by Garnier, Red
He could not want this woman!
But the alluring scent of her arousal had filled his nostrils, tantalizing in its sweetness, its promise of fulfillment. Her face was plain and homely, her eyes wide, a light shade of honey with little specks of green. Her lips were sexy, sensual, the lower lip plusher than the top one. Although she’d held her hair secured behind her face, he could make out the shine on those lovely brown tresses, and he’d ached to bury his nose in it. There was something so achingly sensual about her, so familiar even, in the way she’d looked at him.
All he’d been able to think of as his tongue plundered her mouth was sinking into her warmth. Would her wet little cunt grip his cock, massage it until he’d spilled every last drop of cum inside her? How would her nipples taste inside his mouth, and would she moan as he suckled them?
Groaning, he flipped the top button of his pants open and lowered the zipper, pulling the fabric down to his hips until he’d freed himself. His cock jerked as it popped out. He stared down at himself, at the bright pink color of his balls, the corded veins rushing with blood along his shaft. The swollen, plum-shaped head of his member glistened with cum, and as he curled his fingers around himself, he groaned and closed his eyes.
“Stella,” he told the dark, his grip closing hard as he pulled and jerked his dick in earnest. “I want to fuck…Christ, I need to fuck your pretty little cunt.”
He rolled his hips in circles as he touched himself, using his free hand to cup his balls. His testicles were full and heavy in his hand, balled tightly with need as he played with them. Drops of cream spurted on the head of his rod only to dribble down toward the folds. He wished he could put his mouth around himself so he could suck his own dick and pretend it was her warm, sweet mouth on him. He wished he could have Stella’s mouth locked around his cock while Faith did what she used to, buried her little fingers inside his ass.
In his mind, that’s what they did. He stood with Stella on all fours before him, desperately eating his dick; his hips humped wildly as he drove himself deeper and deeper into her mouth. Faith’s tongue was licking the swell of his buttocks, two of her fingers pummeling into his ass, parting the tight tunnel with fast, hard stabs.
Gabriel groaned, wondering what it would feel like to sink deep into Stella McKenna’s tight, wet cunt, wanting to know the feel of her pussy gripping around his dick, and to spill his milk inside her. He spat on his palm, then fisted his hand around his cock again, telling himself it was her cunt around him; taut, hot, wet. The smell of her arousal still clung to his nostrils, and he held on to it as he fucked his hand. No, not his hand.
He was fucking Stella McKenna. Fucking her like he wanted, like he needed. Her pussy was slick and syrupy, tightly clamped around him.
“Stella,” he groaned, envisioning her naked body under his, her cunt clenching his cock as he pounded inside her. He cried out as a third finger entered his ass, fucking him with equal vigor.
“Ah, Faith.” The words rumbled from his chest. “Oh, baby, I miss you. Yes, baby, fuck those fingers in, screw ‘em in, fast and hard.” He, too, screwed the luscious Stella McKenna fast and hard.
His hand squeezed around himself, mimicking the spasms he’d feel inside her cunt. Air hissed from between his teeth at the sudden pleasure exploding through him.
A deep, loud cry echoed in his ears, his body rocking out of control as he spilled himself in his hand…all over Stella McKenna’s hot, sweet pussy while three sure fingers continued to pound into his burning ass.
For an eternity, he lay panting on the ground, his pants slung low around his hips, his cock still rigid against his belly.
By all saints, he wanted to fuck again, and again, and again. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t remember ever having felt so hot, so desperate to screw someone, except with Faith. His body was a living hell, his nerves quivering in desperation, his body shaking with stark, hot need for this strange woman who’d barged into his life and complicated everything.
Gabriel didn’t want to even think of what would happen if she dared to come back again. He’d have to hold his ground, keep his desire in check. He couldn’t yield to it, or the spell might be broken, and Faith would be gone to him forever.
“Come to me, Faith. Please come to me now,” he whispered hoarsely. Before he broke his vows to her, before the magic waned, and before he lost her.
I swear by everything I am, I will not age a minute until you come back to me.
