Bloodlust 00 The Talisman

by Marilyn Lee

  “Okay. As long as we know what we're dealing with.”

  “You say that as if we can't have a real meaningful relationship. We can.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah! Why not? This is not twentieth century Lafayette, you know.”

  “Twentieth century, where?”

  Cassy swallowed, realizing what she'd said. “Lafayette, Louisiana. My great grandmother Marie was born and raised there.”

  “Ah huh. And what has that got to do with you and your boss playing jungle fever?”

  “Nothing! It's just that...she...my great grandmother fell in love with a white man, which was a no-no.”

  “You never told me that.”

  She shrugged. “There was no point. Their story had a sad ending. She got pregnant, but lost the baby and he was sent North and they never saw each other again. But she never forgot him. I have letters that they wrote each other that my grandmother Maud passed down to me. There are letters that great grandmother Marie wrote to him that she could never send because she didn't know where he was. She died loving him, Derri.”

  About to tell Derri about The Talisman, she paused. This was crazy enough without telling Derri that she was afraid that she was reliving part of her great grandmother's ill-fated romance with Chandler Raven. Derri would probably think her elevator wasn't going to the top floor. And maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was all in her mind.

  She gave her head a small shake. “But what about you, Derri? What's going on with you? I've never seen you so restless.”

  Derri shook her head. “I have issues that I need to address and handle before I can settle down.”

  “You want to talk about them?”

  “Yes, but not just now.”

  “Is Karl going to wait for you?”

  “I don't think so. I guess I could ask him.”

  “But?”

  “But I'm not going to.”

  “Why not?”

  “Cass, even if he agreed to wait, which I really can't see him doing. It would create problems between us that our relationship probably couldn't recover from.” She shook her head. “Don't worry. I'm fine. Really.”

  She headed back to work worried both about her relationship with Chandler and the issues Derri didn't want to discuss.

  After her last service call, she resisted the urge to rush back to the office. It was after five and Chandler wasn't likely to be there waiting for her.

  She fell asleep soon after she went to bed that night, certain she would see or hear from him sometime during the next day. But when she left work on Friday, she still hadn't seen or heard from him.

  Just as she was deciding if she should be depressed, her phone rang. She kicked off her shoes and curled up in her favorite chair. “Hello?”

  “Cassy, this is Chandler.”

  She felt the nameless something that had constricted her insides loosen. “Hi, Chandler.”

  “Ah, I know it's short notice, but I was wondering if maybe I could see you.”

  “Yes. When?”

  “Tonight. Now?”

  “Yes!”

  She pulled off her clothes, took a quick shower, and slipped into a sleek, silky blue dress that clung to her body in what she knew Chandler would think was all the right places. The dress highlighted her breasts and her rump, two parts of her body Chandler like to fondle endlessly. Staring over her shoulder into the mirror on her closet door, she smiled. “You'll knock his socks off. He loves you in blue,” she told her reflection.

  Chandler took one look at her and whistled. “Wow! You...ah, look great. That dress...that color blue on you...wow!”

  She grinned and took the bottle of wine he'd brought with him. “Thank you.” She allowed her gaze to move leisurely over him. He looked good in the dark suit that clung to his shoulders and molded to his thighs. “You look pretty good yourself. Have you eaten?”

  “No.”

  She frowned. “I could thaw a couple of steaks and do some potatoes and vegetables. Do you like steaks?”

  He linked an arm around her waist and drew her body against his. “What I would like, cher, is to make love to you.” He tipped up her chin and kissed her slowly. “Unless you're hungry, we can talk about food later.”

  She slipped her arms around his neck and offered her lips. “Much later, mon cher.”

  Arms wrapped around each other, they went into her bedroom. This time he practically ripped off her clothes in his haste to disrobe her. His clothes came off even quicker. Then, kissing and fondling each other, they tumbled onto her bed.

  He rolled her onto her back and quickly mounted her. “Oh, sweet, I've been thinking about you and this since I left you last week.”

  “That makes two of us, lover.” She closed her eyes and clung to his shoulders. He covered her lips, face, and neck with heated, frantic kisses, while he pushed relentlessly into her body. She gasped as the first delicious waves of pleasure radiated through her.

  The first time that night was quick and devoid of tenderness. But she gloried in his frantic movements and the hands that clutched her so tightly she wondered if she'd have bruises the next day. Their next time, was a slower, tender session that left them both moaning and shuddering in ecstatic delight.

  He leaned up to brush his mouth against hers. “You make me feel so good...so happy. When we make love, nothing else matters. Nothing but you...nothing but making you happy.”

  Lying on top of him, she stroked her hands down his body and peppered his chest and shoulders with kisses. “You do that and more, mon cher.”

