Awakened with a Touch

by Kessily Lewel

  A second later, he'd thrust his hand between her thighs, feeling her thoroughly but in an almost clinical manner. Her face flushed and she made a sound suspiciously like a squeak in her surprise when he spread her lower lips and pressed his finger between them. A second later, he pulled his hand away but leaned down to whisper against her ear, "Just checking to make sure you weren't enjoying this."

  She wasn't, not one bit, and it was obvious that she wasn't. But something about his checking and the veiled threat she'd perceived of what would have happened if she was, made her body react, and that had been his intention. She felt the tingling and the sudden surge of dampness between her thighs and hoped that he wouldn't notice.

  The position wasn't quite as exposed as what she'd dealt with on the bed, but there was still a level of visibility, and now she trembled with fear, in case he realized she was getting excited. She didn't realize the very fact that it was forbidden was what was stirring her body and arousing her, but he'd known exactly how she'd react.

  It wasn't a trap to have a reason to add to her misery, though he made a mental note to use it for that someday when she wasn't being punished. No, it was a subtle act of mercy. He'd keep his word about using the switches while giving her a bit of a cushion against the additional pain.

  Stepping back, he raised the switches and brought them down across the fullness of her ass in a gathered clump that he held tightly so they didn't spread out too far. That was the first, and she took it well. For a second, there was no reaction at all and then there was a sudden hissing between her teeth as the fiery lines welted right up. Her hips shook, ass cheeks bouncing, as she tried to shake out the sting.

  He brought the bundle down again, faster this time. They made a swishing sound as they flew through the air and snapped across her seat, lower this time. Each stroke was leaving three separate and distinct crimson lines across her enflamed flesh. Each one swelled out into a puffy welt and he paused to drag the tip of his fingernail over one, making her squeal and start to rise.

  She froze when he cleared his throat, a clear warning that she heeded. He'd give her one more, and it would be the hardest yet, but he waited for it. He felt, pressed, massaged and scritched his way across each cheek first. Attention that was designed to arouse her without making it obvious. While she groaned and did her best to ignore the touching, he smirked with amusement at her body's obvious reactions. He knew her nipples were hard little nubs right now without even seeing them.

  Just when she thought that he had to notice the juices that were tickling the inside of her thighs, he stepped back. The switches hissed, snapping cruelly across the crease between ass and thigh and wrapping around to bite into the outside of her leg. She yelped and stamped her feet desperately but she didn't let go of her ankles until he told her they were done.

  She straightened immediately and turned towards him, mostly so that her backside was out of reach, but also to throw her arms around him and cower against his chest. She wondered, later, what would drive her to seek comfort from the person who had just punished her, caused her pain, but it just seemed natural at the time and she clung to him while he whispered soothing things and rubbed her back.

  She excused herself when she was calmer, slipping into the bathroom with the excuse that she wanted to wash her red and puffy face, but she really wanted to get a look at her backside in the mirror. It felt like it had been flayed, the skin stripped from her rump, but when she looked in the mirror, it was almost shocking to find nothing of the sort. Careful examination of her reflection showed an ass that was a solid red almost down to her knees.

  He had done a thorough job this time, and she'd still be feeling it in the morning, she was sure. Breaking up the deep shades of red were the white marks from the switching, and those caught her attention. Fat curving lines that stood out from her skin like she'd been embossed. When she touched and then ran her nail over them, she found the sensation oddly pleasurable. There was a tingling between her thighs as she scraped the tip of her nail slowly along the welts; she flushed and let her hand drop.

  She wasn't supposed to enjoy the punishment, but now that it was over, maybe John would be willing to make things all better, she thought. She picked up a bottle of lotion thoughtfully and went to see if she could convince him to rub some into her scorched skin and maybe seduce him into some activities that would take her mind off the throbbing in her seat. Since that was exactly what John had intended, it worked with remarkably little enticement on her part.

