Page 53 of The Scald Crow
“I want everything about you.” I swept my fingers through the soft folds of her wee vagina, parting her labia and finding her wanting. My mind left the room when she gave me a hot flush of wet heat.
“No, you don’t.” She held fast to her denial, but I sensed her resolve wavering.
“You’re wet for me, Faerie girl. Don’t forget.” I dragged my thumb over her clitoris, coaxing the hooded bead to swell.
“You don’t play a friendly game, do you?” She dug her stiletto fingernails into my bunching trapezius, a shudder wracking her inner thighs.
“Fair game to you, luv.” I buried my face into her silken locks and nibbled on the golden sphere circling her earlobe.
“What? Oh, God.” She closed her eyelids and hummed.
“Come for me, sweet Faerie.” I eased my first knuckle into her weeping channel. Her pussy contracted, the inner walls clenching.
“This is better than dreaming. Oh, God. What are you doing to me?” She flexed her hips, her movements barely indiscernible.
“Let me ease the ache.” I slid my thumb over her clit, circling the swollen bud with gentle pressure. What I would give to languish in her sweet release, to fill her pussy with my hard cock.
“Colm.” She murmured my name, her breath rasping. Still, she held back, denying herself the pleasure of release.
“Make my dreams come true, Faerie girl.” Shattering her became the prize. I rolled her hips with one hand while stroking the roof of her pussy with the pad of my forefinger.
Her eyes shimmered, and her lips half-parted. I closed my mouth over hers, inhaling her hungry sighs, her ecstasy slid down my throat and her tongue brushed against mine.
She tasted like heaven’s breath.
I gasped when her pointy eye teeth, all four of them, clamped down, sending a line of fire straight to my soul. Or was she draining my soul? I wasn’t entirely sure.
A curious bystander would see a passionate kiss between lovers.
A shudder flowed through her, and her pussy twitched, flooding my fingers with wet heat. Far too soon for my liking, she pulled away.
“I’ll tell you what, Colm O’Donnell. Find a new dream, okay?” Her bottom lip quivered, and for one long moment, her stare drifted––across the sea of heads, to the stage, to the girl with curly brown hair, and then back to me. She released me and walked away from our embrace, her expression—calm, cool, and collected.
“Lunch tomorrow, Faerie girl. Brandy’s at noon.” My balls burned. I offered a public, safe place to meet—a dark place where lovers lingered. I gazed at those lush lips, swollen from our kiss.
“Hmm, don’t get your hopes up. I’m super busy right now.” Cool air rose from the floor, drifting between us. She skimmed her palms over her hips, adjusting the hem of her skirt.
“This fella bothering you, Miss Calla?” Two lean and clean, muscular young men wearing white T-shirts emblazoned with a black donkey kicking ass flanked one another. A cloud of dark floral fragrance preceded them.
“I’m not looking for a hassle, boys. Take it somewhere else.” Rising, I curled my fingers around her rounded hip, willing her to stay. For a mere moment in time, I believed.
“Put your big boy pants on, Mr. O’Donnell, and go home.” She pressed her index finger against my lips and then turned away. Darkness followed her, an aura so great that the dead woke, and the daemons rose, the specters taking their place among the living.
I watched the crowd. Some cringed and jerked sideways, sensing the disruptors.
“Raise your glass, friends. To a man lost to the angels. May his life be a blessing; may his soul rest in peace.” She picked up the microphone and whispered a sultry welcome.
The cadence of her voice haunted the room, swelling with sadness. Her song stirred a memory, one long forgotten, one buried with my brother’s memory—a ballad of love and loss––Ciarán’s favorite song.
7
Calla
The air stirred, and the mist weaved around me—undulating black motes surging forward, ravaging my body, claiming me. I welcomed them, riding the cresting waves of desire. My clit throbbed, and my sex ached. His face came into focus, sculpted and hard. With each penetration, my core shattered. His need was mine, and mine was his. I sank deeper into dreamland, my whole being tingling for him, wanting what I could not have.
Did I initiate the dream, or did he? What did it matter? Our imaginary trysts were becoming increasingly frequent, and I couldn’t stop them. I didn’t want to. The thing with Colm and me proved an entity of its own. Unstoppable. Inevitable.
The days turned into nights, with the minutes and hours blurring together. Hiding from the outside world was easy when there was no cell signal and endless time to fill each day. I rarely ate and slept a lot. I found myself craving the dream world, hiding from my own. The past consumed me, not my own, but someone else’s.
