Shadow Whispers

by Lexxie Couper

  Refusing to acknowledge the numb tightness in her stomach, she turned from the shower, looking at the ghostly image of herself in the steamed-fogged mirror above the vanity basin. “Guess I better call a plumber.”

  The humid damp air pressed to her naked body, an oppressive blanket of moisture she couldn’t wait to escape. She reached for her towel hanging beside the vanity, still looking at her reflection in the mirror.

  And saw the shape of a man appear in the steam behind her.

  Cool hands slid over her belly, up her body to cup her breasts with confident strength.

  Tess froze. She knew those hands. Knew that touch.

  Heart hammering, she spun about.

  The bathroom behind her was empty. Even the thick steam had dissipated to a fine mist through which she saw the shower cubicle, and only the shower cubicle.

  “Jesus, Darcy,” she muttered, turning back to the mirror. She stared at her still fuzzy reflection, shaking her head. “You’re going insane.”

  Snatching her towel from the rack, she wrapped it around herself, tucking the end corner close to her breast as she stepped from the bathroom.

  Dry, hot air flayed her damp flesh immediately, but she didn’t notice. Her attention was fixed on something else. Something far more insidious.

  Lined up neatly on the floor were her underpants. Every pair she owned. Pressed flat to the floorboards to form a deliberate line, starting at the bathroom door and leading along the hallway.

  Mouth drier than the air, pulse pounding in her neck, Tess stared at the procession of knickers. Unable not to, breath short, nostrils flaring, she followed their path, noting—with a detached part of her mind—they were grouped in color and style. The closer she drew to the living room, the skimpier each item became. Until, just before the fireplace, lay her black-laced thong.

  The fireplace in which blazed a roaring fire.

  And right there, on the floor beside her thong, its glossy pristine surface reflecting the dancing flames of the fire, lay a photo. The photo. The photo of her and Chad at the Statue of Liberty.

  Tess stared at it. And felt a scream build in her throat.

  * * * *

  Robyn looked up from the slim tome on her desk, green eyes revealing no hint of emotion as Tess swung through the office door. “I see you made a new friend this afternoon, Ms. Darcy.”

  Stopping dead before the large mahogany desk, Tess crossed her arms. Her mind and body was still reeling, a surreal hangover from the crazy hot shower and the discovery of the repaired photo, not to mention the rainbow of panties laid out on her floor. “Who sent the photograph?” she demanded, fixing Robyn with a cold stare.

  “A very strange man,” Robyn continued, as though Tess hadn’t said a word. “He appeared in Kangaroo Creek almost a week before your arrival. No one knows where he lives or what he does.”

  Mouth dry, Tess crossed her arms. “Who sent the photograph?”

  “He is rarely seen and speaks to no one. Some say he is a ghost.”

  Tess narrowed her eyes, angry impatience rising in her gut. “The person who posted my photograph is a ghost?”

  Robyn’s perfectly arched eyebrows shot up. “Heavens no, Ms. Darcy. I’m talking about the man you met on Hill Street today. Jared Pierce.”

  It was as if reality shattered. One second Tess was standing before the Creek’s librarian, the next she leaned against a brick wall, the hot sun baking her naked, sweat-slicked flesh as the blond man with the stormy eyes—

  Jared

  —thrust his savage tongue into her willing mouth and his impressive cock into her eager, dripping—

  “Ms. Darcy?”

  Tess shook her head slightly, staring at Robyn. Why was her pulse racing?

  Jared Pierce

  Her pussy contracted at the name, making Tess frown. Damn it, she needed to get her life back in control. Answers. That’s what she needed. She gave the librarian a level look. “Who sent me the photograph?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Robyn’s face was expressionless. Almost. To Tess, she wore the practiced mask of a politician caught out in a lie. Planting her palms on the desk—ignoring the dampness still pulsing between her thighs—she leaned forward and stared straight into the woman’s sharp green eyes. “Yes. You do.”

  Chair scraping, Robyn shot to her feet, giving Tess an indignant glare. “Let me be very clear, Ms. Darcy. I do not know who sent you the photograph.”

  Tess squared her jaw. “You’re lying.”