  Gentle ministrations with the lotion helped to tone down the sting a little. The exaggerated writhing from his touch that, incidentally, caused her thighs to fall apart, exposing her wet, hungry sex to his view, were enough to turn things where she wanted them to go. Unfortunately, there was no position that didn't aggravate her aching backside and there was some scrambling to maneuver so the enthusiastic lovemaking wasn't dimming her pleasure. Finally, she ended up on all fours, and that worked. It worked extremely well, in fact.

  His thighs slapping against her heated flesh did refresh the burn, but it wasn't enough to overwhelm her. It kept her on edge as she worked to balance the pleasure with the pain while he thrust into her from behind. He held her by the hips while he drove into her—long, deep thrusts that filled her and caused her to send wild animalistic sounds echoing through the house. She'd regret those the next day, but for now, she was mindless in her pursuit of sexual release.

  She got what she needed so badly when he reached around, finding her clit, and began to flick the slick little nub with the pad of his finger. Teasing up under the hood to find the bundle of nerves there until, suddenly, a wave of intense sensation tightened every muscle in her body. Her walls clenched around his shaft. The rippling effect made him groan as she dragged him closer to the edge.

  He held out long enough to stroke into her a few more times, hard, violent thrusts that shook the antique bed and slammed her forward as his body rocked against her. She knew when he was about to explode; his whole body stiffened, pausing for a long second in mid-stroke. He trembled as he held that pose and then, suddenly, he was moving again but the motions were rushed and unsteady, hips jerking spasmodically while he fought to continue just long enough for her to come again.

  If he wasn't a ghost, if he didn't have supernatural endurance, he probably wouldn't have been able to hold out long enough, but being dead had to have a few perks and the ability to control his body was one of them. He shifted to angle just right, stroking hard and fast across her g-spot until she screamed, collapsing forward on her elbows as her body jerked with the massive orgasm that rolled over her in waves.

  The sounds she made, and the way her pleasure-soaked core clenched tight around his shaft made it impossible for him to continue. With one last thrust, he collapsed against her, arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her with him as he fell to the side. He slid out of her, already softening, as she leaned back against his chest with a sigh. Her heart was still racing, breath coming in small pants as a laugh burst out of her.

  "That was incredible," she said breathlessly. Her back felt clammy from sex sweat and her long hair clung to her skin, pulling it. She leaned away from him so she could sweep it over her shoulder out of the way, and then she settled back into his arms again, blissfully exhausted.

  "Every moment with you is incredible." He paused. "But some are more so. I admit that this was one of the better moments," he added, chuckling as he pulled her closer. He rested his chin in the hollow of her shoulder as he held her. "I never know what to expect from you, April," he said.

  "I could say the same about you!" she said, amusement heavy in her tone. "I didn't expect the fun part afterwards."

  "Your punishment was done. It was a hard one for you, and I saw no reason why we couldn't share some comfort, once it was finished." His voice deepened, a hint of the sternness creeping in as he continued, "Don't make the mistake of thinking it means I wasn't serious. I expect a certain amount of rebelliousness, disobedie
nce, but if we're to make a life together, I won't tolerate deceitfulness, April."

  She shifted, turning in his arms so she could look up at him. "I'm sorry I lied to you and I'm sorry I tried to hide things from you. It doesn't excuse it, but all I can say is that it's hard, sometimes, to get used to this new situation. I never thought of myself as a submissive person, until you," she explained. She stared into his deep blue eyes, fringed with thick dark lashes that seemed wasted on a man, and willed him to understand.

  "Modern women," he said in a lighter tone, teasing her. He leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead in a gentle kiss. "I do understand, April, and I'm trying not to hold you to the standards of my time. The fact that you're strong and independent doesn't disturb me. I appreciate your strength especially as, well, perhaps it would be different were I able to go out as your escort. Since I'm trapped here, it pleases me that you have the strength to deal with problems you'll face outside the house."

