A Haunting Desire

by Julie Mulhern

  “Zeke.” Her voice was rough with need, his name was seduction on her lips. Ignoring the growing demands of his own body, he trailed his tongue across the valley between her breasts and began the achingly slow suckling of her other nipple.

  Her hands caressed him, her nails scraping his shoulders or back when a sensation took her, teaching him how to please her. His tongue teased and played, circling until her breath came in short, desperate pants.

  With one easy movement, he swung her into his arms and carried her to the bed. Zeke laid her down gently, leaning over her so his mouth could reclaim the peach perfection of her breasts. She rewarded him with an arched back and a deep moan. His hand slid up her leg and her hips lifted off the bed, beckoning to him.

  “I want you,” she whispered.

  Jubilance sang in his veins. Finally. It was past time she admitted the attraction that had nearly driven him mad. She pulled his mouth to hers but he resisted. Her lush breasts demanded hours of attention. His tongue licked her sensitive nipples. She gasped and pressed against him, leaving not so much as a hairsbreadth of space between their bodies.

  Only then did his fingers venture into the curls between her thighs. She answered him with a soft moan of pleasure. The muscles in her legs shivered like new leaves in a spring wind. Zeke slid a slow finger into her wet heat and her whole body trembled. His tongue lapped her nipple. His finger withdrew, only to reenter her slick warmth, deeper this time. Her beautiful body shivered at the sensation.

  Then her hands tightened in his hair, pulling him away from her breasts and back to her mouth. Her tongue sought his. She tasted better than the finest scotch. A man could fall to ruin from the sweet liquor of her kiss. He had to taste every inch of her.

  “I want you.” One of her hands fumbled at his damp trousers.

  Zeke chuckled. She wanted? He’d near died with wanting her, with dreaming about how he’d take her. What he wanted would come first.

  His lips slid down the length of her neck, tasting, nipping, worshiping. He moved on to the delicate length of her collarbone and then back to her breasts. Her body trembled with each flick of his tongue. Her fingers dug into his hair and her hips tilted in invitation. He slid another finger into her and stroked while his thumb rubbed a delicate circle around her clitoris. Her breath caught and she moaned.

  His tongue traced the perfect skin of her rib cage, the gentle curve of her belly, and his free hand rose to fondle her breasts, rolling a nipple between his fingers. He settled his shoulders between her thighs and paused. She’d lifted her head from the pillow and her eyes sought his. He read surprise and need and untold desire in their depths. He had to taste her. Now. He couldn’t wait another second.

  With the very tip of his tongue, he found her swollen nub. She responded with a ragged gasp and a sudden buck of her hips. He glanced again at her face. Her lips plumped as full as overblown roses from his kisses. A pink flush darkened her cheeks. “Zeke.” His name on her lips was a plea and a promise.

  He blew a stream of cool air at her swollen heat. Gloried in her shivered response. Her nails scored his shoulders, a delicious, satisfying scrape. Her legs trembled, quivered, urging him on. She raised her hips for him, pressing herself into his searching tongue. She moaned her pleasure. The low sound sang through his blood.

  He would drive her wild. A sweet punishment for making him wait too long. A delectable lesson in what could have been theirs that very first night. His tongue lapped against her, swirling and teasing slow circles. His finger found a matching rhythm, thrusting deeper as she moved against him. She groaned, a sound deep in her throat, a plea for release. He sensed her rising need. His lips closed around the center of her pleasure, sucking, tasting. Her body stiffened, poised on the edge of orgasm.

  “Please,” she said. Trula Boudreaux was begging him for pleasure. He slowed his pace, holding her on the precipice. Her breath came in ragged gasps of need. Of want. It wasn’t enough. He wanted her mindless. Insane with her need for him. Wild for more. He would teach her the heights of pleasure. Her release would spiral to heaven. And she would remember every precious second.

  But each arch of her hips, each tug of her fingers in his hair, each moan of pleasure drove him to the brink of insanity as well. He’d spent too many torturous nights dreaming of her. Now that he had her, a captive of his tongue, he wanted more. He wanted all of her.

