by Jenna Grey
“God, I can’t even imagine how that messed with your head. But it wasn’t his fault. I was there until the very last second. It was me that made love to you, not him.”
“I know. It’s all good,” she said, as he began fumbling at the buttons of her dress, clumsy fingers making a terrible job of it. She was his first love, he was her first, and neither of them had really got the hang of it yet.
Polly suddenly thought of the words in the notebook. I love you as much as he does. She pushed it from her mind. Liam was gone, at least for now, and Finn was here, alive and warm and wanting her. She helped him undress her, and they slipped down onto the old iron bedstead, the frame complaining as it took their weight.
“Are we sure this thing’s not going to collapse under us?”
“We’ll soon find out,” Finn said, bouncing up and down a few times. Polly winced as the springs squeaked in protest.
“Oh God, Bert’s going to hear everything!” Polly said.
“Then I better make a good job of it, hadn’t I, or I’ll never live it down.”
Polly slapped him in the chest, and it felt so good to laugh and forget all of the misery of the past few days. She suddenly realised that she did love Finn more than she ever imagined she could love anyone, and she knew he felt the same about her.
Polly lay beneath him in just her bra and pants; Finn still in his shorts, lay pressed against her side, a canopy of flesh and muscle. He was slim, but he’d obviously been weight-training, or at least doing serious push-ups because his body was pure muscle. Then she realised the obvious truth: Liam was always at the gym.
“You sure you’re okay with this? You really are okay?” he asked.
“I need this,” she said, craning her neck upwards to kiss his nose. “And so do you.”
“After what we’ve been through, we both need to remember that good things can still happen.”
“Even if we don’t have a clue what we’re doing,” she said with a giggle.
Polly really didn’t have a clue what she was doing, but then neither did Finn, so at least they could muddle through together without feeling too ridiculous. She had watched a couple of porn films, sneaking into the library when her grandmother was in bed, and then panicking because she didn’t know how to wipe the history. If her grandmother had ever found out, she had never said anything. Finn nodded and gave a lazy smile. He reached behind her and unfastened her bra, peeling it from around her as if he were unwrapping a particularly wonderful Christmas present.
“You are so beautiful. I could stare at you forever.”
Polly giggled.
“That’s actually a bit Twilight creepy,” she replied. “You’ll be telling me you watch me when I’m asleep next.”
“Just a little peek,” he said with a smile, but the smile faded almost instantly. They both fell silent, reading the other’s thoughts.
“Liam watched me while I was asleep, didn’t he? Back at the hotel in York. While you were asleep, he was sitting in the chair all night watching me. That’s a scary thought.”
“It wasn’t his fault, and I’m pretty certain he wasn’t just sitting there ogling you all night. What was he supposed to do while I was off in limbo?”
Polly relented, realising that it really wasn’t Liam’s or Finn’s fault.
“It doesn’t matter, that’s all in the past now. Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
He bent forward and kissed her lightly on the nose.
“Don’t be silly.” He gave her a wicked grin, and bending forwards kissed her between her breasts, a light butterfly kiss. She shivered her pleasure, forgetting foolish words, as his mouth slid to her nipple, teasing it a little with his mouth, sucking on it and making her squirm. Polly had already begun to feel a throbbing pulse in that tiny spot between her legs. She let her hand trail down to his groin, expecting him to be limp after what had just happened, but he was already rock-hard again. She began to gently massage him, circling the shaft with her thumb and forefinger. He made a noise that was a cross between a moan and a whimper, kissing her harder and almost bruising her mouth in his eagerness. He was so hard she was surprised that he hadn’t come already. The look on his face had changed from a kind of soppy affection to something far more primal.
