7 comments/ 14161 views/ 5 favorites A Message of Love By: TrentEvans "Are we going to see you there tonight, Jake?" Sierra leaned against the opening to Jacob's cubicle, arms crossed under her full breasts. "Um, what's your costume going to be?" Jacob looked up from the design prints spread out across his desk. The curve of Sierra's hip in the snug black skirt was...distracting. They heard a chuckle from his friend's cube across the aisle. "I've got it - Morticia," Karl said, winking at Jacob. "Nope, Sierra's too tan." Jacob began shoving the designs into his case and powering down his laptop. Did he detect the slightest blush in the unflappable Sierra? "OK, a witch? She could pull that off." Karl leaned back in his chair, arms behind his head. Sierra shook her head, smiling, and reached an arm behind her to give Karl her single finger assessment of his costume ideas. Jacob smirked. "No-look bird; you just got told. What about you Karl?" Sierra turned her head toward Karl. "I don't think most of us would recognize it, but douchebag would be a perfect costume for you Karlina." All three of them laughed. Jacob tilted his head, regarding Sierra, his lips a half smile. "Way too pretty to make a witch believable. I'm thinking a female vampire, or maybe a succubus?" This time her blush was unmistakable. "Suck a - what? Jesus Jake, at least try to keep it clean." "Dammit Karl, it's not - " Jacob dropped it at Karl's knowing grin. "All right kids. It's been fun, and it's been real; it's been real fun," Karl said, stepping out of his cube and shrugging on his coat. "You gonna be there tonight Sierra?" She nodded, giving him a playful shove. "I'll be in the truck, bro," Karl said, with a quick nod of his head. Sierra watched Karl go for a moment, then turned back to Jacob. He was still trying to stuff the remnants of the design prints into the soft case. He needed a bigger desk. "You bringing anyone?" Her voice was quiet, neutral. He shrugged. "How about Jim? Will he be making an appearance?" "No Jim," she said, flipping her dark hair out of her eyes. Truth be told, he thought Jim was a fucking moron not to spend every waking moment with Sierra. She deserved better than that smarmy tool. Then again maybe Jacob was just a tad biased in favor of the gorgeous woman, who just happened to be his best friend. He wasn't sure if any man would be good enough for her, at least in his eyes. "He have something more important to do than hang with his girl? A confused man that one." "No Jim. Period." "Ah shit, Sierra. I'm sorry." Open mouth. Insert foot. "It's really OK," she said, shaking her head, her eyes downcast. "He's just not - right. I can't really put my finger on it. Better to just cut the cord now than to keep kidding myself." He could tell it had been a little more serious than she let on. His strong, but vulnerable Sierra. A stack of the prints fell off his desk, scattering all over the floor of his cube. "Shit. No, that's OK Sierra." She had crouched down to help collect the papers. His gaze fell directly on the deep cleavage the bodice of her dark gray top revealed in that position. Stop, Jacob. Don't ruin a good thing. You're still a mess. They collected the prints, and finally got all of them into his case. He tried to ignore the movement of those heavy breasts. Damn it. She looked up at him, smiling. No, she can't read your mind, dipshit, but you'd better stop blushing or she won't have to. They both stood, Jacob slinging the strap from his laptop case over a shoulder. Sierra, took half a step closer to him. She'd been doing that more often lately, and he wasn't sure how to handle it. Well, his body was quite confident how to handle it; his mind, not so much. Some things had changed between them after Mara, and this was one of them. A new tension, new uncertainty. "If you come tonight you can be my date. Two singletons can drown their sorrows together." Her smile was dazzling, as always. "You want me to walk you out?" She shook her head. "I really hope you'll show tonight, Jake. At least just for a little while. You're turning into a hermit." She touched his arm, then walked off. He fought with himself not to crane his head out of his cube to watch her go. --- "You know don't you?," Karl said as he turned onto the on-ramp, gunning the truck's engine. Jacob was busy tapping out an e-mail on his phone. His boss never ceased to find reasons to travel, and as result, e-mail was the only way he could reach her most of the time. "Dude, you there?" "What? Sorry, I have to get this sent out, or there's going to be a shitstorm on Monday. What'd you say?" "You know about Sierra don't you?" "Well, she's my best friend, so yeah I guess I would, right?" "Do you know what I'm talking about?" "Not really," Jacob said, smiling, thumbs tapping the tiny screen. "But then I am kind of used to it. You are smarter than me." "Asshole." "OK, what about her?" Jacob finished the e-mail, dropping his phone into a cupholder. "She's into you." Jacob groaned. "Not you too? Karl, you and I have been friends since what? Forever?" "Freshman year in college, genius. But it feels like forever sometimes." "Well, you should know better then. Just friends, that's it. It really IS possible for a man and a woman to be friends you know." "You can't bullshit a bullshitter, dude," Karl said, cursing under his breath as traffic up ahead began to slow. "Look I see it, we all see it. Something's different." Jacob looked out the passenger side window at the slate gray sky, darkness rapidly approaching. "Everything was different afterward, Karl." "I know it. But maybe it's time to try something else. Start something new. It's been two years." Karl's voice was quieter, his tone gentle. Jacob didn't say anything for awhile, just watched the world go by. It was too soon to think about it. He really was a mess - no getting around it. But with time, he hoped. The truck pulled up to the curb in front of the house. Jacob got out, closing the passenger door, then rapped his knuckles on the window. Karl rolled it down. "It's colder than a witch's tit out there Jake. In or out?" "How long have we been doing this Karl?" "What, me giving your lazy ass a lift? A year?" Jacob smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I don't want to do this anymore. I'm going to start driving myself." "Thank Christ," Karl said, shaking his head and grinning. "You change your mind about coming tonight?" "You have fun." Jake turned and walked up the brick walkway to his porch. "Jake, if you don't come, at least call her," Karl yelled out of the window. Jacob waved a hand behind him, and Karl drove off. --- Halloween night. Two years to the day. He used to love Halloween. A chance for adults to be kids again for one night. Now he hated