose.” She seems to have her wits about her more today. Perhaps the doctor’s presence has this effect? Or maybe the new nurse is a welcomed change.
“I’ve altered her dosing a bit, so she should be less …” Dr. Powell circles his finger next to his ear, his words confirming my observations of her. “Cuckoo.”
“Stop it.” Laura slaps his arm and gives a lighthearted chuckle. “I’m not
losing my mind just yet.”
“You were for a bit, there.” I tuck the blanket around her legs, and smooth down a flyaway hair.
“Well, I certainly haven’t forgotten in that time what a nuisance you are.”
“She’s warming up to you nicely, I see.” Brows lowered, the doctor jerks his head. “May I have a word with you? It’ll only be a moment.”
“A word? Alone? Is it about me?” Running her fingers over her necklace, Laura smiles up at Dr. Powell.
Bending slightly forward, he takes Laura’s hand and leaves a kiss to her knuckles. “Of course not, darling. I’m sure it’ll come as a surprise to know not every topic is about you. I’m off to my next appointment, so you stay out of trouble.”
“You don’t know me very well, then.”
A sly grin crinkles his face, but once outside the room, it sobers to something more serious, as he closes the door behind him. “I, um … thought, rather than have you find out through Laura, I should tell you that Nell was found dead very early this morning.”
The air deflates inside my chest as I stare back at him, confusion and shock waging war inside my head. “Dead?”
“Yes. It seems she overdosed.”
“Overdosed? That … that doesn’t sound right.”
“She’s been skimming pills off Laura for quite some time. I never said anything because, well … I didn’t exactly have proof. Just scripts running out faster than they should’ve. But as far as I know, it was heroin. The housekeeper at the motel found her.”
I know heroin abusers. Nell certainly gave off the addict vibe, but there’s no way she was actively abusing it all this time. This has to be a relapse.
I lift my gaze back to his. “Motel? What was she doing at a motel?”