His hand was between her legs now, resting over the top of her panties and he ran his hand over the silk there, kissing her the whole time, eating at her mouth greedily. She felt his fingers edge over the top of her pants, his hand resting over her pubes, his thumb gently stroking the soft down there. She let out a small moan as he eased her pants down, kissing her again, more forcefully this time, his control gone. The whole length of his body was pressed against hers, her breasts crushed under his weight, his hardness trapped against her thigh. He began to move against her, not inside her, just rubbing himself against her, running his hands down her body, his mouth locked on hers. He kneaded her thighs, kissing her urgently, his lips almost bruising her in his hunger. She twisted her fingers into his hair, trapping him there, making him kiss her harder, her tongue probing his mouth, just as his explored hers. His hand moved between her legs, sliding over the moist warmth there and he pushed his fingers into her gently, sliding in and moving them inside her with sensitive strokes. She was already so wet. A faint throb began in that sweet spot between her legs, pulsing in time with the beat of her heart. She knew it wouldn’t take much to push her over the edge into orgasm – just having him pressed against her was almost enough.
Finn eased her legs apart and knelt between them. He grabbed the pillow, easing it under her so that her hips were raised a little.
He looked down then, forcing her legs just a little wider, spreading her open, so that he could see every part of her; he held her open with one hand while he played his fingers over and around her opening, his eyes wide, his breathing ragged, studying every part of her.
“I want to know what you taste like,” he said.
He moved his face down between her legs to nuzzle, pressing his face closer, burying himself in her and he began to nibble at the softness on either side of her opening, gentle bites and sucks that brought a moan from her lips. She let out a stuttering breath as his tongue flicked out and licked over her. Then he found that sweet spot and began to suck on it, bright bursts of almost pain that sang through her body and made her shudder. It went on for an eternity, his tongue probing further into her, just as his fingers had, sucking hard. His teeth tightened around her, clamping on that most tender part of her while he sucked, the stubble of his chin grazing her skin, sharp little prickles of pain against the softness.
“Oh God,” she said, arching her back. He pulled back suddenly and looked up at her; his mouth was wet with her. She was so close to coming, that heat building between her legs, already throbbing and she knew just a couple more minutes, and she would tip over the edge. Finn pulled himself up from her before she came and she could feel him over her, his face close to hers.
“At least I remembered the condom this time,” Finn said, laughing, fumbling in his jeans pocket for it. Polly put it on for him, finding it more difficult than she’d thought it would be. He was so large it barely fitted.
Finn guided himself to her opening, just letting the tip of him rest there for a moment, without pushing inside. She reached down and helped him to get into just the right position, and he eased himself in carefully, fighting for every inch, not wanting to hurt her. Once he was halfway inside, he pushed up into her, not hard, not hitting the back of her, just filling her completely.
“Good?” he asked.
Polly just gave a contented sigh as Finn began to move against her with gentle, controlled movements. She could see that he was struggling to control himself, holding back so that he didn’t hurt her. He braced himself on his hands to keep his weight off of her, moving against her with slow, languorous movements.
“You’re not hurting me – it’s good,” she whispered.
He bent forward and kissed her, although she
had to tilt her head right up so that their lips could touch. He let himself drop onto her, using his elbows to support his weight and put his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. He began to move against her, still careful, but more deliberately now.
Polly wrapped her legs around his back, and he pushed himself into her with one almost savage thrust, his teeth clenching and his face tight with need. She pushed herself onto him even more, wanting all of him inside her, filling her. She wrapped her legs around his back, forcing him to fuck her harder, wanting him to take her as roughly as he wanted. Finn, his control gone now, pounded into her hard and fast, hurting her a little because of the size of him, but she rode the pain, and it was lost in the sensations that consumed her. She needed Finn to chase away the fear, to stop her thinking of anything but him inside her. She didn’t want gentle Finn; she wanted hungry and needy Finn; she wanted to lose herself in him and forget everything else. She couldn’t breathe now, the weight of him on top of her, crushing her chest, her breasts bruising against his hard muscles. That wonderful hot sensation between her legs was clawing its way out into every inch of her body. Finn thrust against her so hard and fast, that she just had to lie there and let him take over. That terrible, wonderful sensation built between her legs until she screamed her orgasm, riding it until it was finished.
