“Uh-uh,” he playfully scorns. Lips brushing against my ear, he whispers, “You wanted to seduce me, but that didn’t work out so well, did it?”
I endeavor to wrestle out of his grasp. “You read my mi—?”
He flattens me against him, even more intimate than before. “You haven’t done a very good job,” he continues, “especially when I can do it better.” One of his hands covers my mouth, while the other slides lower underneath the water, finding the source for my internal fire. I squeal against his hand, but he tugs my head so it rests on his shoulder. “Hush,” he murmurs against my ear. My hands press against the tub’s walls distractedly, but they begin to slide off as soon as Ben finds his rhythm. Water churns in cadence with him, and I’m left at his mercy. God help me, though, because I don’t want him to have any mercy on me. At all.
Every nerve ending in my body is about to explode. There’s an inferno raging in my lower stomach, and I’m doing all I can to stifle moaning. Ben’s not helping, either; he licks and sucks on my earlobe, then initiates a full-blown grunting session. It’s all I can do not to scream out. Not only are his hips moving with the stroke of his hand, but mine are moving against him. My fingernails dig into the skin on his forearm, part of me wishing he will end this wicked torture immediately, the other part needing him to finish. I reach behind me, finding him, moving my hand in tempo with his. His growls become agonizing, like he’s offering me a silent plea to end his agony.
“Fuck yes, I want you to end it,” he says through gritted teeth, not even bothering to lower his tone.
I honestly don’t care at the moment. I don’t care if I scream his name and all of Colchester hears me. Right now, nothing else in the world matters but him and me. Together.
Ben’s pleas become desperate, and his actions become more fervent. I can hardly keep up with him, and my inner fire is scorching, nearly sending me over the brink of physical and emotional rapture. His hand, which previously cupped my mouth, slips down my upper body and molds itself over my chest, squeezing my soft flesh. Sheer pain coupled with extreme pleasure gives me a high like none I’ve experienced before. Between tugging my breasts and roughing up my lower region—and nipping my neck—I feel as if my soul has left my body. Blood has drained from all regions and pooled in the pit of my abdomen, leaving the rest of me tingling.
“Ah, Candra”—he growls and then quickly bites me—“you’re killing me.”
His final taste of me causes all the mounting pressure to rupture, triggering a quake through my entire body. I cry out as Ben continues kneading long after I’m spent. He makes no effort to silence me, as if he enjoys the fact that I’m suffering at his hand. Blood gradually returns to my limbs, and I continue to tremble. A couple of grunts later, Ben joins me in pure euphoria, throwing his head back against the frame of the tub. His fingers cease all movement as I relax against his chest, our pants slowing to normal.
“We’re going to do that every night from now on,” Ben says.
I grin lazily. “Maybe. If we haven’t been kicked out for being so noisy.”
He softly chuckles. “Then we’ll do it elsewhere.”
I don’t have the strength to smack him. My body is gloriously exhausted, and all I want to do is curl up next to Ben and achieve a restful night’s sleep. As soon as Ben and I stand to dry off, though, the same chilling wolf cry we heard the night before rips through the air. He and I share a meaningful look, one that’s comprised of fear. We know what lurks in that forest, and we know the battle in the coming days will be far greater than we’ve ever encountered on our home turf. One simple mistake, and Ben and I may not make it back to Hartford after all.
Chapter Four
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Ben whispers as he kisses the tip of my nose.
I groan. Last night wasn’t filled with peaceful dreams and restful sleep for me; it was composed of nightmarish ghouls dressed in ravens’ feathers, with beaks for mouths and yellow eyes as bright as daylight. So vivid, in fact, I couldn’t look at them; it was as if I was staring directly at the sun. Although they freaked me out when their long, black talons pointed at me, I could feel their presence inside me, boiling and bubbling like a witch’s brew. There were three of them, and all three stalked me in the forest.
Groggily, I begin to wake up and rub my eyes. “I didn’t sleep much,” I say.
Ben nods knowingly. “Me neither. Weird dreams.”