it. Hated the pain of it. He sat on their couch in the study, gazing out the deck door at the snow that had begun to fall, listening to the sad stillness of their house. It was abnormally early to be snowing on Halloween, even up that far into the Cascades. The kiddies were going to freeze. His gaze turned from the snow to the dark plane of the bar. The warm orange firelight flashed on the angles of the crystal glasses, shone on the dark, deadly curve of the Glen Livet. His face blanched. No, not now. One night at a time. Jacob had watched his lovely wife slip away in her hospital room on a cold Halloween morning, watched the life flee from her tired, withered body, felt the oxygen sucked from the room. The room that day had been as quiet as the study was now. He had been holding his breath, listening for her next ragged, uneven breath. Desperately hoping. The hospice nurses hadn't warned him about the death rattle. He knew it wasn't fair, but he hated them for it. That night as he signed the last of the estate documentation, read the DNR that he'd respected but selfishly despised, he'd crawled into a bottle. For the next year he'd rarely crawled back out. That first year he couldn't bear to feel the hurt, so he tried to drown it. He'd been off the sauce for almost a year now. Karl helped him, Sierra helped more. It helped to have a caring, if absentee, boss. Now he was trying to see if he could live again. If it was worth it, without her. It was hard, so very, very hard. All that he thought he knew, all he ever wanted, perished with his beloved wife. He picked up a letter Mara had left tucked into his mail slot not long after they'd first met. He'd secretly kept it all these years. Jacob hadn't read it for a long while, but in an effort to find something good to remember, a reason to go on, he'd decided to go through the things that reminded him of Mara. He'd reasoned that if he could revisit those memories, and not flee back to the booze, that maybe, just maybe, he'd make it. He'd read the letter again for the first time on the anniversary of her death - last Halloween - in a desperate bid to pull himself out of his spiral of self-destruction. He'd decided he would only read it once a year, on Halloween. Jacob waited until the few trick-or-treaters had finished their visits. Why those kids bothered in weather that shitty, he didn't know. Free candy was apparently a powerful motivator for young children. Once it was late enough, he locked the door and flipped off the porch light. He sat back down on the couch in the study, the fire crackling while he glanced at those seductive glasses again. Deciding whether this time his weakness would win. The letter was folded onto itself in thirds. Mara had been a talented artist, especially with inks and pencils, and on the outside of the letter was one of her favorite illustrations: a gently curved black rose, complete with thorns. With a racing heart and a now familiar pain, Jacob opened the letter carefully and read it once more: Dear Sir, I am not sure how this is supposed to work, how I'm supposed to act. So I will just say it. You may have thought to scare me off, to sober me up with the reality of the monster you seem to believe you are. Well let me tell you, you are wrong. You see, there are some women who would kill to be in my shoes. To have a man as strong, as true, as unbelievably sexy as you tell them what you told me last night. Yes, some women want to hear the things you said! They want to be subject to your lust, your control, yes, even your cruelty. And I am one of them. You say you want to control me, to discipline me, own me? I say when do we start? I say this even though I am terrified, wondering if I'm crazy. A lust-crazed slut taken leave of her senses. But that's precisely the point, isn't it? You make me feel that way. With you I can be free enough to admit it. You said it yourself: Freedom through control, release through submission. I don't know what I am doing, but I trust that you do. I know somehow you'll understand me. I know you'll be loving, and I know that you'll be strict. I know I'll make mistakes, be thoughtless. Punish me for them, but as long as I know I am loved, I'll welcome it. Need it. Lead me on this journey, and love me in your own way. Scared (and wet), Your Mara It still made him hard, still made his heart race - and it still hurt. But this time, it was more bittersweet. He missed her, terribly. A part of him did not survive her passing. But the cliche was true: time heals all wounds. Even this one. His cell phone buzzed, the vibration jarring against the coffee table. He picked up the phone, stared at it, moved to put it down, then looked at it again. It was a text message. It was Sierra. "What r u doing tonight Jacob? You should be here with us!" He'd known her since before he and Mara had first gotten together. She was a friend then, to both of them. He'd relied on her support since Mara's death, their bond of friendship deepening. Jacob would never admit it to Karl, but he was right. Now things did feel different. There was something...more. Jacob didn't know what that something was, and he wasn't sure he should be anything more than a friend to her. He was used to knowing the way, having the answers. That certainty was gone once Mara was gone. The phone buzzed again, drifting laterally as it vibrated atop the table. Another text. "Everybody wants to see you - especially me lol" Most of the office was at a Halloween party that night. He knew Sierra wanted him there. She'd asked if he would make an appearance. He'd never answered her. Jacob picked up the phone, thumbs tapping the screen. "Are you drunk Sierra? Do I have to come and take you home?" He had always felt protective of Sierra, her soulful almost haunted eyes and petite frame brought out an instinctive urge in him to watch over her. It had become more blatant since Mara had died though, almost as if his wife's passing meant he could be free to fixate on Sierra. One of the ways things were different. Protecting her gave him some purpose. She was a beacon, a lifeboat in his sea of despair. It helped. The buzzing phone against his thigh startled him. "Not drunk - well not quite drunk. Will u come?" Jacob smiled, shaking his head, thumb whirring. "Nope." He felt the sad loneliness of the house then, and resolved to do something about it. He lay the phone on the coffee table and walked to the bar. His keys were laid in the usual place - a ceramic bowl one of Mara's art students had made for her. At the other end of the bar was the Glen. His cell vibrated again. He paused a moment, then retrieved it from the coffee table. "What will it take to get you here?" His thumb was tapping out a response, when the cellphone went off again. He