Page 23 of Wednesday
“Yes!” I gasped, as he stroked over my clit.
I rocked harder, those knots shifting just right. I arched, wrapping my arm around his neck for leverage as I bounced harder. His hand matched my speed, rubbing my clit faster and faster. I was being loud, but there was nothing I could do. I needed more, but I was too breathless to ask for it. I sobbed helplessly.
Morrow’s arm tightened on my waist and he began to jerk his hips violently, his hand a blur on my clit. My orgasm slammed into me and I screamed. I came hard, my pussy gushing around Morrow’s cock.
“Too much,” I whined. I tried to writhe away, but his grip was unbreakable.
He kept going, plunging in and out of my aching pussy and rubbing my clit until the over-sensitivity tipped into another orgasm. Tears ran down my cheeks, but I dug my nails into his arm when he tried to move his hand. Another peak, so hard it hurt. My body went limp in his grip and he dropped me forward into the nest.
His cock plunged in and out of me, but my pussy was so wet and open there was no resistance. I did not want to resist. I moaned weakly into the blankets as he finally buried himself as deep as he could reach and coolness spilled inside me.
Exhaustion pulled me toward sleep. After the grave robbers and multiple orgasms, I had nothing left. I could still feel his cock jerking, but I could barely keep my eyes open. He rolled us to the side, staying buried inside me. It was a comforting fullness.
As my eyes grew heavy, I felt Morrow pull a soft covering over me, his movements protective and possessive in equal measure.
"Rest," he murmured against my ear as I faded. "My Carmen."
I drifted into dreams filled with memories. Fragments of lives Morrow had consumed, centuries of existence. Somewhere within that tapestry of borrowed experience, I sensed a current of something I had never expected to find in a creature like him.
Adoration.
Chapter Ten
Six months had passed since I first descended into Morrow's underground domain. Autumn had transformed the cemetery, painting the oak trees in fiery oranges and deep reds. Fallen leaves carpeted the grounds, creating a crackling tapestry that shifted with each cool breeze. Misty twilights came earlier each evening, the sun surrendering to darkness by six o'clock.
I moved through my patrol with practiced efficiency, cataloging the subtle changes in the landscape. Two fresh graves had been added yesterday. An elderly couple who died within days of each other. Their matching headstones would not arrive for weeks, but I already knew their birth dates, their children's names, their favorite songs. The details of their lives had become mine the night before, shared through Morrow's blood after he fed.
These feedings had become our ritual. His sustenance, my addiction. The sharing kept our connection vibrant and strange. My blood for his. His memories for mine. An exchange that left both of us changed in ways I was still discovering.
Daylight had become increasingly uncomfortable to me. Not painful, but grating, like music played slightly off-key. I performed my administrative duties as needed but found myself counting down the hours until sunset, when the world shifted into focus and my senses sharpened. Night had become my natural state, twilight my awakening.
"Ms. Ruiz."
I turned to find Winters standing ten yards away, his wire-rimmed glasses catching the last rays of sunlight. I had not heard him approach. Unusual for me these days.
"Mr. Winters," I replied, keeping my tone neutral. "I didn't expect you this late."
"Quarterly inspection." He held up his clipboard like a shield. "Though I suppose I could have waited until morning."
"You could have." I did not move closer, letting him decide the distance between us.
Winters shifted his weight, his discomfort obvious. In the months since I had begun sharing blood with Morrow, Winters had developed a wariness around me that bordered on fear. He never mentioned the changes he surely noticed. My preference for darkness, my intimate knowledge of the cemetery's history, my increasing authority when discussing grounds management. Questions formed behind his eyes but never reached his lips.
"The Richardson plot needs attention," he said finally. "Subsidence has created a depression. I've scheduled the groundskeepers for Thursday."
"No need," I replied. "I've already filled it."
His eyebrows rose. "You did the maintenance yourself?"
"I take pride in my work." I smiled. "The cemetery is my responsibility, after all."
Winters' gaze dropped briefly to my hands as if remembering the mark from so many months ago. I adjusted my sleeve, and his eyes snapped back to my face.
"Well then," he said, making a note on his clipboard. "I'll be going. Lock the gates after the Hargrove funeral tomorrow?"
"Of course."
He nodded and turned to leave, then paused. "Ms. Ruiz?"