  Robyn snorted. “To what gain? You are nothing to me. Just an American lost in the world. A woman too scared of her past to live her future. Too blinded by fear to see reality.”

  Staring at the librarian, Tess went cold.

  Too scared of her past… Too blinded by fear…

  The words echoed in her head, blunt, cutting and—God, help her—true?

  A silent gasp slipped from her lips. Was that really it? Was she just too afraid to move forward? The hospital’s psychiatrist—an insufferably pompous man—warned her that her mind had not yet healed from the trauma of Chad’s obsession. What if he was correct? What if she was really losing her grip on reality? Her sanity?

  Christ, Darcy, was the photo and Chad’s voice all in your fucked-up mind? Did you lay out your own underwear without knowing it?

  A sick, dead weight fell in her stomach and she dropped into the chair behind her, the strange, erotic vision of seconds ago forgotten. Self-disgust and shame crashed over her and she pressed her palm to her forehead. She never should have left New York. What the hell had she been thinking?

  Escape. Denial.

  “Christ Almighty,” she whispered.

  For a moment Robyn didn’t respond. Then, feet silent on the wooden floor, she was standing behind Tess, cool fingers resting lightly on Tess’s shoulders. “I know you’ve been through a lot, Ms. Darcy.”

  Tess flinched at both the unexpected contact and words. She tossed the woman a quick look. “How do you know?”

  There was no answer. Instead, Robyn began to gently work the tense muscles in Tess’s shoulders. Waves of intoxicating relief rolled over her, consumed her. With each squeeze and dig of the librarian’s artful fingers, Tess felt more and more relaxed. It was as though the woman had tapped into the source of Tess’s anguish and torment. She closed her eyes, suddenly languid. She should be demanding answers, not receiving massages from duplicitous public servants. That’s what she came here for. Answers. She should be…

  Strong fingers moved closer to her neck, kneading the dip between shoulder joint and collarbone. Currents of blissful release leached into Tess’s center and she moaned, an image of Jared Pierce filling her head. “Please…”

  The word fell from her lips, a soft supplication unlike any Tess had uttered before.

  The fingers on her shoulders slipped lower, skimming the neckline of her tank top. A ripple travelled Tess’s flushed skin and her nipples grew taut. Just as the soft curves of Robyn’s breasts brushed the back of her head. “Oh.”

  Tess’s gasp filled the silent room, followed by her low moan as Robyn’s fingers feathered over her aching nipples.

  “I want to make you feel better, Tess.” Robyn’s voice sounded a long way away. Deep. Empty. “I want to make you feel…”—fingers closed around Tess’s breasts and squeezed—”…me.”

  Bolts of electricity shot through her body, her sex. She sucked in a swift breath, back arching as her pussy flooded with unexpected moisture.

  “Feel me, Tessa.” The words caressed her skin, her senses, as the fingers on her nipples twisted each hard tip.

  Oh, God.

  Giddy, Tess leaned back in her chair, the librarian’s sharp hipbones pressing against her shoulder blades. She wanted to open her eyes. To stand and leave…

  No, you don’t

  …but couldn’t.

  Her breasts were cupped again, squeezed to an almost painful pressure. She squirmed in her seat, her cunt…

&nb
sp; Hungry

  …fluttering anew with the need to be filled.

  With a cruel yank, she was hauled backward, her shoulder blades smashing against the chair. “I can fill you, Tessa,” said a hollow male voice as cold, strong fingers curled around her neck. “I can fill you with this.” Something long, hot, and rigid as steel rammed against the base of her skull, a cock she knew well.

  Very, very well.

  * * * *

  Body still burning from the unplanned brush with Tess Darcy, Jared descended the stairs leading to the dark basement of Divine Intervention. Every fiber in his being seemed charged with life, scorching life that turned his impossible existence into a kind of torture he’d gladly suffer for eternity if there were a chance of touching her again.

  But that was forbidden. He knew it just as well and he had to accept it.

  A muted yellow light suddenly flared up at the bottom of the stairs, and Jared snapped still, staring at the woman waiting in its flickering glow.

  May the Almighty save me.