  His tongue flicked. She writhed beneath him. He flicked again. She moaned louder, a sound of sweet agony. He licked a long, slow, deliberate stroke. Her cries filled the small cabin, louder than the roaring winds and the crack of thunder. He moved his sheathed fingers. Her breath stopped. She froze beneath him. Ensnared by need, enslaved by pleasure so intense it mirrored pain. She inhaled. A ragged sound. His fingers and tongue stroked, teased, made her his.

  “Please.” The word ripped from her throat.

  He gave her what she wanted. He bent his knuckles inside her, finding the spot that would bring her exquisite satisfaction. His teeth closed on her clit, nibbled. Trula’s breath rasped against the edge of a sensation and then her fingernails raked his back. Her whole body shuddered and her scream ripped through the night. He didn’t stop his ministrations. His lips and fingers coaxed still more pleasure from her until her arched back collapsed onto the sheets.

  She lay next to him, boneless, replete. Zeke gathered her close, needing to feel the length of her body pressed against his.

  “I never…” she whispered.

  Never?

  Triumph roared through him. It was a blessing that with her head tucked beneath his chin she couldn’t see his gloating expression. He doubted she’d appreciate it. Still, he’d given her unknown pleasure. An unexpected wave of tenderness washed over him and he kissed her hair. He’d give her time to return to earth and then his body demanded satisfaction.

  His cock throbbed. He should wait, allow her time to catch her breath. He brushed a kiss against her cheek. His body needed her. Now. To pound his aching cock into her. To claim her. But she deserved more than a ravening brute. He reined in his need. She was in his arms, finally. Zeke gritted his teeth and fought for control. He would be gentle, considerate…calm. He was willing to take things slowly.

  But Trula didn’t seem as willing. Her hands demolished his good intentions. They found a way between the press of their bodies and her fingers stroked the hardness of his cock. “I want more.” The honeyed heat of her voice was enough to burn his body to cinders.

  With a graceful swing of one long leg, she climbed on top of him. His cock nudged against the folds of her sex.

  “Trula…” He groaned. How could he manage gentle and calm when his body craved hers like a drug?

  “I told you, I want more.” With one hot, slick movement, she settled on him and he was lost in her core. With exquisite slowness, she lifted off him then slid down again, taking him more deeply into her body.

  Her eyes sought his and a knowing smile curled her lips. He lifted his hands and fondled her breasts. Her nipples hardened to peach pearls between his fingers.

  They found a rhythm. Slow, deep strokes that shook his very being. She slid, he thrust. Together they created pleasure beyond his imagining. The heat of her skin fired his. The softness of her hair as it brushed against his chest drove his need. The touch of her fingers, circling the pebbles of his nipples, exploring the skin of his inner thigh, drove him higher. The taste of her lips when she leaned down to claim a sweet kiss touched his soul. She was trying to please him. To return the pleasure he’d given her. The sensations were exquisite, shattering, like nothing else. He could make love to her for the rest of his life.

  Then the strokes grew more urgent, faster, more frenzied. He plunged into her, driven by a need he didn’t understand. She clung to him, matching each stroke. His hands explored every inch of her body, her breasts, her rounded bottom, her thighs. It wasn’t enough. He wanted more. His teeth grazed her earlobe and her groan of pleasure nearly sent him over the edge. He tasted ra
inwater and sweat on her flesh. And then she cried his name and her body tightened around him, a long, slow shudder of feeling. With her head thrown back and the flush of ecstasy on her skin she looked like a goddess: erotic, beautiful, irresistible. His to worship. With one final joyous thrust, he found bliss.

  He nestled her close, reveling in her languid heat and the sated smile that played on her lips. He couldn’t resist nibbling on the delicate shell of her ear, stroking her hair.

  “That was perfect,” she murmured, stretching like a cat.

  “You’re perfect.” He traced the line of her shoulder.