canceled his message and clicked over to her text. He stood still a moment, his throat working. "Some encouragement lol", she'd written. Below the text was a picture of a maroon skirt being pulled down in back, the thin line of a bright orange thong plunging between the tanned upper swells of feminine buttocks. "Yep, she's drunk," he said. Jacob wasn't sure what to make of it; she'd never sent anything like that before. Though the image made his pulse quicken, he had an idea about what needed to be done. He grabbed the keys. As he pulled on his heavy leather coat in the foyer, the doorbell rang. "What the hell," he muttered under his breath. "A little late for candy huh kids?" He opened the door, candy bowl in hand, ready to bawl them out if they stood an inch over 4 feet tall. Only the big kids ever came calling that late. What stood on his porch was not a child dressed like a lion, not a 12 year old in a plastic Dracula cape, nor a teenager lazily masquerading as a hobo. It was a woman. A beautiful woman. --- "Hi," Jacob said. She simply stood there, gazing evenly at him. She was wrapped in a long, dark, rather out of date appearing shroud. He couldn't place exactly what it resembled at first. This was one of the hidden advantages of a female best friend: a source for obscure (to men, anyway) fashion knowledge. Then he remembered. It looked like a cloak. The light over his porch was dim, so the details of her looks were muted. She had dark hair, but he could not make out the color since the shroud covered it as well. White flakes of snow were beginning to collect on the top of her head and along her shoulders. A few danced at the end of her long eyelashes. Her eyes were luminous, twinkling pools. He was still for a few moments, feeling the urge to say something, to fill the silence. Then she spoke. "Hello. I - I need some help. My car died on the highway, and I seem to have lost my phone. Would you mind if I came in to use yours, and maybe warm up a little?" Her words quavered a bit as she spoke. She was shivering. "Uh, OK," he said, stepping aside. Letting complete strangers inside his house was a completely alien concept to Jacob, but he felt an odd thrilling comfort in her presence the way a hot stove feels to freezing hands; to touch it is too much, but to be close is bliss. She remained planted on the porch, utterly still, her gaze never leaving his face. "Please come in," he said. "It's freezing." He waved his hand, beckoning her inside. She followed, suddenly moving swiftly past him down the hallway and into the study beyond. "Make yourself at home," he muttered, brow furrowed, closing the door behind her. Her scent was left in her wake, and he found it wonderful. He found her standing in front of the deck doors, looking out at the snowfall. Jacob grabbed the cell from the coffee table, reaching with it toward her narrow back. He cleared his throat. "Here's the phone, ma'am." She didn't move a muscle. After waiting for several moments, he set the phone on the bar next to her. "How about something to warm you up? Coffee?" Nothing. The woman stood as still as a statue. It only half registered on Jacob's consciousness that despite the warmth of the room, the snow on her hood and shoulders hadn't melted yet. He retreated to the kitchen and poured her a mug, his hands shaking slightly. When he returned to the study she had at least turned around, and dropped her hood. Her features were classically beautiful, slim nose, strong cheekbones, and as his gaze met hers, liquid eyes that reflected the dance of the firelight within them. Those eyes were unlike any he'd ever seen. He was dimly aware of handing the hot mug to her, but all he could take in were the depths of color in those eyes. He watched her plump crimson lips say: "Thank you, Jacob", but no sound registered. He felt as if he were dropping into a trance, limbs heavy, his eyes unblinking. His skin tingled, like stepping out of a warm house into the icy winter air. A small, strident part of Jacob's consciousness was yelling, screaming, that something was very, very wrong. Telling him, begging him to get away, fight back - anything. Fight back against what? She knows your name, Jacob. He took a step backward, feeling as if he were standing knee-deep in wet concrete. With Herculean effort, Jacob tore his gaze away from those shimmering violet depths, and looked over at the bar. The .45 semi-auto was just under the top shelf. "You won't need that," she said, her voice almost a whisper. A lovely sound. He looked at her again, shocked at the ease with which his gaze locked back with hers, like a compass swinging back to true north. "How do you know my name?" His voice sounded muffled to him, like hearing speech through a thin wall. She flashed a devastating smile and the effect was instantaneous. His skin went from a tingling to a hot, overwhelming sensitivity, as if he could sense the pressure of the very air in the room. He felt a growing heaviness in his groin. She didn't answer his question. "My name is Elira, Jacob. It's very nice to finally meet you." Jacob's consciousness was fighting a losing battle, his will wilting away by the second. He couldn't move his legs anymore, though he grunted with the effort to do so. It was as if the connection between the mind and legs was simply disconnected. It was so hard to talk. He just wanted to stare at her eyes; nothing else was really important. "How did you - know..." "Let's just say I have a very reliable source for information," she said, dipping her chin slightly, looking at him from under slender dark eyebrows. "But it's not important Jacob. I'm here now, with you. That's all that matters." She pulled the cloak away from her body, and dropped it to the floor behind her. Jacob gasped. She was stunning. He couldn't leave her eyes for more than glances, but he still perceived enough. She was tall, though even in her heels, she was still a few inches below his imposing height. From just above the nipples to halfway down the thighs, she was wrapped in a dark, form-fitting fabric. It seemed an almost translucent material, like peering at the Sun through the shield of a curtain. Only there wasn't a sun behind this fabric, but a gorgeous female body. The fabric emphasized an incredibly narrow waist, the generous swells of her breasts complemented by the stretch of the wrap across the sweep of wide hips. The dark areolae were hinted at through the dress, the delta of the sex an unmistakable inviting shadow between the strong thighs. Above and below the dress (if it could be called that), the almost glowing skin dazzled his eyes. He'd not seen skin so pale, so clear ever before. He ached to touch it, to feel it against his lips. A Message of Love Jacob could feel his cock