  She thought about that a lot, especially at night while she was trying to sleep. Not that she ever worried about needing an escort or protection, but she wondered what it was going to be like to be with a man who could never set foot in the sun. There had to be women who dealt with the issue, wives of shut-ins or agoraphobics, so she could do it, too. But it was going to mean some adjustment. She was going to have to find some activities to take her out of the house, though, or she'd lose her mind.

  Being given a mansion and enough money to cover the costs of it for at least a year or two, she hoped, meant she wasn't going to rush to find a local job. She'd look, because she wasn't going to wait until the money dwindled slowly away, but she wasn't going to grab the first thing she saw, either. She had a degree; it might only be an associate's degree, but she wanted to use it. That did give her a couple of ideas, though.

  "I was thinking about something you said earlier. Maybe I'll take a class for self defense. A lot of women do that. There was one offered at my college that I thought about joining, but it conflicted with one of my classes and I couldn't make it work." She watched his expression, with a twinge of nervousness. Would he approve of that? She needed some form of exercise if she didn't want to end up with the wide hips that were her mother's curse, and it would be cheaper than the gym membership she currently had.

  "Self defense?" he repeated, mulling this over. This was a concept that was unheard of when he'd lived, but he'd seen enough television to understand what she was considering. "I think that's an excellent idea, April," he said approvingly. It was just a shame she couldn't begin immediately, but of course, she was contractually bound to the house, still.

  She smiled wide, flashing her teeth. "I'll have to see what's available, once I move here," she said.

  "Does that mean you've decided for sure that you're staying?" he asked hesitantly. It was a subject that hadn't come up between them since they'd agreed to see how the month went, but she didn't sound like she was unsure.

  She hesitated and then shrugged slightly. "I think we both know I'm staying, John. I can't really imagine leaving anymore." She sighed as she reached up, running her palm along his jaw line, against the grain of the stubble that tickled her skin. She'd decided a while back that she was going to stay but she'd avoided telling him because if he thought he had to woo her, he was more likely to relax his old-fashioned attitude.

  But with only a few days left, did it matter at this point?

  More importantly, did she really want him to completely let go of his ways to embrace hers? No, she really didn't. Maybe it was weird and maybe she was a lousy feminist but he'd relaxed enough that she felt she could live with the rest, and if he became too modern, he might lose what excited her the most—his dominance.

  "I thought you'd decided to, yes, but I didn't want to ask, in case you felt pressured to commit. I'm glad you're staying. I don't—" He shook his head. "I don't know what I'd do if you left, at this point. I'm not sure you entirely understand my feelings for you, April. I don't expect I came off in the best light when you learned that I'd specifically requested a woman, in hopes of someone I might be able to have a relationship with."

  "No, not so much," she agreed softly, remembering the fight they'd had over it. It had felt like she was just the first woman who'd come along that fit his requirements. That he didn't love her for her, but for her ability to see him.

  He brushed his thumb across her soft bottom lip and shook his head. "I only wanted the chance to meet someone that I might find an acceptable companion. I never expected to find someone I could love, April. And then you came, and the walls I built around my heart through the long years shattered and came crashing down. Everything I thought I knew changed and then I realized I loved you," he said.

  She blinked as tears sprang to her eyes. Every time he said those words, it made her heart spasm. She'd never been in love before. She'd dated, of course, but there'd never been any great emotional attachment because she didn't trust them not to leave when they found out about her weird psychic gifts. John was the first to find them an asset.

  "When?" she asked.

  "When?" His eyebrows went up in question.

  "Yes, I imagine you decided I was acceptable as soon as you invaded my dreams and saw how I reacted to you, but when did you decide you loved me?" she asked.

  "Hmm." He appeared to give the matter serious thought as he sat up and began arranging them in a more comfortable position for sleeping. He pulled the covers over their nude bodies when he noticed the bumps on her skin from the chilly room. Though she'd have preferred a shower before bed, she was just too worn out to get up and take one, so she settled against him, waiting for him to answer.