Stunned that he might’ve experienced the same nightmares as me, I ask, “The bird people?”
“Yeah, actually . . . How’d you—” He stops mid-sentence, eyes expanding. “They’re using magic to mess with us. That has to be it. They’ve gotten inside our heads.”
“Wow, this sounds familiar. Too bad Ethan didn’t come on this trip.” I sit up. “Can’t you figure out a counter curse? Something to break the spell?”
He shakes his head. “I should’ve paid attention to my family when they practiced the dark arts. Unfortunately, I know very little about spells and magic.”
I snort. “You’re kidding, right? You’re a Conway. You guys are renowned for your skills in black magic.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I’m the runt of the litter.”
Narrowing my eyes, I say, “Is that supposed to be a joke?”
He smirks. “Maybe.”
I throw the quilt off of me and stretch. “All jokes aside, we need to stop by Fiona’s and pick up our clothing. I have a feeling we’re going to need that before we start our investigation.” I glance over at the window, where sunshine is peeping through the cracks. “What time is it, anyway?”
“Uh, not sure. Probably afternoon.”
“What? We have to go, like, now.”
Walking to town isn’t terrible. Walking to town without jackets to keep us warm? That’s the bad part. Hopefully, this will change once we don our new attire. I don’t even know how to put on all the undergarments required for this era, but I have a feeling I’m about to get a crash course from Fiona.
Colchester is hustling and bustling this morning. Ben and I are still a form of entertainment on the street, as the townspeople can’t seem to keep their eyes off of us. I ignore them and focus on what they’re actually doing—chasing chickens, selling produce, chatting with other locals. Nothing appears out of the ordinary, except Ben and me.
A tiny bell overhead dings as we enter Fiona’s shop. One of her employees is behind the counter in the front area, and she looks up when we enter.
“Good morning,” she says.
“Morning,” Ben and I reply in unison.
“Fiona is in the rear, if that is who ye are looking for.”
We bypass the tables and cubbies filled with ribbons and fabrics, and amble toward the area just off the back of the boutique, where Fiona led us yesterday to acquire our measurements. Sure enough, her skirts can be seen below and behind a curtain, where, I’m guessing, she helps another customer. Ben points toward two chairs sitting in the corner, and he and I take a seat.
“We’re here for our fitting, Fiona,” I say, “but there’s no rush.”
Fiona swipes at the curtain she’s behind, desperately searching for the opening. She eventually finds it and pokes her head out, smiling. “I shall be with ye shortly.”
“Take your time,” says Ben.
I have to admit, it’s pretty awkward being in this age, especially while waiting in a boutique. It’s not like they have Cosmo’s to peruse through, so we end up staring at the undecorated walls and a wide selection of cloth.
“That should do it,” Fiona exclaims as she steps out from behind the curtain and admires her handiwork. The young woman she was helping steps off the pedestal and sashays over the cherry-finish cheval mirror in the corner of the room. Fiona plays with the dress, fluffing the ruffles and fanning out the short train. “What do ye think?” she asks, excitedly waiting for a response from the female customer.
The fashionable lady glares at her reflection. Soft blue fabric, the color of the daytime s
ky, covers her from head to toe. Honestly, it’s one of the most beautiful colors I’ve ever seen. The edges are accented with white cord, and a dazzling gold brooch is pinned in the middle of her neckline. She looks absolutely gorgeous.
“Mmm. ’Tis not as fine as the wears in London, but ’twill do, I suppose,” says the young woman.
What. A. Bitch.
I can’t imagine the amount of time and effort Fiona has put into creating this exquisite masterpiece—a gown fit for a princess, truly—and this hooker comes along and claims it’s not the best dress she’s ever worn. Seriously, I want to punch her. In fact, I might. What will the citizens do, tie me to the back of a horse and drag me through town?
“Well, I think it looks lovely,” I say. “I’m sure Fiona slaved over this dress, so it’s pretty rude of you to think otherwise.”
The woman eyes me in the mirror before turning around to face me head-on. “And just who are thee to tell me what I shall and shall not say? ’Tis no business of thine, so heed thy own.” She actually lifts her chin and looks down her nose, daring me to say something.