straining against the front of his dark jeans, painfully erect. "Please," he breathed, his jaw clenching. She glanced down for a moment, and he felt suddenly lighter. "I don't control that," she said, grinning and gazing into his eyes again. "That's all you." She took a step toward him, her slender hands clasping her hips as if bracing herself. He felt the movement in the air, like a swimmer in a pool feels the water pressure change when someone else dives in. He hadn't felt such a surge of desire, such a rush of naked lust since...since Mara. As Elira stepped closer to him, her steady gaze never leaving his, all he could think about was Mara. He remembered the first time he'd seen her bare breasts, their soft, heavy curves highlighted by the afternoon sun pouring through the windows of the very room he was now standing in. Captive in. Closer the strange, incredible woman stepped. He could still see Mara, tears running down her cheeks, and Jacob greedily licking them off, kissing her wet eyelids. Her grateful yielding smile, as he held her head clasped tenderly in his hands. Jacob could feel his legs shaking, his groin throbbing, testicles pulled up tightly against his body. He knew if he so much as brushed his cock, he'd come. He felt like he was thirteen again. Then Elira stood a mere step from him, as if to be as close as possible and still afford him a full view of her lush body. He could feel her heat on his skin, smell her unbelievable scent. Still she gazed at him, her mouth pursed as if considering something. The tip of her tongue darted out to wet those delicious lips. He wanted to crush them with his mouth, to bite them, feel her breath against his cheek. To wrest moans, cries from them. He wanted to fall upon this woman like a wild animal starved and imprisoned, finally escaped from it's captivity and finding prey. Only one person had ever made him feel that way, and it had been his wife. Jacob felt guilt, shame that his old feelings had resurfaced. He'd made a vow to his dead wife that his love, his immense desire would die with her. He'd vowed to stay true to her, until his death rekindled their love in the next life. He knew Mara had heard him that windy, cold day as he crouched at her grave, forehead pressed against the unyielding stone, his tears annointing his bent knee. Jacob had felt her presence that day, a lone pinpoint of light to momentarily push back the sickening, suffocating despair. Then Elira touched him, bringing him back to the present, just fingertips light against his cheek. He jerked as if current had been passed through his body, but her touch suddenly made him feel himself again. His legs worked, his arms moved, fists clenched. He backed away quickly until his heels struck the wall of the archway that opened to the hall. He could run. There was nothing stopping him. But he didn't. He couldn't. The strange, terrible beauty in the room before him had given him a taste, just a glimpse of what he'd shut off from himself. He knew he shouldn't. He knew he was desecrating Mara's memory, as good as spitting on his vow. But instinct was too much; with his lust unleashed, his willpower was in tatters. "Who are you? You know - things," he said, taking a stalking, tense step back into the room. "Are you reading my mind?" He watched her breasts bounce slightly at her laugh. "Mmm, I don't know. Maybe a little." He took another step, this time toward the bar. He watched her with a sidelong gaze, as if he feared she would bolt if he didn't keep eyes on her. "I told you already, Jacob. You don't need it. I'm not here to hurt you." He turned and advanced on her, until he stood a hands-breadth from her, looming. "How do you know there's a gun there? What the fuck is going on here!" He grabbed her upper arms, his fingers sinking into the firm flesh. Her beautiful eyes rolled back a moment, and her head tilted backward "Who are you? What are you?" he said. "Oh, he is strong. It's true after all," she murmured, gazing at him again, lashes fluttering. He could see her lower lip tremble, perfect teeth worrying the corner of her mouth. As soon as her gaze locked with his, he felt the strength drained from him again, washed away in an instant. He'd had heat exhaustion once while swimming in a warm pool, and the sensation was similar. His limbs suddenly felt leaden, feet rooted to the floor. His hands dropped from her arms, the impressions from his clenching fingers left pinkening archipelagos on the pale skin. She said nothing, just reached out with both hands, smoothing them over the hard planes of his chest, up to broad shoulders, and pushed his coat slowly down his arms. It fell heavily to the floor, his hot skin feeling blessedly cooler. He stood still, luxuriating in her touch. Though he fought against it, her hands felt so good, so right touching him. She embraced him, pressing the soft weight of her breasts against his chest. Her hands drifted down the hard angles of his back, and gently squeezed his buttocks. The smell of her hair was incredible. He valiantly staved off the urge to nuzzle the top her head and bury his face in the dark tresses. His arms worked again, but they felt heavy, almost asleep. He clasped her to him, feeling the play of the delicate muscles of her back beneath his hands. He thought he could stand for an eternity with her in his arms. Then he felt his throbbing erection digging into her firm, flat belly, and once again felt the guilt. His betrayal of Mara. He cursed himself for his weakness. She looked up at him, her warm smile lighting up that gorgeous face once again, and placed a slender finger against his lips as if to silence him. He automatically pursed them into a kiss of that finger, the desire surging in him again. The phone buzzed from the bar, making his body jerk. Elira glanced over at the bar, her embrace tight. His chuckle was jagged, nervous. "My friend Sierra. She's calling," he said, feeling sheepish about it for some reason. These feelings were so unlike him. He felt completely unbalanced, ragged somehow. "Soon, Jacob. I've waited a long time for this," she murmured against his chest. "So she can wait." She pushed against Jacob's chest, a gentle nudge, backing him up until his shoulder blades were against the wall once more. She just stood against him for a few moments, her breasts tight against his chest, hips pressed firmly to his. His cock was killing him, confined in the prison of his jeans, as she ground against it. He stared over her head, the smell of her enveloping him anew. His hands drifted down to her plump buttocks, kneading them in his strong grip. She sighed, then lowered her body slowly, still pressed up against him. The sensation of those generous breasts, the hard nipples, moving down his body