  They made love until they were both fatigued. Drowsy and completed satisfied, she curled her body against his damp one and drifted off to sleep with his cock still inside her, his murmured words of desire, whispered in her ear in the beautiful language of true and eternal lovers—French.

  They spent the weekend inside. They went at each other in bed, in the shower, on the kitchen table, and even on the balcony under the stars. As she lay on the blanket on the balcony on her stomach with him taking her from behind, the desire to shove her butt at him and wait to have him drill her bottom was almost unbearable. Once, almost as if he sensed her need, he pulled out of her twat and rubbed his hard length along her crack.

  “It's been so long mon cher,” he'd whispered and lapsed into French, telling her how he much he'd missed her. He'd parted her cheeks with his hands and she'd tensed, but after a long moment, he'd slipped his cock between her cheeks and back into her vagina.

  Each time they made love, she fell a little more in love with him. Sunday night, after eating the dinner they'd had delivered, they made love one last time. He kissed her buttocks, parted her cheeks, and rubbed an exploring finger against her anus, tentatively pressing the tip of a finger inside her hole.

  She felt something warm and soft enter her anus—his lubricated finger.

  She froze. “No, Chandler! I...I don't do that.”

  He planted a warm kiss against her back. “Yes, you do, mon cher. You've always loved having my cock buried deep inside your warm, sweet ass.”

  She twisted away and turned to stare at him. “No, Chandler. There is no way you're sticking your cock up my butt. You're too big! And I'm not the one who likes anal reaming. That's her! Not me!”

  He sat up slowly, turned on the light in her bedroom and they faced each other. “Her who?”

  “You know her who! Marie!! Marie Savoy! She liked anal sex, not me! Not Cassy!”

  “So you're finally ready to admit we're not the only ones in this bed?”

  “No! Yes! Oh, I don't know anymore what's going on. But I don't have anal sex! If you think I'm going to let you put your cock in my behind, you can forget it! I don't care what she liked and what she let him do to her!”

  “They both enjoyed it.”

  “Well, I don't !”

  “Okay. Not a problem.” He turned off the light and gently drew her back onto the bed. He placed her on her stomach and his lips and his tongue replaced the finger he'd ins
erted into her. He licked and kissed her butt hole before turning her onto her side. He moved behind her, lifted one of her legs, and slowly slid his dick into her wet, ready tunnel. He put one hand between her legs to tease and rub her clit and the other across her breasts.

  “Don't worry, mon cher. If you don't like that, we don't need to do it. Being inside you is more than enough to keep me happy and satisfied.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nibbled at the side of her neck. “Yes, sweet. I'm sure.” He trailed a finger down her bottom to her puckered opening. “But if you change your mind, mon cher, I'm ready to please you just like he pleased her.”

  “Is that what you what to do to me, Chandler? He wasn’t as big or as thick as you are and there was a reason they had anal sex.”

  He licked her neck and pressed deep into her, making her gasp with pleasure. “If I recall correctly, it didn't work. He wanted her pussy and one of the few times she let him fuck her pussy...“

  “She got pregnant,” she finished, suddenly feeling that other woman's pleasure and anguish when she realized she was pregnant with her lover's child so long ago.

  “What happened to our baby, mon cher?” The voice whispering the anguished question against her ear was no longer Chandler's. It was Philippe's.

  And she was no longer Cassy. She was Marie. Philippe's Marie. His mon cher. “She died, mon cher. She died.”

  He whispered to her in French; sweet, wonderful words of pain, regret, and undying devotion. And she, the young Creole girl who'd fallen for the handsome Cajun the first time she saw him, responded as she always did to her lover's insatiable need for her body—

  She pulled away from him. Putting a pillow under her body, she lay on her stomach with her bare behind raised to better facilitate his entrance. “I'm yours, mon cher. Do with me as you will.”

  She felt his lips and his tongue moving against her butt and tensed her whole body. She knew that the first few times would hurt like hell. But even through the pain she would know she was loved and cherished by this big, sweet Cajun. And it would gradually get better until she enjoyed it enough to thrust herself joyfully back at him, taking his whole length deep within her bottom hole, while he fingered her slit and the small knob between her legs that drove her crazy with love and need for him.

  Then to her surprise, he pulled the pillow away and turned her back onto her side. He curled his body against her back. Holding her and caressing her breasts, his cock plowed into her cunt and he buried his lips against her neck. “I'm not him, Cassy. This is Chandler, who never intends to do anything to you unless you really want him to.”

  She was no longer sure who he was or who she was. It didn't really matter—not then. Not when everything in her world...her worlds felt right. Whether she was Marie with Philippe or Cassy with Chandler, it didn't matter. She just knew this was right.

  She reached down to cup his balls and turned her head, seeking his mouth. “Chandler, mon cher. Kiss me.”

  He found her mouth and they had a sweet, erotic fuck. Afterwards, in the shower, he impaled her on his cock and they enjoyed a quick, hard fuck with the water cascading over their heads.

