“My formalwear you mean,” Beau grinned. “And quit your complaining. You should be thankful that the extent of my revenge is removing the sleeves off the suit you’re wearing. It could have been much worse. A bullet through the back of your skull is a perfect example.”
Beau had a point. In terms of revenge, this had to be one of the more hilarious methods I’ve seen.
“Prepare for docking,” I heard the ship captain announce as the old steamboat chugged along, heading steadily towards the wooden dock.
We were crashing the wedding ridiculously early, but as per Isadora’s instructions, I was to meet with her before the start of the wedding ceremony to sort out the final details of our deal.
I stared with baited breath as we docked onto dry land.
“Here we are,” the captain announced, “Paradise right in the heart of Louisiana.”
We had landed on an island, smacked dab in the middle of the swamp, right in the center of which stood a magnificent, white plantation house.
It was similar to those I’d seen in movies; a two story colonial inspired home with large white columns stemming from ground to roof. In between the columns were large bay windows that reflected the orange glow of the setting sun. Outside in the yard, workers were busy preparing for tonight’s festivities, setting up tables and chairs and stringing lights alongside the large white tents where the dinner and dancing were to take place.
“Well isn’t that something,” Beau said as he marveled at all the work that was being put into the wedding.
An elderly man in old-style butler garb greeted us. “You must be the guests that Lady Isadora’s expecting,” he said.
“Lady Isadora?” Beau guffawed. “She’s royalty all of a sudden?”
The servant frowned.
“Beau, shut up,” Lincoln said, as he turned to the butler. “We’re honored to be guests at her lovely home.”
The butler eyed Lincoln’s suit—more specifically his bare, tattooed arms—and wrinkled his nose.
“Yes…well do come along then,” he said, gesturing towards the big white plantation house. “Ms. Isadora wanted to see you the second you arrived. It’s best we not keep her waiting.”
We walked up the purple carpet laid out on dirt path that led up to the house.
I stepped through the large doors of the estate and smiled. The inside of the home was exactly how I’d pictured it. The walls and ceiling were painted white from top to bottom in contrast to the dark brown hardwood floors. A brilliant crystal chandelier hung from the center of the foyer, accentuating the wealth of this lovely home.
Things were lively inside as well, as servants frantically ran back and forth, hands filled with flowers, food, drinks, and other necessities for a bride’s perfect day.
The butler led us up a wide staircase and onto the second floor. We were greeted by a row of closed doors.
“The very far door on the right,” the butler said.
The three of us began to walk towards it, but the butler was quick to hold out his hand, blocking our paths.
“Only her,” he said.
“Can’t I watch?” Lincoln asked.
The butler shook his head. “Experiencing the gift of Lady Isadora’s magic is something that is sacred and private. Only Lucy…” he paused as he glanced at me with curiosity in his eyes, “…is granted this blessed experience.”
“We can stand outside the door though? In case any sneaky shit happens?” Beau asked.
The butler sighed. “I assure you, no sneaky shit will happen. You are our guests, and will be treated as such.
“It’s okay,” I reassured them. “I’ll be okay.”
I wondered if I sounded convincing, especially since I was nervous as hell. I walked slowly towards the last door on the right and stopped in front of it.
I took a deep breath and raised my fists, ready to knock. However just as my knuckles were about to make contact with the door, Isadora called me in.
“You may enter,” she said.
Did she hear my footsteps from outside?
I braced myself for what was likely inside—a black cauldron perhaps? Maybe some decapitated monkey heads on sticks? Or snakes slithering around the bones of old sacrificial victims?
Inside, I was greeted with a normal looking bedroom—a king sized bed on a beautiful rosewood bedframe, elegant flowery drapes, a vanity mirror that went hand-in-hand with a milk-white makeup table, and a black leather chaise pushed up against the window.
I’d watched too many B-rated horror movies as a kid.
Isadora sat on the bed, wearing a stunning long black dress that flowed from her breasts all the way down to the floor. Even without make up on she had looked gorgeous but now, with a few touches, she was a goddess. Her beauty was enchanting.
“Oh wow,” I said, surprised by her radiance. “I swear you’re going to steal the bride’s thunder.”
Isadora smiled. “I hope not,” she said. “Otherwise I’ll never hear the end of it.” She gestured towards the edge of the bed. “Close the door behind you, and then come and sit.”
I did.
“Do I have anything to worry about?” I asked, bluntly.
“Have a little faith,” Isadora said, “After all, this is what this experience is about: Faith.”
She reached for a wine glass, filled with a clear liquid, by the bedside table. She handed it over to me.
“Drink,” she instructed.
“What is it?”
“A potion.”
I stared at the contents and wrinkled my nose. “You’re drugging me?”
Thankfully, Isadora seemed to have a lot of patience with me tonight. “Do you know why I chose you from the others?”
“Because I’m the least annoying?” I speculated.
“True,” Isadora said, “But that’s not the reason why. Out of the three of you, the ghosts that haunt you are the strongest—both the ghosts of the living and the dead.”
I was puzzled. “How can the living be ghosts?”