Finn lay on top of her, completely exhausted for long minutes, their hearts pounding against one another, sweat-soaked and gasping for breath.
“Thank you. That was just what we needed,” she said.
“Just don’t ask for seconds,” he panted.
“I barely managed firsts,” Polly replied with a giggle.
Finn drew her into his arms, and yanking the covers up over them, snuggled her against him to sleep.
CHAPTER FIVE
Sarah Mills hadn't kept her promise to send an owl to Blaine to let him know when the first of the autopsies were carried out, he'd been tipped off by an assistant at the mortuary who had been happy to bypass protocol for a couple of decent tickets to a performance of Aida.
They had taken some of the bodies straight from the crime scene to the local morgue and started on them almost immediately; some they had to send off to other nearby mortuaries because they couldn’t cope with that many bodies at one time. They were going to be working on them all night. The outraged cries from the press that it might be a terrorist attack needed to be assuaged and wild rumours put to bed as quickly as possible, even if it meant calling in every pathologist and Medical Examiner in the Home Counties. Blaine had managed to get a hold of the first reports, courtesy of the opera fan, and they were more or less what he had expected. So far, every one of them was an open verdict – it could hardly be otherwise. He’d like to bet that would change before the public ever got sight of them.
He’d been lucky: Gaunt’s body had been one of those shipped to the local mortuary, and they had been very thorough in photographing the bodies. He could see that tattoos clearly now; most of them more than a few years old, faded into the skin and dissolving into his sallow flesh. There were a few new ones, perhaps added as he immersed himself deeper and deeper into the darkest of regions, protection against ever more powerful enemies. Blaine recognised a lot of them, the ones he didn’t know might present a problem; he had no real way of checking them out. You couldn’t just nip down to the public library for a book on occult sigils. Whatever these were, they were the darkest shade of black. It was beginning to look as if Bert Fountain was his best hope of getting some answers. As far as Blaine knew he was the most knowledgable person on the subject in most parts of the world. Strange that such a humble man could have so much power at his fingertips and yet had never had the inclination to use it. Perhaps with that much power he didn’t feel the need to take more than he needed for a comfortable life. Please God, it stayed that way.
Dalbert Winchard’s case was far more interesting. The scratches seemed to have been from a female, small nails, the wounds in the neck caused by something like a two-pronged toasting fork. The cause of death. Unknown, of course. He’d get his visit to Gaunt House out of the way tomorrow morning and then get over to Little Tidmouth. He had a feeling that was going to be an interesting visit.
Gaunt House was precisely as Blaine had pictured it, something straight from the Addam’s family, but with more attitude. It was truly depressing, and Elias Gaunt must have felt right at home here. It was on the outskirts of the village, standing entirely on its own in a rambling, overgrown piece of woodland that overshadowed the equally depressing garden; it was full of weeds and plants that thrived on the damp and lack of light. Blaine got an unpleasant sense of foreboding as he walked through the gate. The overhanging trees must have made it constantly dark inside, the sun barely touching its ivy-covered walls. There was a ring of old tree stumps in the wooded grounds, and his research had revealed that a coven of witches had used it as their meeting ground in the long distant past. The present building was about a hundred and fifty years old, but there had been a wooden house here before that, and there was a lot of history attached to the place. Rumour had it that there were caves under the house that the witches used back in the day when they could still be hung for practising witchcraft; there was even mention of human sacrifice taking place back then. Needless to say, they weren’t a nice friendly coven of pure-hearted Wikkans; they were most definitely on the wrong side of the fence.