  Her answering laugh was low, alluring. The eyes that usually glared at him shone softly in the firelight. She was perfect. And she was a mystery. Exploring her bright mind, learning her secrets, understanding her–it might take a lifetime to answer the riddle of Trula Boudreaux.

  Together they floated, lulled by fulfillment, languid. Zeke twined a strand of her hair between his fingers. Their bodies had separated but their connection remained.

  How was he ever going to leave her? How could he give her up? How could he live without the playful smile that even now curled her lips? He wanted more than her body and the pleasure she could give him. He wanted her. The dazzling madam was distracting, but he wanted the real woman, the one who cared deeply about her girls’ welfare, the one who sent children to the nuns to keep them away from the district, the one who somehow filled the deep well of loneliness in his soul.

  It was a disaster.

  He’d have to leave her and he didn’t know how.

  He’d told her once there were songs that could change a man. Her siren’s song had cast a spell on him. It was a song that could remap the course of his life. Did he want a new course? Perhaps the song would fade if he left. He’d forget the passionate lyrics, the honey sweet chorus, and the crescendo that swelled with joy. But snatches of remembered notes or beguiling chords would haunt him forever.

  She stirred, burrowing closer to his chest.

  “Who are you?” he whispered. How had she found her way past his defenses? He needed to know everything about the living mystery he held in his arms.

  “A madam.” Her voice was flat, matter of fact. He’d spent too many nights watching her to believe Trula liked what she did. She didn’t define herself as a madam.

  He shook his head. “That’s what you do, not who you are.”

  “Close enough.” She pulled up the sheet to cover her breasts.

  He touched his tongue to the seam of her mouth. She tasted like heaven. “And before you became a madam?” He pinched the cotton between his fingers and tugged. It was a crime to cover her body.

  “A mistress.”

  Zeke stifled a growl. He hated that any other man had ever touched her. “And before you became a mistress?” The sheet slid to her waist.

  “I was a girl.” Laughter danced in her eyes. She batted at the fingers pulling away her cover.

  “And when you were a girl, who were you then?”

  Trula’s eyes closed and her lax body tensed in his arms. “Just a girl.”

  He’d upset her. Upset the delicate glow surrounding them. Still, he had to know. He rubbed slow circles between her taut shoulder blades. When she relaxed, he captured her earlobe in his teeth and nibbled until she pressed against him. “Tell me, Trula. As a girl, what did you want?”

  Her lashes fluttered open and she stared at his chest. “I wanted someone I could depend on.” She pulled away, as if she realized she’d told him more in one sentence than he’d ever hoped to know.

  He gathered her back into his arms.

  “Really, it wasn’t a bad thing,” she said. “I learned to depend on myself.”

  “You can depend on me.”

  Her turquoise eyes lifted, finding his. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  She was right. She couldn’t depend on him. He had a job that would take him away from her. But he wouldn’t mar their time together with thoughts of leaving. He rolled her onto her back and his tongue scraped against hers. He could spend forever doing this.

  Trula raised her arms above her head, stretching her muscles, arching. He drank in her every movement. Her hand skimmed the sheet under the pillow and she froze. Sudden tension rolled off her body.

  She pulled a bit of paper out from under the pillow.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  Trula studied the bit of paper. Her brows knit together and worry lines wrinkled the smooth perfection of her forehead. “Fate.” She handed him an elaborately decorated card. He looked at a naked man and woman whose hands reached for each other. “Granny left a message for us.” Her voice sounded distant.

  “The lovers.” He laid the card on the bedside table. “It appears Granny Amzie is a wise woman.”

  “Too wise.” Her eyes misted like the river at dawn. She’d wandered far away from him without taking a step.

  He lifted his hand, caressed her soft cheek. “I don’t want to talk about old women.” He nuzzled against her neck, breathing in her scent.

  “How…wise of you.” Her laughter sounded almost sad and the fingers she ran through his hair no longer held electricity at their tips.