and over the bulge of his groin almost set him off. Her hands trailed down his chest, nails dragging lightly against the fabric of his shirt. He placed his hands in her hair, twining his fingers through it's luxurious weight. She swiftly undid his fly, releasing his cock to finally jut free in blessed relief. He groaned as her fingers clasped around it, the cool flesh of her hand a soothing balm of stimulation on the insistent heat of his erection. She looked up at him, as she stroked her cheek against the broad head of his cock. He closed his eyes, groaning again. It was so difficult to hold back. "Open your eyes. Please. I want you to watch me," she whispered, her grin flashing. He did, and she took him into her mouth. Just the head at first, enveloped in the warm wetness of her lips. She made those lips a tight O then slowly sank down the long shaft, her tongue darting and snaking around his length as she took him in. His eyes were as wide as saucers as he watched her take him all the way to the base. Her throat clenched around him once, and again, then she slowly rose back off the shaft, her eyes never leaving his face. Jacob had taught Mara how to deep throat properly. She'd told him she knew how from experience with a previous boyfriend, but Jacob had quickly disabused her of that notion. He'd been relentless with her, making her practice over and over, pulling her over his knee for a spanking when she wasn't satisfactory in her performance. Then he'd kiss each of her scalding buttocks in a dichotomy of tenderness and cruelty, before depositing her kneeling between his knees to begin again. Elira released his cock from her soft mouth with an audible pop, her lips a deep crimson. He burrowed his hand into her hair, fingers twining in the silky weight. "Don't stop until I tell you to. Keep going." Her eyes closed, a slight curve to her lips before he guided her head back down upon him. He leaned his head back as she worked him. What are you doing Jacob? What about her? His thoughts came to him as if yelled down a deep well, a distorted echo. He wanted to listen, do the right thing. But it had been so long. He missed her so much. He missed this so much. She moaned around his cock and he almost lost control. He pulled her off of him by her hair, peering down into the unearthly beauty of this strange woman's face. Her lower lip quivered as she wiped saliva from it with a delicate finger. "If you know so much about me, then you know how this is going to go don't you?" he said, cupping her chin with his other hand. Her gaze didn't waver, her body tense, eyes giving away nothing. The hair at her scalp must have been burning from the grip his hand had on those gorgeous tresses. She grabbed at the hand holding her chin and pressed her swollen lips to his knuckles. Then she bit them. He snarled, hauling her up and moving fast, still holding her tightly by the hair, the other hand clasped around her waist. His lips met hers, plundering that mouth as they stumbled down the hallway, those soft lips that now tasted like his blood. Her hands roamed his back, squeezing the defined muscles there with a brutal strength. She grasped his cock, and he snatched at her wrist, pulling her hand away. "Not without permission, girl," he growled, between sucking and nipping her lips. They collided with the tall mattress of his bed, and he froze a moment. Mara's bed. He knew this was so wrong, but he was lost to it. The instinct hadn't died; the drive was still there after all, just hiding. His frustration drove him further, to the darker place within he'd only ever shared with Mara. He wanted her back so badly he ached. He hurt for her as much as the day the light in her eyes was lost to the dullness of oblivion. Instinct took over then, the hurt too much to bear. Lust bandaged those wounds, if only for this one night. It would have to be enough. He made Elira sit on the edge of the bed, while he stood over her. She took off the wrap, revealing her beauty fully to him, while he stroked his cock in a casual grip. She tried to speak, but his sharp voice quelled her. "No." Then he was upon her, pushing her to her back, moving her up the bed. He kissed her feverishly, not getting enough and ramming his tongue in further. Seeking. Taking. He stripped off his shirt, the muscles of his shoulders rippling in the low light. Her hands reached up to his neck, then down his broad chest, nails tracing the defined abdominals. He grabbed her wrists in his hands, yanking them up past her head. He pinned her to the bed with his piercing gaze. Her eyes met his, steady, expression unreadable. "Jacob-" "Quiet," he said, shaking his head. He squeezed her wrists. "Keep them there." Jacob reached over her body and opened the side table drawer, pulling out the leather manacles. He hadn't opened that drawer in months, the flood of memory it caused just too much for him. Now he used that pain to spur him on, drive him. How dare she dredge it all up. Her arrogant presumption. Her beauty. Those eyes. As he bound her hands to the wrought iron headboard, her expression flickered, her teeth worrying her lip. It was just for a moment, but it was unmistakable. In over your head now aren't you, my gorgeous girl? He smiled. Jacob sat back, his cock jutting upward. He liked to just look at Mara this way. He'd make her lie in silence while his eyes devoured her lush body, her gaze upon his large, blatantly displayed erection. He was unselfconscious about it. He knew Mara loved his cock, but more than that, he thought that it emphasized the power dynamic. His hard readiness, the helpless but yearning Mara. It just worked for them. He stroked Elira's pale thighs, fingers tracing down her legs to her feet. He grabbed both of them in his hands and eased them apart, imparting his intent. She understood, spreading her legs further. The plump labia were slightly parted, the delicate flesh within glistening. He inhaled her scent, savoring it. He lay between her thighs, arms planted on the mattress to either side of her ribs. Her legs locked around his muscular buttocks, drawing him in. Her eyes clenched shut, and she moaned softly as he slid into her. Christ she was so wet! Her heat took him in, down, down, until he was fully, blissfully, sheathed within her. She sighed as he lowered himself to her, letting her feel his weight. She turned her face in toward one of her arms, exposing her vulnerable neck to his mouth, soft bites of his teeth. She whimpered as he began a slow advance and retreat, clasping her breast in his hand, squeezing it in rhythm with his thrusts. "Everything I hoped," she said, her lips open to him, eyes closed. "I will gag you," he said, a harder thrust eliciting another moan from the bound woman. He worried the