“Ah, now this is where we get down to the basis of my voodoo,” Isadora explained. “We all have a spirit inside of us. Some call it a soul, but I like to see them as living ghosts. These living spirits are not restricted by the confines of our body. They are free to wander the ends of the earth, haunting the people whose lives the individual has made an impression on. You understand?”
“Okay,” I said, doing my best to be objective about the entire thing.
“Have you ever felt heartbreak?”
I thought of Shadow and nodded immediately.
“That’s a living ghost, haunting you,” Isadora said. “Has someone ever done something that made you smile every time you thought about it?”
Once again, I thought of Shadow, dancing the Macarena in Cambodia, and I nodded once more.
“A living ghost, seeping into your memories.”
“What about dead ghosts?” I asked.
Isadora’s voice suddenly took on a more serious tone. “The dead ghosts are the ones that you don’t want to fuck with,” she said. “Their ghosts are far stronger than that of the living. Their presence feels different too. They linger in your thoughts and leave far more devastating impressions on a person. Even if they’re not menacing in nature, these ghosts can still wreak havoc on our emotional being.”
I thought of Justin. What she was saying seemed to have some validity to it.
“The ghosts that cling to you, both the living and the dead, are far stronger than any I’ve seen,” Isadora said. She squinted. “Two of the living ghosts you have are in conflict of each other as well.”
I raised a brow. “Oh?”
“I like you Lucy…though I’m not convinced that’s your real name.”
“Aria,” I said. There was no harm in telling Isadora who I was. “Aria Valencia.”
“The Crow Killer?”
I sighed. “Man, is that how I’m going to be known to the rest of the world? Aria the Crow Killer?”
&nb
sp; Isadora grinned. “I’ve always been drawn to strong women.”
“I’m not as strong as you think,” I sighed.
“I’m here to help you regain your strength.” Isadora gestured towards the glass that was still in my hand. “Let’s see if we can sort out your living ghosts, and more importantly, exorcise the dead one. Trust in me. Now drink.”
What the hell. It wasn’t like had anything else to lose—except perhaps my life. But the value of all human lives these days seemed pretty low to me.
I needed something different.
I drank the sweet liquid within the glass in one single gulp.
Immediately, I felt warmth radiate through my body. My toes and fingers began tingling. I felt pleasant, glowing almost, like I had downed a couple of glasses of wine.
“Now, close your eyes Aria. What we are going to do is free your own living ghost and enter into the world of others. We are going to make a connection with the three spirits that surround your thoughts. Remember, there are no boundaries for what your spirit can do. There are no inhibitions or consequences. You are in control of what happens.” Isadora explained. “Now, focus on my voice.”
I did.
“Three doors,” she said, her tone of voice almost lyrical in nature, “three closed doors in a place where you feel safe, in a place you trust.”
Her voice seeped into my mind as I felt my body go completely numb.
The world around me faded into white. I closed my eyes, inhaled, and when I opened my eyes again, I found myself standing at the center of the University’s campus—the place that I had spent the last three years of my life trying to achieve my lifelong dreams of being a concert pianist.
At the time, I had hated waking up at seven a.m. to make it to morning lectures, my eyes often swollen shut from the lack of proper sleep. I remembered dragging my tired ass to the lecture hall only to endure an hour and half long snoozefest. But now, being far removed from it, I missed the University more than I could have imagined.
I missed having a purpose. I missed living.
“Approach the first door,” Isadora said, “And discover your desires.”
I drifted through the luscious green grass of the campus, the smells of spring tulips filling my nostrils, as I approached Berlioz Hall. It was where most of my classes were held. I opened the white double doors and stepped inside.
All the classrooms in the first floor of Berlioz Hall were gone. Instead it was replaced with a large room, decorated with elegant, vintage furniture. The walls and floors were made out of wood, filling the room with the fresh scent of cedar mixed with exotic spices and sweet scented smoke. A single black chair rested at the center of the room and behind it was a large stone fireplace. A painting of a moon—the same as Lincoln’s tattoo—hung above the mantle. The smell of firewood burning and the warmth of the heat generating from it were both welcoming.
“This first room houses the living spirit of the man that fills you with the most temptation—the forbidden fruit that you know you shouldn’t taste but you long to do so anyways.”
And then Lincoln appeared, behind the chair, like he had been there all along. He was dressed in the elegant dark suit that he wore when I first met him at Shadow’s party. He was even wearing the fox mask.
“Now, accept his spirit completely and give in to everything you desire,” Isadora said. “Only then can you free yourself from the temptations of this man. All your senses are amplified in this encounter—taste, smell, sound, and touch. Give into his ghost, and then free yourself from him physically.”
“A pleasure to see you again, Golden Virgin,” Lincoln said, in a cheerful tone. The light from the fire cast a dark silhouette around him. “I’m quite honored that you chose me to be the object of your forbidden lust.”
“It shouldn’t be that much of a surprise,” I said. “I did allow for a part of you to be inside me the other night.”
Lincoln made the peace sign with both fingers. “Victory?”
“Deviant,” I couldn’t help but laugh. I tried to recall the name of the other man—the one that I had fallen in love with—but for the moment, that person’s name escaped me.
The only name that was on my lips now was Lincoln.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” he asked.