His words, spoken in a last goodbye as he lost Faith’s body to the flames, were like a slap in the face now. Every day he told himself he was a day closer to being with her again. And to think of risking losing her forever because of some foolish, sick lust!
Reaching toward the pile of filthy clothes beside him, he lifted his scepter and stared into the glass ball at the top of it. A diamond sparkled inside the glass cocoon; the smooth wood handle of his staff was thick and heavy in his hand, as long as his forearm.
If only he’d found that diamond sooner, he’d have paid that lowly gangster, bought Faith’s problems away from her, and she would have never—ever—done this to herself. To both of them.
Yes, it was Gabriel’s fault. He should’ve found this stone long before. He should’ve stopped the wedding. Should’ve killed the man who had stepped between them. Then, at least Faith would be alive, even if he’d be rotting in a prison somewhere.
Prison was far better than the sheer agony of this infernal wait. Better than the torment of having to be in his own company forever. Better than this wretched solitude.
“Do you at least remember me, Faith?” he asked hoarsely. “Do you remember me at all?”
* * *
No moment during the following weeks passed without Gabriel tormenting Stella’s mind. No thought at all without him being there. Stella swore she could hear him, hear him whispering inside her head, his deep baritone voice so easily distinguishable.
Come to me. Come to me now.
Was she making up these words? Did a fanciful part of her long to think these words real and true and meant for her?
Stella even wondered if this was how people became crazy: imagining things, imagining being haunted by dead people, imagining being put under a spell. Stella thought that at this rate, she’d go mad come winter, and be sent to the asylum like some of the older folks. The doctors there were reported to summon preachers to treat their clients, determined to rid their possessed souls of the dark spirits.
She wondered if Faith Harrison’s spirit was dark. Was it inside her, and accountable for her tortures?
Stella took great care not to let the townsfolk see her turmoil. They’d seen enough during other occasions, and she was loath to be subjected to their merciless tongues. All they saw was Stella McKenna, always keeping to herself. Hardly anyone noticed when she started to shake, or when her eyes looked red and bloated. No one came close enough to feel the heat emanating from her body; and they gratefully didn’t notice the fevers this time. Maybe they were used to them. Or maybe they were used to ignoring her altogether. Stella went about her day as usual, but there was nothing ordinary in her thoughts, in the way her sex would throb, contract and loosen, eager for a touch. For his touch.
Sometimes she couldn’t take it, it felt so acute. When the desire came too harsh, she would stumble to an alcove or a narrow alley and hide under the shadows so she could touch herself. She’d let her sensitized breasts spill out of her dress, let the air brush her nipples, let her fingers slip inside her underwear and let herself remember the memories. Those memories she had stolen from someone else, and which she sometimes wished were her own.
Sometimes…most times…her body welcomed this torment. The haunting.
Unlike the town, where the hate kept growing, along with the stories.
Mr. Fenton’s dog was apparently poisoned one evening. His neighbor had threatened to do so if he didn’t get it to cease its infernal barking, but no one remembered that. They were all in accord, the Villa
in was responsible. The weather had been gloomy, with rain and thunder marring the skies constantly throughout the week. That was the Villain’s fault as well. Mrs. Trinity’s grandchild had been stillborn, and her daughter’s health was in peril from so much loss of blood. That, too, seemed to be the Villain’s fault.
Stella didn’t blame him as the others did; she wasn’t poisoned by hate for him, nor cared to blame anyone for what may just be nature’s doing. The only thing she could blame on him was the pains in her body, the lava rushing down her bloodstream, the burning in her womb. For two weeks, she found herself wandering near the cave on evenings. Be it rain or shine, she would go there. She would stare longingly at the cave, and sometimes on her way back visit the grave for a glimpse of that fresh white lily, and to beseech the same of Faith Harrison over and over again. “Whatever you’re doing, please stop now, or tell me what you want from me.” Now. Before I go crazy, before I die from pain of wanting what can’t be mine.