  “I love you, mon cher,” she whispered.

  “Je t'aime, mon cher,” he repeated, allowing his big cock to surge deep into her pussy.

  By the time he finally left, she collapsed on the bed and immediately fell asleep for the few hours left before morning.

  In the morning when she looked in the jewelry box, the couple was frozen in the initial position with the male buried in the female's bottom. What did it mean? Should she have insisted that Chandler take her behind? She shuddered thinking how painful it would have been trying to take his thick width into her tiny hole. She loved him all the more for not having taken advantage of her moment of weakness. Even though she knew he or at least Philippe had longed to drill her bottom. Or would it have been Philippe drilling Marie's bottom?

  She shook her head. It was all so confusing and more than a little scary. And yet, it was also wonderful and exciting at the same time. How could she begrudge her long dead great grandmother one last chance to find happiness with her beloved Philippe? Especially when it didn't hurt her or Chandler? When it felt so very good?

  * * * * *

  “I just don't know what I'm going to do with that boy! I found him in bed with that...that girl again!”

  Chandler watched Ellen pacing the length of her living room floor, her body tense; her face averted. She was clearly uncomfortable discussing having walked in on Steve having sex with his Tia again.

  She turned to face him. “I thought you said you had a talk with him.”

  He decided to ignore her accusatory tone. “I did, Ellen, but he's not a little boy anymore. He has a mind of his own. I can only talk to him, I can't tell him what to do or make his decisions for him.”

  “It's not his mind that worries me, Chandler! It's his hormones and his bad judgment. They were in this house...carrying on like two dogs in heat. I walked into the rec room and all I heard was grunting and groaning and her screaming at him to...to fuck her harder!”

  Chandler felt the heat rush up the back of his neck as he recalled Cassy demanding the same thing of him just the night before. He had eagerly complied, as Steve would no doubt have done, had Ellen not interrupted.

  “What can he possibly see in that cheap little hussy?”

  “Ellen, there's no purpose served by calling her names.”

  “Oh, really? Well you wouldn't be so quick to say that if you'd walked in on them—again. That...hussy was lying naked as the day she was born on the pool table with her legs splayed like a bitch in heat while he rutted into her like...and he wasn't even in the right hole if you know what I mean!”

  Oh, he knew what she meant all right. Now he knew why Steve wasn't worried about his Tia getting pregnant.

  “Chandler, I am sick of that...cheap tramp corrupting him!”

  He got up from his chair and walked over to the French windows. He took several deep breaths before he turned to face her. “Ellen, don't you think you're over reacting because she happens to be black?”

  “No, I do not!” She shook her head, sending her dark hair cascading around her flushed face. “How can you even suggest that when you know very well that I am not now, nor have I ever been prejudiced?”

  He shrugged wearily. While not wanting to further distress Ellen, he found her attitude annoying. If she thought Tia was a cheap tramp, she would think the same of Cassy.

  “Ellen, you've found Steve with other girls...white girls. I don't recall you calling any of them cheap tramps.”

  “They didn't behave as that one did! Decent women do not let men near their rear ends.”

  “No?”

  “No, Chandler! That's why women have vaginas! It's not natural to let a male use your rear end for sex.”

  He remembered how close he had come to anal sex with Cassy. Resisting the temptation to sink his cock into her beautiful brown bottom had taken all his willpower. Only the sure knowledge that she didn't really want it and the certainly that he would hurt her, had stopped him.

  But memories of how sweet anal sex with a cherished lover could be had taunted and teased him. Only they weren't his memories and he wasn't in love with Cassy. It was Philippe in love with Marie. It had been Philippe who longed to ravish his beloved Creole's behind, not him. His one experience with anal sex had left him longing for his lover's pussy. Cassy hadn't wanted it and neither had he. Damn if he was going to let some long dead relative dominate his sex life.

  “Chandler! You're not listening!” Ellen snapped.

  He blinked rapidly and had to take several moments to gather his thoughts. “I am listening. Tell me Ellen, weren't the other girls you caught Steve with naked with their legs splayed open? And wasn't Steve rutting into them too?”

  The angry flush on her face assured him that he'd accurately interpreted her motives. “They weren't screaming to be fucked in the behind at
the top of their lungs! Chandler, I didn't ask you to come here to listen to you defending that...girl. I want you to talk to him! Tell him to get himself a nice...“

  “White girl?” he suggested coolly when she allowed her voice to trail off.

  “Chandler! You're trying to make me out to be something I'm not! What's wrong with my wanting him to date a...okay, I'll say it—a white girl?”

  “I didn't say anything was wrong with it.”

  “Then why the attitude? What's your problem?”

  “I don't have a problem, Ellen, but you do. Steve happens to be hung up on Tia.”