tips of her breasts with the nip of his teeth. His strong hands kneaded their heavy, vulnerable weight as he suckled deep on the rose nipples, reveling in their feel against his tongue. Jacob increased the tempo of his thrusts, pounding into her. She moaned at the increased friction, at his pubic bone grinding against her clit. Her legs clamped tighter to him, her heels across the rise of his clenching buttocks. "Don't you dare come yet ," he said through clenched teeth. She groaned again, her thighs squeezing his hips. The muscles of his broad back and shoulders bunched, sweat dripping down onto her chest, the slopes of her breasts glistening with their combined exertions. "Now," he said, grunting. She cried out, her eyes flying open. The leather of the manacles creaked against the tension of her wrists. Her cunt rhythmically clamped his cock, rippling down it's length. His orgasm took him then, boiling out from behind his testicles, blacking everything out but the intense pleasure. He laid down upon her a moment, his shuddering breath heavy. His hands reached up to release the manacles. Long fingers twined with hers as she sighed, the tension finally released from her pinioned limbs. He rested his forehead on her sternum, as her hand stroked his hair. He nuzzled the inside curves of those generous breasts, so like Mara's. "Oh Jacob," she said, her voice shaking, fingertips tracing the curve of his ear. He never thought he'd feel that way again. His heart was bursting with hurt - and relief. To feel was to be alive. It wasn't until that moment that he realized just how numb, how hollowed out he'd been. Jacob moved to lay beside the gorgeous woman, clasping her to his body. She pressed soft kisses to his pectorals, fingers running through the arrow of dark hair down his muscled abdomen. Neither spoke as they lay together. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of her that permeated the darkness of the bedroom. She rubbed the wet curls of her sex against his hip, insistent. He clutched a soft buttock in his hand, stilling her. "You'll have more soon enough, girl," he said, his nose sampling the scent of her hair. She smelled unlike any woman he'd ever met. Yet another item to add to the growing list of unusuals about this strange creature. His hand wandered further down the slope of her buttocks, fingertips exploring the cleft. She murmured, clutching closer to him as he slipped two fingers between the swollen labia, thumb tracing the whorl of her anus. "Who are you Elira?" His thumb tapped the tender mouth of her bottom. She shuddered, her leg moving further up his body to ease his access to her secrets. "Whoever you need me to be Jacob. I am here for you." Her voice was low, muffled against his chest. He stared at the ceiling, luxuriating in the soft yielding of her body against his. Don't think Jacob. Just be - for tonight. He gave her bottom a gentle slap. "Out of the bed, Elira." Jacob made her stand in front of him. He sat on the edge of the bed and turned on a bedside lamp, the muted light illuminating her stunning curves. His hands wandered over her body, possessively claiming everything he saw. He bade her raise her arms over her head. His hands coursed down those delicate limbs, thumbs tracing the tender flesh of her underarms. He clasped the petite waist, his grip tight, as he pressed kisses to the smooth belly, his tongue delving into the well of her navel. Her hand lowered to his hair, stroking him. He smacked her ass hard, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "Keep them up until I tell you otherwise," he said, looking up at her, his mouth against her flesh. Her eyes flashed, but she obeyed him. It was a defiance he'd relish addressing later. His palm claimed her pussy in a firm grip. "Spread them Elira. Wider." She spread her legs until the tendons of her inner thighs stood out, taut. "Good girl." He leaned closer to her, to get a better view of that glorious sex. She gasped as he slipped two fingers deep into her, testing the depths. He withdrew and put the glistening fingers to her lips. She sucked them into her mouth, finishing with a gentle kiss to his fingertips. "Show it to me Elira," he said, voice thick, one of his hands clasping her hip. His gaze flicked up to hers at her hesitation. "You know what I mean. You can read minds remember?" He watched a blush suffuse her face for the first time, then followed her fingers as they made their way down to slip through the silky curls. She eased the hood back, her wet clitoris shining in the low light. "Very nice. That's a big one, girl. Don't you like showing it to me?" Her blush darkened yet more, but he was pleased to see she kept herself exposed to his gaze. "Clasp them behind your head," he said, not looking to see if she'd obey. He knew she would. She gasped again as he worked her with the rough pads of his fingertips, occasionally dipping back into the dripping font of her pussy and rubbing more moisture on the deep red clit. It was big, and he loved it. He worried it until she was crying out, her hips writhing, despite his admonishing her to stay still. "Don't come until I give you permission girl. You'll be sorry if you do." She shuddered with a long, high-pitched whine as he continued, relentless, thrusting three fingers into her sex in time with the ceaseless stroking of her hard clit. He knew she couldn't fight it much longer, but he kept at her, warning her of the consequences of disobeying him. He leaned in closer and laved her pussy with his broad tongue, licking between the swollen labia, savoring the taste of her while he continued pistoning into her with his fingers. Then he sucked the throbbing heart of her into his mouth. It was too much for her and she went over, crying out, her hips bucking against his hand, his tongue. He didn't let up, until she pleaded with him, until it was too much for her over-sensitized flesh. The room was bathed in the scent of her arousal, it's evidence dripping down to his wrist. He licked his fingers with a smile as he looked up at her flushed face. Though she was more malleable now, the orgasm lessening her tension, he could still see it in her eyes. That sharp awareness; a place he couldn't get at. Something she kept from him still. A Message of Love He'd worked on that with Mara. He'd wanted her to give him everything - and she had. No secrets, no lies; all of it for him. He'd made her tell him the dark thoughts that all people had. The things she was ashamed of, the things that frightened her. It was hard for her, but she'd realized that it was part of what made everything work. She gave him everything, and he protected it. All of it. All of her. He was where she could flee. He was where she could lay her troubles, her worries, her