I stand up and cross my arms. “You’re two seconds away from getting a good smackdown, which is what you deserve, and then some. I suggest you apologize to Fiona for being a class-A bitch before I show you what it’s like to feel unappreciated.”
The woman gasps melodramatically. “How dare thee! Thou hast no cause to begin a brawl with me. And if thou did, thou would be lowlier than thou art now. As lowly as a pig who tumbles in muck all day, mayhap even more so. Might I suggest thou close thy mouth since naught but a fool’s words are uttered from it?”
My heart accelerates, and I can feel my pulse throbbing in my head. Oh, no. This isn’t good. If I don’t calm down, I’ll go apeshit on her.
Think happy thoughts, Ben says.
Damn it! This isn’t Neverland.
The woman haughtily raises one eyebrow, then smirks. “As I thought. Now,” she says, turning toward Fiona, “see to it my father is billed for this.” And with that, she gathers the clothes she previously wore, which hang across a chair in the next room, flashes a grin at me, and walks to the front area of the store, her heels clack, clack, clacking on the floorboards. The bell chimes, and I know she’s left the building.
It takes me a good five minutes to cool off. Even in the short time I’ve known Fiona, she’s been nothing but gracious to Ben and me. But this conceited hoochie decides to be rude and gets away with it. I won’t let this go. I’ll find her later, and we’ll have more words to exchange. Or maybe I’ll just rip the flesh off her useless body.
“Well,” Fiona huffs, “I have never received a customer in quite a manner such as that.” In trademark-Fiona style, her hand rests over her heart. An apparent form of shock, I guess.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll take care of her later, if I can find her.”
“It should not be difficult,” Fiona explains. “She just moved to town with her family, and they reside down the road.” I frown. “Oh, forgive me. I forgot ye do not live here. I shall show ye around sometime. Let us put this aside and get ye fitted, shall we?”
Ben and I nod in agreement as Fiona prepares to show us our new outfits. She opens a wardrobe and pulls out a beautiful chestnut-colored dress with black-lace detailing for me, and a puffy white shirt with a black jacket and black trousers for Ben. I have to say, the black is going to look sexy on him with his dark features. I just know it.
“Candra, thy dress will use a lot of time due to the amount of undergarments required, but Benjamin’s garb should not take long.” She prances over, handing us our new clothes. Ben steps into the dressing booth and closes the curtain behind him. Fiona seizes the opportunity to speak with me privately. “A moment, my dear?” She waves toward the chairs Ben and I sat in. Once we’re seated, she says, “Forgive me if I am being too bold, but I would make one request while ye are in my household: keep thy private moments to thyself, especially when my child is within audible range.” My stomach flips. I knew we were careless the previous evening, but now I feel terrible about it. Fiona hastily adds, “This does not mean ye cannot tend to thy husband’s needs at all, just that ye keep in mind there are others in my home besides the two of ye.”
Are my cheeks red? Probably. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. “Of course,” I squeak. “I’m sorry if we disturbed you guys. We honestly didn’t mean to.”
Fiona cuts off the conversation when Ben reveals himself, looking as attractive as ever. And I was right—black flatters him. “Ye look the part of a gentleman,” she tells him. “Candra, come with me. Ye are next.”
I take Ben’s place behind the curtain. Fiona has me step onto the pedestal, so she can view all the right places. The corset I’m definitely not used to; it compresses my lungs, making it difficult to breathe, and it’ll take me a month to unlace the damn thing. Fiona has me put on a farthingale and a bum roll afterward, which all three layers of my underskirts cover; they supply me with exaggerated hips and a bulging ass. My arms pointed straight toward the ceiling, Fiona tugs the dress over my head and allows it to fall into place. She yanks different areas here and there, but for the most part, it fits perfectly.
“Let us have a look, shall we?” she suggests.
I step out of the booth, having absolutely no idea what to expect. If the wide-eyed expression on Ben’s face is anything to believe, then this might go either way.