“Should I trust you?”
“Not in the least,” he said, as he slowly removed the fox mask to reveal his beautiful, boyish features. “Now come here.”
He said it in such an authoritative manner—confident and determined—that it filled my entire body with nervous anticipation. I walked over to the chair slowly.
Just as I was about to sit down, he stopped me, his firm hands lifting me back up. His touch was spellbinding and it made me forget about breathing all together.
“Take off your clothes,” he instructed. “I want to see your body. I want to see what I’m going to taste, and then fuck.”
I took in his words like the gospel. I felt as if lust had taken complete control of my body. My hands—no longer my own—slowly began removing the dress I wore. My breasts, swollen with desire, spilled out revealing my hard nipples which ached to be touched.
Once the dress was loosened from around my shoulders, the rest of it slid off my body and onto the floor with ease.
I was naked and shaking with anticipation, yearning for his touch to fill me.
Lincoln’s eyes did a full survey, up and down my body, before he finally settled on my breasts. He reached out and pinched my pink nipples, swirling his thumbs around the surface of them.
I groaned.
“Tell me what it is you want, Golden Virgin,” he said as one hand slowly slid downwards and found my wet pussy, his middle finger gently massaging the outer folds of my lips.
“I want—” I paused for a moment as I swallowed hard. It wasn’t love that I wanted from him, nor was it a relationship at the moment. What did I want?
“I want satisfaction,” I gasped.
He kissed me passionately, his tongue exploring my mouth, telling me how much he desired me. Lincoln tasted exotic, like cinnamon and red wine, and I devoured his lips.
Finally, he pulled away from me, his fingers still exploring my delicate folds, his thumb brushing over my clit, sending sensual pulses throughout my entire body.
“I like a woman who knows what she wants,” he replied with a grin. He pushed me onto the chair, not in a forceful way, but with authority nonetheless. I gave in.
I watched as he slowly removed his suit jacket, folded it neatly, and then laid it on a table. His eyes never lost sight of me.
He continued to undress, working on his buttoned shirt next. I watched him eagerly, while the warmth of the fire bathed me in heat.
Lincoln’s body was a beautiful piece of work, the fire casting an orange glow against his smooth skin, decorated with tattoos. I wanted him to make me scream the way Juno had screamed while he fucked her. I wanted him to make me feel like a dirty girl.
He left his pants on as he placed his hands on my knees and pushed them apart slowly, his eyes staring deep into mine.
“You smell like lust,” he said, his voice almost a throaty growl. “I’ll give you the satisfaction you need Golden Virgin.”
Lincoln dropped to his knees, removed his belt, and bound my left leg to the leg of the chair. He did the same to the other one with his tie.
I was spread wide open for him to do as he wished.
“I wonder what you taste like?”
“Find out,” I pleaded.
His lips kissed my legs first, his tongue tracing circles around my inner thighs. I was breathing heavily, my hands tugging at my hard nipples as I waited with anticipation for him to find my pussy, to taste my wetness, and to fill me with his wicked tongue.
“You sound impatient,” he said as he pushed his index finger inside of me, and then swirled it around. He pulled it out again and licked his finger.
“Oh yes, you do taste like a girl who needs to come.”
&
nbsp; “Fuck, Lincoln,” I hissed.
“No, not fuck Lincoln,” he replied. “I think what you wanted to say was ‘fuck me.’”
“Yes, for god’s sake.”
Lincoln shook his head. “I think you need a taste first,” he said as his finger went back inside of me again. If one single finger felt this good, I could only imagine what his hard, throbbing cock would feel like.
He slowly removed his finger and ran it between my parted lips. I licked the tip before taking it into my mouth.
I sucked on it, imagining that it was his cock that was filling my mouth. My wetness tasted salty and sweet. The area between my legs throbbed with desire. I didn’t just want him. I needed him inside me.
“Do you like how you taste?” he asked while he tugged at one of my nipples.
“Yes,” I gasped.
“I do as well,” he said. “I need more.”
His tongue immediately went for my outer lips, brushing up and down against them. The sounds of his delicate strokes—wet licking mixed in with deep moans—were driving me over the edge.
Then he found my clit, and I was completely lost. He was focused on making me come, every stroke adding another layer of pleasure to the inevitable climax I was about to feel.
My moans echoed throughout the living room when I finally came. It was a moment of pure ecstasy as the orgasm seized my entire body. But he didn’t stop there. He continued to flick at my clit with the tip of his tongue, torturing me as my body convulsed from its sensitive pleasure.
“Stop,” I begged. “Please.”
Lincoln smiled at me and shook his head. “I need something from you first,” he said as his fingers pinched at my nipples again.
“What do you want from me?”
“Your obedience,” he said as he rose to his feet. The sounds of his sliding zipper filled me with lust. I licked my lips.
Lincoln freed his hardened cock from his grey dress pants. My eyes devoured him with hunger. He revealed his perfect formation of muscles around his waist that pointed towards the direction of his cock.
He ran his hand down his hardened length. “You want my cock, don’t you?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Tell me you want it,” he ordered. “Tell me you fucking want it.”
Penumbra (The Midnight Society #2) Page 23