frustrations. It was heady stuff for him at first, especially when she told him the things red-blooded women really thought, really desired. He'd realized then that there wasn't much that separated men and women after all. The two sides of the same coin. "You disobeyed me Elira." Her look was defiant, even as she kept her hands clasped behind her head, the slender muscles of her biceps twitching. She was still holding back, challenging him even. He sat down on the bed again, his heart pounding in his chest. "Lay over my lap Elira." You are the lowest of the low. This was only for her. It still is. He jerked his head back, startled, for the last thought was not his own. She did as he required, and he was unsuccessful in stifling the sigh elicited by the blissful sensation of a soft, yielding female body laid across his hard thighs. It was heavenly, and the view was even better. He sometimes just made Mara lie there quietly for long minutes, while he devoured her with his gaze, wanting to look everywhere at once. Savoring the fact that he didn't have to; he could take as long as he wanted. And he had. He stroked the curves of Elira's broad, plump buttocks, turning his hand to run his knuckles over her paleness, making her skin break out in goose-flesh. He traced the bewitching twin dimples just below her waist. His fingertips wandered down the crevice of her buttocks, delving into that dark valley. His hand clenched a generous cheek hard, claiming it as he scored the creamy flesh of the other cheek with gentle fingernails, just a light scratching, the feel of her softness under his hands wonderful. Then he spanked her, the sound a jarring crack in the dim, quiet room. She tensed at the pain, but stayed silent. Just as he liked. He slapped each buttock in turn, leaving plenty of time between blows for Elira to feel them. He laid a hard slap to the base of one luscious cheek, and she clenched with a hiss. "Loosen them Elira. More - good." The buttocks relaxed as his hand-prints continued to bloom on the smooth, white canvas. SMACK A mewling, and she reached back to rub her bottom. He caught her wrist in his hand and pinned it in the small of her back. "That's not allowed girl." "Hurts!" Her voice was far away. Strange. "It's supposed to Elira," he said, delivering another crack to the far cheek, sending the lush flesh wobbling. So lovely. Mara had had a difficult time with spanking at first. She'd never been spanked as a child, and it was a true shock to her when Jacob had first pulled her over his lap. He'd introduced her to it slowly, showing her that it wasn't all about pain. His obsessive, exploratory preamble would usually have her writhing with need, his knowing hands awakening her to both the pleasure and the pain of a spanking between a Dominant and his submissive. She'd come to love it, most of all because of the loving (and otherwise) attention he paid to her. He'd taught her, to their mutual delight, that 'a spanking', was a lot more than just a spanking! He quickened the pace, cracking repeated slaps to the bottom of both cheeks, and Elira's stoicism broke. She cried out at each blow, her struggling becoming more urgent. When her generous bottom was a suitable shade, Jacob peppered the backs of her thighs with crisp slaps as well, her keening rising an octave at the harsher sting. His cock was insistent, digging into her hip, the throbbing becoming impossible to ignore. He moved her off of his lap, taking that simple male pleasure in handling her slight body with such ease. Jacob moved her up the bed to kneel on all fours, her head resting on the mattress, that glorious, round ass on mouthwatering display. Her ragged breath was beginning to even as she waited, prostrate. He knelt behind her a moment, and just enjoyed the sight of a well-chastised bottom. Such feminine perfection he'd rarely ever seen. His wife had loved that position for the intense pleasure it brought her, his deep strokes taking her breath away. But more than that, it just made her feel...vulnerable. It was the position she felt a Master should take his slave in, and though they tried every position under the sun, it was always a favorite for them both. He grasped each of Elira's delicate wrists and manacled them again, this time affixing them close together low in the middle of the wrought iron headboard. He wanted her to be able to rest her head on her arms for what was coming. Jacob moved close to Elira, clasping her hips in strong hands, and rubbing the broad head of his cock over the heat of the spanked buttocks. The labia were swollen, the moisture dripping from her sex, the curls of her pubis matted with her juices. He was surprised to see this, as he'd only never seen one other woman react so strongly, so viscerally to being spanked. His wife. The scent of her sex hit him again, stoking his lust yet higher, and he positioned himself at her entrance, the wetness clutching, pulling at him. "Yes," she breathed, her hips moving, beckoning. He entered her with a single, long plunge, seating himself fully as she gasped. He slapped the curve of her ass as he pulled back only to rush forward once more. Then he took up a steady, forceful thrusting, taking his time for it was his to take. He wound one hand in her hair, pulling her head back sharply so that he could nibble on her earlobe, his thrusts increasing. "Oh Jacob," she said, voice strained, the lust drowning her. "Shh Elira. No talking, just feel. Feel me." He delivered a heavy smack to her ass, and she yelped. His hands wandered over her body as he pounded into her, her body jerking as his hips slapped against her soft buttocks. A hard nipple pinched, rough fingertips circling her clit. He made her suck her juices from his fingers once more, the metronome of his thrusts never ending. He stopped once or twice, both to keep from going over, and to enjoy the clench of her pussy, the rolling, pleading movement of her hips against his. "We go together Elira. Don't go until I say." His voice was harsh, his control a hair's breadth from breaking. "Please Jacob," she whispered, her voice cracking. He rocked into her with increasing speed, his roughness with her escalating. His fingers were back at her clit, pinning her between the clever tips and the pounding of his cock. With a roar he plunged into her as deeply as possible, thighs close against hers, dragging a cry from her. "Now, come for me," he growled through clenched teeth. He knew no more for a few moments, the overwhelming pleasure blocking all else out as he emptied into her. She screamed then as her orgasm took her, the clutch of her pussy an incredible, blissful delight as it rhythmically clamped him. He could feel her juices running between their bodies, to drip off of his