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.