  "That first night I saw you in the kitchen and you raised a knife at me, I think," he said finally.

  She snorted and lightly slapped his chest. "Oh, c'mon, John. I'm serious!" she complained.

  "So am I," he assured her. "Listen, your exotic looks caught my attention from the moment I saw you. You're very attractive and I noticed that immediately, as well."

  Her brows furrowed, and she was poised to interrupt him and give him the speech about how using the term exotic was rude with someone who wasn't of the same race, but she reminded herself: different times. There were so many things that he just wasn't going to understand, not yet, anyway. She let it go, and in a few seconds, she realized she'd misunderstood him entirely.

  He hadn't noticed her reaction and was continuing to explain. "I thought you were lovely, and I was afraid for you." He paused, looking a little embarrassed. "Time stretches in odd ways here. And I spend much of it dormant when the house is empty, so sometimes, when I wake, I've lost track of the years. I forget when I am, and when I saw you there, all I could think of was that with your appearance, Harold would waste no time in making you one of his victims."

  This wasn't at all what she was expecting. Her annoyance at him pointing out her appearance, above all things, and then calling her exotic vanished in her confusion. "What? I don't understand," she said.

  He frowned, his eyes narrowed as he struggled with the words. "I'm not sure how to say this without—I understand things are very different now, and I don't wish to offend you, but Harold had a special fondness for women who were not white—and especially women who were from two races," he finished awkward.

  "Mixed race, like me?" she asked, eyes widening.

  "Those were his favorite, yes. You are lovely and very obviously Indian, so my first thought was that I should force you to leave before Harold had a chance to hurt you," he explained. "Of course, I'd forgotten that Harold died long ago, but when I attempted to bully you out of the house, your first thought was not to run, but to fight." He looked down at her face with an intense look of passion that made her shiver.

  "My mother is Native American," she said delicately, rather than correct him for calling her Indian. "My father is Irish," she added. "Why would he care, though?" she wondered.

  John shrugged. "For that, I have no answer. I merely noted the pa
ttern of his victims after my death. You seemed to fit his preferences. But when you shouted at me, when you went for the knife and I saw all that determination in your eyes… I think, yes, that's when I fell in love with you. The fact that you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen made it almost seem too perfect. I thought, at first, it had to be a dream."

  She just stared at him, her hazel eyes were wide and there was a hurt, fragile look in them. He wasn't sure how he'd hurt her but hastened to apologize, anyway. "If I said something that was—I didn't mean to hurt you, April," he said hurriedly, as if he could wipe away that look if he spoke fast enough.

  She took a deep gulping breath, already shaking her head. "No! Sorry, no, you didn't. It's not you," she blurted. "Ahh, I'm so sorry, just give me a second," she said. She rolled out of bed and hurried to the bathroom, closing the door behind her firmly for privacy. It was the one room in the house where she could have that and she didn't want to fall apart on camera. She stood in front of the mirror and stared at her reflection while fat tears ran down her high cheekbones. She wasn't even sure why she was crying.

  Men had always been attracted to her looks, and she could admit that she was attractive enough. Her parents' genes had combined nicely to give her a distinctive look that caught attention, but it wasn't always good attention. Some people actually had a fetish for Native American people that had led to some weird conversation, but there were also a lot of negative feelings towards tribal people still running rampant out there.

  Her father's family, for instance, hadn't approved of the marriage and had always treated her like she was a mongrel pup who'd somehow gotten into a litter of purebreds. As a result, she wasn't close to any of them and they'd done a lot to make her feel like she wasn't good enough because of her skin color. It was even worse with her mother's people. Not so much her actual family; most of those, like her grandmother, were wonderful, but others on the reservation where her mother had grown up had made a point of whispering nasty things, just loud enough for her to hear.