testicles. The smell of sex filling the room made him want to keep going, make this last longer, forever. But he was exhausted, and not just physically. His animal instincts had taken over, yes. They'd allowed him to be, to live. Not think. But now his thoughts flooded back to him, the shame of what he'd done. He untied Elira's hands as he planted tender kisses on the crown of each scorched buttock, the bumps of her spine. You bastard. You lied to her. "No," Elira said turning to him as soon as her hands were freed. "No more Jacob." "I-" She knocked him onto his back, her movement ridiculously quick, the strength behind the blow immense. His head swam as he lay on his back, gasping, the wind knocked out of him. The strange woman crawled up his body, the soft weight of her breasts dragging against his heated, sweaty chest. The defiance in her gaze was back. And something else. "Now it's my turn Jacob. This was the arrangement." Her voice was feminine still, but the force of it vibrated in his chest, like a blown speaker. He tried to speak, but he had no breath in his lungs. He felt as if a car, a mountain, lay atop him, pinning him to that bed. He was helpless. She crouched over him, and he could see she'd changed. Oh fuck. Her eyes no longer shone any whites at all; they were purest jet black. The color of her skin had gone the mottled gray of concrete on a cold winter morning. Her slim muscles rippled as she moved over him, her gaze intent. Her lips were the deepest of purple, almost black against the pallor of her skin. She was still beautiful, but the beauty was no longer human - or of this world. "Elira", he croaked, the effort to produce speech almost causing him to pass out. She placed a long finger across his lips, the curved ebony claw at it's tip tickling the flesh beneath his nose. "You won't be taken Jacob - this time. But there's more I want." She moved down his body again, and sheathed his now erect cock deep within her once again, wriggling her hips down to the base to ensure it was fully seated. Then she smiled at him, flashing needle-like fangs. He didn't know how long she rode him. It could have been minutes, or hours. His cock was in agony, feeling as if the skin had been burned off of it. He'd never come so many times in his life. When he flagged once, she pulled off of him, his cock slapping back at his taut, drenched belly. Her head lowered to his groin. He screamed then, as fangs punctured the flesh of his inner thighs. Once, twice, a third time she bit him, switching to the other leg on the final bite. Incredibly, his balls felt a ballooning, rushing pressure, his cock twitching, impossibly hard once more. He groaned with the need, with the pain of the enforced arousal. She pumped him further, merciless, her round breasts bouncing with her movement. His pleading fell on deaf ears, taloned fingers scratching furrows into his chest. As she crouched over him, squeezing him into releasing yet another pain-filled, wrenching geyser of semen into her greedy pussy, he could see something else. His vision began to gray out, but in the darkness of the room, he could make out movement above her, behind her. The stirring of air. A rustling. Wings. He was so tired. He struggled to draw breath, his heart hammering in his chest, desperate. She was killing him. The last thing he remembered before blacking out was her hand closing over the base of his tortured cock, the poke of the sharp claws. Her too-long tongue licking up the shaft. Her black, bottomless eyes upon him. "Life is for the living, Jacob. Nuntium amoris ex Mortuus." --- It was terrible news. They were prepared for it. The weakness was back, worse than ever. She couldn't eat anything; didn't want to even move. Talk of numbers, odds, alternative treatment options. Somber, frank discussion about what to do ... after. They both knew the day was coming, but they wanted it to hold off just a little while longer. A little while longer to enjoy life, the feel of the morning sun, the sounds of children playing, a lover's hand clasping your own. He remembered the last time he and Mara had made love. He remembered it as vividly as his very first time. She was near the end, so fragile, so tired. Her oncologist had wanted to admit her again, but Mara had refused. She'd wanted one last night with him while she still had the strength. One last night together. Incredibly, she'd been embarrassed at her dryness, apologizing to him that they'd had to use something when she'd usually gushed for him. He'd shushed her, telling her she was just as beautiful and sexy as the day they'd met. He'd shown her his hard cock to prove it. Her ashen lips gave it a tender kiss, and he'd almost begun to cry. He'd tried to get her to lay back, conserve her strength, just let him love her. She didn't want to. She'd wanted him from behind, what she'd called his 'rightful place'. Her husband, her lover, her Master. He'd eased into her, afraid of hurting her. It had felt so right as it always had, and his heart broke knowing it was the last time he'd feel it. They'd both known it was the last time they'd be that close. One. He'd stroked the bright cloth tied around the remnants of her beautiful hair, caressed her head. She'd reached back and he'd held her hand. Then they'd made love, and he really did cry as he told her over and over how much he loved her... ___ The snow outside had let up a little, but he could still see flakes falling through the spray of the deck's floodlight. He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece, the leather of the couch creaking as his head moved. No. No, you've got to be kidding me... He'd fallen asleep. According to that god-damned clock, he'd been out for about 20 minutes. Jacob rubbed his hand across his face. "Just wonderful," he muttered, wiping the drying tears from his cheeks. The phone buzzed from the bar, startling him, the glasses rattling a little at the vibration. Old friend Glen waiting, beckoning. "I think I will have that drink now. Jesus, this is unreal." Yes, you're right. It wasn't real. Fuck. The phone went off again, and he moved to stand up. He yelled at the pain that shot through his groin. He'd once had a cat bite him through the palm of his hand. That bee-stung ache lasted for days afterward. His inner thighs now felt exactly the same. Then he saw it, shivers cascading down his spine. Mara's letter. He stood, ignoring the pain, and walked to the bar. The letter lay folded on the varnished wood, right next to his phone. A fresh black rose, thorns and all lay neatly over the folded paper. The phone buzzed again, and he picked it up. "Hello Sierra," he said, voice thick, a tear rolling down his cheek. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes. I'm taking you home."