  Gone was the Earth Mother in jeans and flip-flops that had appeared behind the counter upstairs; in her place stood a creature of sinful pleasure in skin-tight black latex and thigh-high stiletto boots. “You’ve kept me waiting, slave,” she said, her husky voice floating up to him. The braided cat-o-nine-tails in her hand flicked around her calves as she took a step forward, looking up at him with eyes that radiated power and control. “You must be punished for that.”

  Eyes fixed on Mistress K, Jared continued down the stairs, the blood in his aching hard-on hungry for a woman he must never have, his soul yearning for a release he needed more than life.

  May the Almighty forgive me.

  * * * *

  The cool fingers on her neck slid up to her jaw, cupping the sides of her face as the hot cock rubbed against the base of her skull.

  How can that be?

  “All I’ve ever wanted to do was fill you,” Robyn murmured, the timbre of her voice playing over Tess’s flesh as her fingers moved to her temple, tangling in her hair.

  She didn’t sound like a man anymore, just a woman consumed by passion.

  And the throbbing organ?

  Robyn rolled Tess’s head in her heads, and angular hipbones pressed at her skull. Not the male appendage swollen with lust Tess had imagined seconds earlier.

  You’re going mad, Darcy.

  Soft lips fell on her neck, warm and utterly feminine, yet at the same time completely familiar. As if she’d felt them traverse her flesh before. They nibbled a path up to her earlobe, drew it into a mouth wet and warm. Teeth closed down on it, sending shots of tension into Tess’s pussy and she wiggled in her seat, her clit filling with blood.

  She’d never been touched like this by a woman before. She’d written an article about lesbians in positions of political power, but the research had not included such hands-on—

  A sharp tug on her hair yanked her head backward, giving the marauding lips greater access to her neck. A moan reverberated in Tess’s throat and her nipples pinched tight, wanting to be touched, squeezed. Sucked and bitten.

  “With pleasure.”

  The librarian’s voice rasped in Tess’s ear, strangely androgynous.

  Her shirt was suddenly torn apart, the chilly air-conditioned air falling on her hot skin as brutal hands pulled aside her bra, catching her breasts as they tumbled free. She pushed harder into their squeezing grasp, her heart hammering and her breath shallow. Fuck, she’d never been so turned on.

  But who is touching you? Who is doing—

  “Does it matter, Tessa?” Lips pressed to her ear as one hand skimmed down to the waistline of her shorts. “Just enjoy it. Just let me do what I want to do and everything will be as it’s meant to be.”

  The command was hypnotic. Tess tried to pull a deep breath, but there seemed to be no air in the room. Fingers of liquid ice slithered between her flesh and the denim of her shorts, through the silken thatch of her pubic hair until they found her clit, sheathed between the sodden folds of her sex.

  “You are wet for me, Tessa,” the deep voice gloated. “You cannot deny it. I have made your juices flow.” As if to prove the words true, the fingers plunged into her sex.

  Tess arched in the chair. “Yes.”

  There was a low chuckle and the fingers in her pussy wiggled. “Yes.”

  Exquisite tension rolled through her, arcs of sizzling bliss that left her moaning. She ground her sex harder against the plundering fingers, wanting more. Pulse hammering, she grabbed at the sides of her chair, needing to anchor herself to something. “Christ.” Her cry filled the small room.

  The hand on her left breast squeezed and mauled, grabbing at the heavy swell of flesh with savage pressure. “Mine. All mine.” The fingers in her pussy wriggled harder, stroking and pressing. Delving deeper and deeper. She could feel their presence at her cervix even as there seemed to be rapturous pressure on her g-spot.

  Impossible.

  But true. They delved and buried. What felt like a wrist bone ground against her clit and raw pleasure erupted through her body. “Oh, Christ Almighty. Yes.”

  Teeth sank into her neck so hard, black spots of pain blossomed in her head and she gasped in dark ecstasy. “Mine, Tessa,” a voice growled, dark and commanding. The hand on her breast closed harder, trapping her nipple between two knuckles. “Always all mine.”

  She writhed in her seat, every fiber of her being vibrating with unadulterated rapture. Christ. She was going to explode. “All yours.”