Her pleas went unanswered. The images, dreams, or memories—whatever they were—continued with intensity. Sometimes, as she strode down the streets, or stared out of her window, Stella would sense his presence. She would feel him watching her, his ruthless gaze like stabs in the heart. But his gaze didn’t frighten her. It primed her, so she felt needy for it, missed it whenever it was not there, and wanted the owner of it as much as her next breath.
His crows had been following her, too. Unnerved by their presence, her mother had been flinging rocks and curses at them all week. The crows would fly away, only to return to Stella’s windowsill, or perch atop the twisted arms of the tree outside her room and caw to announce their arrival.
Every night came a memory, and there were a few days she couldn’t even get out of bed, and instead remained there shivering with fever. Doctors came and went, merely checking her blood pressure, handing out aspirins. They were used to her fevers by now, and could never pinpoint the source of them.
Stella knew it was him. This want of him…oh, how deeply it burned.
* * *
One rainy afternoon, she locked the door to her room and stripped off her clothes, feeling so sensitive even the fabric on her body seemed to have scraped her flesh raw. Even naked, her nipples felt over-sensitized and tingly. She waited for the vision, willing it to take her, willing it to remind her what he felt like so close to her. Stella gasped when it did.
He was pressing her back against a wall, his hands pinioning hers to her sides. He looked angry, his face harsh, the gleam in his eyes vicious. She could feel the desperation inside her, the need clogging her throat.
“Please, Gabriel,” she pleaded, shuddering with arousal.
Stella had never seen Faith Harrison in the visions. Instead she lived the memory from the woman’s perspective, seeing Gabriel Hunter as Faith had seen him, grand and virile and wonderful. Stella felt what Faith felt, said what she said, and lately ached to be her only to have him as her own.
“I’m going to kill that son of a bitch,” he told her, leaning into her so she could barely breathe from the weight of him, his warm, dirty, mine-worker’s hands splaying over hers against the wall.
“Please, don’t,” she whispered. “Stay out of this, Gabriel, please.” Stella as Faith laced her fingers through his and gripped them tightly.
He rolled his hips against hers. “He’s not touching you,” he bit out, the famished look in his eyes intensifying as he gazed down at her lips. “Nobody is touching you but me.”
“He won’t; I won’t let him,” she assured, her pussy heating with juices that spread down to her limbs until she could barely stay on her own two feet. “It’s only you I want, only you I love, haven’t we promised?” She shoved her pelvis to his, encouraging him with her body. “Please fuck me. I can’t stand being near you without having you inside me.”
He made a coarse sound, bent his dark head, and pressed his hungry lips to her neck, slipping his tongue out for a taste of her. “Let’s go away now, Faith. Right now.”
She smoothed her hands along his arms and back, then raked her nails on his skin as she tried to press him closer. “No. I need my father safe first. I need to do this. I will leave with you afterward. We can meet in the city, and we won’t return here ever again.”
“No. I can’t bear it,” he said passionately, lifting his head and staring down at her with piercing black eyes.
“Please, you have to. If you love me at all, you will.”
Pain was harsh on his features, roughly etching the lines on his brow. “I love you more than my own life.” He cradled her face with a shaky hand, and she instinctively leaned into it.
“I need you. God, I need you, baby,” he rasped as he clutched the collar of her shirt and jerked, tearing it open; buttons flew everywhere. “I want you naked. I want to see your breasts, your pussy with my cock inside it.”
She melted, closing her eyes as her breasts tumbled free while he tugged at her skirt with urgency.
“Please,” she gasped, her vagina clenching, her womb trembling for him.
Once he’d pulled off the last scrap of her clothing, a wanton shiver coursed through her, and she gloried in the feel of his roughened hands scraping against her flesh. His breath was close to her ear, his voice a heated murmur. “I want to lick away your cream, and when you kiss me, you’ll taste your sweetness in my mouth.”
He groaned as he touched her, feeling her body with his hands, his palms, his fingers. One nipple disappeared into his mouth, and she gave out a sharp cry of pleasure as he suckled it. “Yes,” she cried, holding his face in place so he dare not stop. The suction of his warm mouth around her nipple, the hot stroke of his tongue over the tip, made a tingling burn spread across her whole being. Heat simmered around her sex, until a rhythmic throbbing was beating steady and fast in her clit.