The police were already there when he arrived, the front door open and people milling in and out. They weren’t interested in Gaunt’s theological beliefs; all they were interested in was whether or not they could put to bed any unsolved crimes in the area. Blaine was pretty confident that Gaunt and his minions had been responsible for at least some of the disappearances in the area, but there had been no evidence. This was a career building investigation for someone if they could prove Gaunt had been responsible for them. That man really had the luck of the devil, though, and was probably sharing his company right now with any luck.
“Oh, I wondered when you’d show up.” A very tight-lipped greeting.
Jack recognised the man, a DS, who’d been at the warehouse. He hadn’t liked him then, and he didn’t like him any better now. He’d locked horns with his sort on practically every case he’d ever handled, a bull-headed, ‘I’ve been there, done it and bought the tee shirt’ type who had permanent blinkers on when it came to anything outside of his immediate experience. Grimes, that was it. His name suited him perfectly.
“Found anything interesting?” Blaine asked.
“Sod all that’s of any use to us so far, well, unless the collection of shrunken heads we found is anybody we know. We’ve sent them off to the path lab, but not expecting much. That bloke was one sick fuck. You should see some of the stuff we found in there, turned my guts over. Thank God he’s out of the way.”
“I’ll go in and take a look anyway,” Blaine said. “There’s a girl living here... Polly Nightingale? Have you spoken to her?”
“Yeah, we went to see her yesterday. She’s moved into this tacky magic shop in Tidmouth with a young bloke and his old man. Fountain – right couple of weirdos. The old boy gave me the creeps; he’s definitely a few sandwiches short of a picnic. He kept trying to pour tea down my neck. I interviewed the girl, and she was covering something up, just not sure what. It could just have been that she was rattled by her uncle’s death, but I want to take a closer look at that little setup – there’s definitely something fishy going on.”
Blaine was pretty sure that this man’s definition of ‘weirdo’ was anybody that wasn’t him. But Polly moving in with Bert Fountain? Blaine was suddenly overwhelmed with too many possibilities. He pushed them aside so that he could concentrate on the here and now.
“I know of the Fountains, they’re decent people. If they are involved, I doubt it’s anything nefarious. I’ll go and have a word with them and see what I can get out of them.”
Grimes gave Blaine a curious look.
“What’s your in
terest in them, then?”
Blaine decided he wasn’t in the mood to be diplomatic, not with a brain dead troglodyte like this.
“I keep an eye on anyone that has any kind of serious occult power. It’s very incestuous, the arcane world – most powerful magicians know one another, even if they’re enemies. Fountain will certainly have come across Gaunt and have something on him.”
The look of curiosity turned to one of unconcealed derision.
“You’re not serious. You’re winding me up. Magic?”
Blaine gave him his best smile.
“What do you think?”
Grimes looked inordinately relieved. Blaine would have dearly loved to tell him a few home truths, but this man wouldn’t want to hear them.
“I don’t think the girl’s into anything heavy, she seemed scared,” Grimes said. “We thought at first that Gaunt might have done away with her because the neighbours said they hadn’t seen her for a few days, but I had a word with the local shopkeeper, and he said that she’d moved out and gone to live with Fountain.”
Blaine gave a nod.
“Thanks. I’ll go in and take a look around if that’s okay.”
“Sure, help yourself – we’re just about finished.”
The interior of the house was much more palatable than the exterior, a rambling old place with lots of corridors and dark wood, but it didn’t feel depressing. There was a certain kind of warmth to it, and Blaine suspected that was probably down to the fact that the girl had put her stamp on it. He had a small file on the Gaunt and Pringle families; they were all heavily into the occult, but all on the right side apart from dear old Uncle Elias. He could feel the arcane energy that permeated the place, most of it neutral, some of it positive, but a lot of it dark enough to set his nerves on edge.
He found his way into the library – it was pretty impressive considering the size of the house. The shelves were mainly lined with occult books, some of which would have definitely ended up in the restricted section at Hogwarts. There wasn’t anything there, though, that immediately rung alarm bells. Gaunt would undoubtedly have kept the really dark stuff under lock and key.