  Invading fingers filled her sex, pinched her clit and—how?—pressed at the puckered opening of her ass. “Who? To whom do you belong?” the breathless voice panted in her ear. Undeniably male. “Say my name.” Undeniably obsessed. “Say it.”

  An image filled Tess’s head, unexpected in its clarity, vivid in all its power. Every muscle in her body contracted at its reality and she threw back her head, oblivious to the engorged cock ramming against the back of her skull. Her nails tore from the wick as she gripped the chair, the name of the man in her head bursting from her lips to rent the air with each screamed syllable. “Jared.

  “No.”

  Chad’s bellow filled the office. Enraged. Furious.

  Seconds before Tess was flung across the room into the far wall.

  Chapter 4

  Mistress K circled him, the spiked heels of her boots rapping out a trip-hammer beat on the stone basement floor.

  Jared curled his fists tighter on the leather straps fixed around his wrists that held his arms extended above his head, watching the woman pass before him, waiting for the next lash from her whip. Every sweat-drenched second that passed was torture.

  “Who are you thinking of, slave?”

  Mistress K’s husky voice played over his flesh, cutting deeper than the spiked tips of her cat-o-nine-tails ever could. He looked at her through the tangled mess of his hair…

  And saw Tess Darcy.

  Almighty, help me.

  The whip bit into his torso and Jared arched in hot, exquisite pain. His cock—already straining with rigid need—twitched, thrusting straight up as if demanding attention.

  “Who are you thinking of, slave?”

  Jared ground his teeth, meeting her gold-chipped stare. The question had to be answered. “You, Mistress K.”

  Blistering pain flooded into Jared’s body as the whip bit into his flesh again, almost as consuming as the elemental pleasure flooding into his balls. The stainless steel teardrop ring the mistress of Divine Intervention had placed around his cock, minutes after securing him to the cross, dug into his balls and perineum, intensifying the hungry pressure gnawing into his being.

  If he were to drop his head, would he see his haunted reflection in its highly polished surface?

  Metal rapped against stone as Mistress K moved to stand behind him, scoring a red line of angry flesh from stomach to spine with one long, manicured nail. “Who are you thinking of, slave?”

  Jared’s ass cheeks
squeezed tight. “You, my mistress.”

  A soft chuckle sounded in his left ear a fraction of a second before his swollen balls were grabbed from behind in a dangerously snug grip. “Liar.”

  Pain blossomed into hot life between his thighs. Pain and dark, bitter pleasure.

  Without permission, he closed his eyes. Tess Darcy filled the blackness immediately, naked and sublime, perched on the foot of her bed on all fours, gazing at him with heady desire in her deep-chocolate eyes.

  His cock jerked, craving the sweet tightness of her pussy.

  A low groan rumbled in Jared’s chest and he ground his teeth. This wasn’t working. By now the only thing in his head should be pain-laced lust for the dominatrix. Tess should be a scoured-away ghost.

  A humorless snort burst from his nose. Fuck, what an appropriate word. Ghost.

  She’s not the ghost here, Jared.

  No. He was.

  * * * *

  Tess struggled to her feet, every bone in her body aching, the coppery tinge of blood coating her tongue. A sharp pain sliced at her left side with each breath she pulled, but she paid it no heed. Nothing existed except the woman standing on the other side of the office.

  Woman?

  Terrified disbelief ripped through her veins as she pushed herself upright, staring hard at Robyn. “Who are you?”

  Robyn stared back, red hair crackling with electricity, bulging eyes ablaze with ice-blue rage.

  Ice-blue?

  “You know who I am, Tessa.” The words passed through Robyn’s lips, but they were not hers.

  Tess’s throat slammed shut and her heart froze. “Chad?”

  A slow, arrogant smile curled the librarian’s mouth. Chad’s smile. “Did you really think death would keep us apart, blossom?” His voice assaulted her—deep, hollow and insidious. “I told you the day we met you were mine.”

  Robyn’s body suddenly snapped into a violent arch, cutting the words short. And then she began to vibrate, faster, faster, until she was just a writhing blur somehow suspended from the floor—defying gravity, defying reality. “Get out.” Robyn screeched, and it was the librarian’s voice—torn with furious fear—that Tess heard. “Get out.”