“Gabriel, I want to feel your skin on mine,” she implored, pushing him away so both of them could pull on his clothing. His clothes were filthy, as always when he came from working a full shift in the mine, and oh, how she loved the smell of him. Sweaty and soiled and manly.
He had barely kicked off his clothes when she was on her knees, taking him in her mouth. He rolled his head back, growling as his fingers slowly sifted through her hair. He held her still as he slowly circled his hips, guiding his cock inside her mouth.
She licked voraciously, pulling back to suck on the tip and swallow the salty moistness before taking him all in again. His hands tightened around her hair, his cock shuddering inside her mouth when she began a quick to-and-fro motion with her head.
“No, Faith. I’m coming inside you.” His voice was like gravel as he boosted her up and pressed her back against the wall. Within seconds, her legs were looped around him, and he was shoving up inside her.
“Yes!” she cried, thrusting her breasts out to him with an arch of her back. He feasted on a nipple, licking and nipping it with his tongue and lips. Then he groaned as he quickened his rhythm, opening his mouth wide around the areole and panting for breath over it.
“Baby,” he rasped, his hips pumping against hers faster. Her head fell back on the wall behind her; her eyes closed as she let him fuck her. She tightened her legs around him to encourage his pace, desperate, hungry sounds spilling from her mouth. Her hands lay on his shoulders, fingers gripping him as she tried to meet each of his thrusts.
In one swift move, he pulled back and flipped her, set her spread eagle against the wall and pressed his cock to her back entrance.
“Every tight, hot inch of you is mine,” he told her, sliding a hand between her legs to palm her pussy and spread her cream all the way back. “If he so much as lays a hand on you—”
“He won’t, Gabriel. I’d die first,” she vowed, splaying her fingers on the wall. “Please, fuck me. Fuck me now.”
“Touch yourself,” he ordered, prodding the head of his cock to her ass as he spread her cheeks apart with his hands. “Touch yourself like you do when you think of me.”
She sl
ipped a hand between her legs, the other braced against the wall as he clamped his hands on her hips and plunged his cock inside her. She screamed, one hand fisting on the wall, the other stroking her clit with a fast, shaky finger.
“Is that good?” he asked, pulling out and plunging back in again. “Is that good, baby?”
“Yes! Yes!” She circled her clit, slipping a finger down the moistened cleft of her pussy, up and down, then into the slit.
“Let me help with that.” He snaked one arm around her waist while his other hand skimmed down her pelvis. His fingers brushed over her knuckles, his hand settling firmly over hers, and then his finger followed hers inside her.
Her own lustful cries echoed in her ears as those two fingers penetrated, his cock ruthlessly shafting her from behind.
“Tell me,” he demanded, his coarse breathing hot on her neck. “Tell me it’s me and me alone.”
“Yes, oh, yes!”
She heard his grating cry, felt that last thrust so deep, and let herself follow him.
Stella exploded, her finger moving quickly over her clit as she did. She had not even recovered when his words poured over her soul again.
I need you. Come to me.
Chapter Three
Stella couldn’t stay away. Not when he was calling her. Not when she was burning for him. It was like asking herself to endure a lifetime of torment, of wanting and denying herself. She felt such need she wanted to scream and rip her own heated flesh from her body—she was almost certain it would hurt less.
If it was true that he drove Faith Harrison to her death, he was doing the same to her without even a rope.
That morning she changed into a short, navy blue cotton dress and white cotton panties, forgoing the bra when she discovered it felt painful on her breasts. She helped her mother with her chores, then waited anxiously until the sky was streaked with sunset before heading toward the cave.
Clouds marred the darkening sky, while the air was humid, the soil damp from so much rain. It was eerily calm now that the storm was over, and somehow she preferred the passion of the storm, the sounds of it, more than this calm silence. It was like an unspoken threat, a promise of incoming destruction.