  He pulled her warm body to him and held her, watching as her eyes fell closed. Her breathing eased into a regular, deep pattern. She didn’t respond to the brush of his lips on her soft cheek. He’d made a tactical error. One night with Trula wasn’t near enough. He wanted more.

  Trula woke to the clear light of a morning scrubbed clean by a storm. Zeke lay next to her. In sleep, his face lost its hard edge. With the tip of her finger, Trula traced the contour of his cheek.

  He opened his eyes and smiled.

  “Good morning.” Warmth curled through her, a spool of contentment.

  “It certainly is.” He lifted onto his elbows and kissed her, his tongue parting the seam of her lips.

  Contentment and something more. Her arms circled his neck, pulling him closer.

  “You done took hold a’ yo’ future and dat’s a fact.”

  Trula stiffened and now embarrassment heated her skin. She pulled her lips away from his.

  “I ain’t runnin’ a house like yours.” Granny stood outlined in the doorway. Laughing.

  “If you’ll give us a few minutes, we’ll get up,” said Trula.

  Granny Amzie harrumphed. “Fine.”

  Trula slid out from beneath Zeke and hurried to the hearth where her dried clothes were draped over Granny’s rocker. She shimmied into her wrinkled shift and gown. “When she said she’d be back in a few minutes, she probably meant it. If I were you, I’d get dressed.”

  Zeke frowned, looking deeply annoyed.

  …

  Trula smiled at him then stepped onto the front porch.

  Granny sat in a decrepit rocking chair. “Looks to me as if the cards got it right. You might could have used your own bed. Although, I reckon I ain’t seen that fine a backside on a man in going on twenty years.” Her cackle was loud enough to make a flock of egrets take flight.

  A blush burned Trula’s cheeks. She’d been caught making love in an old woman’s bed. Making love? The other words she knew to describe the act hardly seemed appropriate. Sex? It meant more than that. Fucking? It cheapened a night she’d always hold dear. Trula shook her tangled head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t plan this. Vera Boog said I should ask you about the murders and we drove out on the spur of the moment.”

  Granny’s yellow eyes narrowed and she scowled. “She did, did she? Why did she do that?” She rocked her chair.

  Trula kept her lips sealed.

  “I’ll tell you this, then I ain’t saying’ no more. I reckon you ain’t been askin’ the right question. You’ve been askin’ who. You should be askin’ why.” Her rocking chair creaked. “That’s all.”

  Trula swallowed all the questions Granny would never answer. Then she waited. Granny might not intend to tell her more about the murders but that didn’t mean the old woman was don
e talking.

  “He’s a fine lookin’ man.” Granny jerked her fluffy white head toward her cabin.

  “He’ll leave me.” Zeke Barnes wouldn’t stay. Trula knew it. He’d disappear as soon as the murderer was caught.

  Granny cackled. “You see the future now? Why you bother comin’ out to the lake if you know what’s fixin’ to happen?”

  “I know men. He’ll leave.” She’d given herself one night. It hadn’t been near long enough.

  Chapter Twenty

  Bedraggled. With a wrinkled, water-stained dress, her hair a rat’s nest of snarls, and cheeks rubbed pink by Zeke’s whiskers, there was no other word to describe her. She didn’t care. Well, maybe a little bit…about her ruined hat.

  Somehow Zeke had snuck behind the protective walls of perfect dresses and well-coiffed curls to find the woman they hid. She was a mess and the man next to her still smiled at her as if she was beautiful. She smiled back.

  The horse pranced through early morning sunshine as fresh and sharp as lemons. A breeze cooled her chafed skin. In one stormy night, summer had loosed its hold. She sighed and leaned back against the phaeton’s seat.

  “What did Granny Amzie say?” he asked.

  “She said we should figure out why the men died, then we’d find who killed them.”

  “That’s it? Nothing else?”

  “She said you had a fine looking backside.”

  Zeke’s tan face flushed. “Anything else?”

  Only a cryptic discussion of her love life. Trula straightened her shoulders. “No.”

  “You’ve gone stiff again,” Zeke said.

  “Stiff?”