Is it bad? I mouth to him. Shaking his head in disbelief, his eyes then rake down and up my body, meeting mine with a passionate, burning yellow. Oh, wow. I guess I do look good, after all.
More than good, Ben states.
“There, now,” Fiona says, twirling the loose ends of my hair around one finger. “What do ye think, dear?”
Staring at myself in the mirror, I try to find something nice to say, so I won’t be like that moronic hooker who just left ten minutes ago. “I like how the brown matches my hair color.” Really, Candra? I ridicule myself. “And my boobs look nice,” I add, grazing my hands over the exposed, plump mounds, thanks to my new corset. Fiona looks horrified, but I catch Ben’s reflection in the mirror, and he’s cheesing like a five-year-old who knows he’ll have both cake and ice cream for dessert. Sighing, I drop my hands and turn to Fiona. “The dress is lovely,” I tell her. “It’s just . . . I’m not used to wearing one, so it’ll take me a while to get the hang of it, but I think it’ll work out.”
She smiles and nods her head in understanding. “Of course, dear. And since ye want to fit in, ye will have to look the part, including having thy hair fixed.” Toying with my hair once more, she gives off this vibe like she already has a few ideas in mind.
“Okay,” I say. “Show me.”
Fiona lightly grasps my shoulders between her hands and glances at my reflection. “Most women wear low buns, but I am sure we can style thy locks without bother. Mayhap something a little more suitable to thy method?”
“Perfect,” I say, smiling.
“It shall have to wait, I am afraid,” says Fiona. “I have more customers to attend to this day. Perhaps tonight will do?”
I nod, and she shoos Ben and me out of the store. He and I return to Fiona’s home to rid ourselves of our twenty-first century clothing, and find Francine knitting away in the corner of the room, alone in a chair.
“Hey, Francine, it’s just us,” I say.
Her wooden needles stop clicking for a moment, and then she resumes weaving again. I don’t know why, but I feel compelled to speak with her, even if she doesn’t want to listen, or talk. Call me crazy, but I have the distinct impression that she doesn’t like us very much, or maybe it’s that she just doesn’t trust us.
I pull one of the chairs from the dining table over in front of Francine. Her knitting slows down, but doesn’t fully stop. “I know you probably think it’s weird to have strangers in your house, but I want you to know that we don’t mean any harm to you or your mother.” Her eyes are vacant as I speak, so I press onwar
d with my speech. “If you need anything from Ben or me, don’t hesitate to ask us. We’ll be more than happy to help.”
It’s as if I was never here, and never spoke a word to her. She ignores me completely. Reaching a dead-end, I slide the chair back where it belongs and motion for Ben to follow me into the bedroom. We toss our normal clothing onto the guest bed and awkwardly stand in place for what feels like eternity.
“What was that about?” Ben whispers. “We can’t become attached to anybody in this time period, Candra; it’ll make it harder for us when we have to leave.”
I puff out a heavy breath. “I know, but she seems suspicious of us, and I don’t want her to feel like we’re intruding on their personal space. I mean, think about it . . . What if we couldn’t see the people who entered our lives? What if they were just phantoms to us, shadows at the edge of our vision? Wouldn’t we express the same emotions toward them?”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Exactly. But the point is: would they take the time to get to know us if we were in that situation? Would they take time out of their day to make us feel like they’re trustworthy?”
“Probably not.”
“Okay, so we have to step up and be friendlier, so she will trust us, and so she won’t visualize us as deceitful guests who are impeding her and her mother’s lives. I’m not saying it’ll happen overnight, but maybe over the next few weeks she’ll actually have friends in us, which is better than no friends at all.”
The corner of Ben’s mouth curves into a fond smile. He lifts his hand and tenderly runs two fingers down my cheek. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
My entire body hardens to marble. My heart, instead of steadily pounding against my chest, decides to take a flying leap into the depths of my stomach. And a tickly-static sensation starts at the top of my head and flows through my limbs, all the way down to the tips of my toes. “Um . . . I . . . Y-you’ve never told me that before.”
Blood Moon (Silver Moon, #3) Page 4
