It didn't helped that when I pulled back the covers I saw the white stains all over the dark sheets. My cum. Her arousal. Our mess was everywhere. The many times I came on her, in her mouth, on her back, inside her.
I have never fucked a woman that much before. One and done is usually enough for me and I move on. With Camryn there was the compulsion to stay, to fuck her over and over, even without my hematolagnia. Not just an exchange of physical. Something deeper that I don’t want to think about. I’m too old for her, too jaded, too caught in what I have to do, but I want to keep her. I don’t know how with my fucked up life the way it is.
I was even more shocked when I walked to floor to ceiling windows along the back of the cabin and spotted her kneeling,in front of the single headstone. She’s wrapped in my dark sheet, her black hair blowing, like a specter of death. The parallels of Camryn and Ivory are too much to ignore. In the cold ground lies a woman brutally killed because of her association with men like me and kneeling above her is a woman who might suffer the same fate. In all likelihood my obsession has sentenced her to death. Denise’s death is a glaring reminder that someone knows. Fuck coincidence.
I watched her start to dig at the base of my sister and niece’s grave. I had no clue what the fuck she was doing, but curiosity drove me to pull on my pants, and walk out to her. To hear her talk about her mother’s grave and then watch her clean up my sister's grave, and then when she placed the yarrow on their graves opened something inside me, something that had been locked away.
For so long I have been consumed by revenge. I’ve been on this trajectory for years, unable to think about anything else. But she comes along and the vault on my feelings opens. I didn’t expect to feel the shame when she cleaned the tombstone.
Since their murder, I thought the way to honor them was to kill, to bleed the monsters who were part of the violence enacted on them, but Camryn honored them in a way I had forgotten. With beauty, with kindness. Those bright white flowers covering their resting place are seared in my brain. My sister would have smirked at it. Beauty wasn’t something she often got in our world, her past made it hard for her to see it, but I know she would have appreciated it. She would have liked Camryn. Her fight. Her snarky energy would have called to the same attitude in my sister. The sorrow in my chest is spreading and I don’t know what to do with it. There’s only been fury for so long.
Leading her inside I take her to the sink. She’s wearing one of my black T-shirts, her feet bare, dirty from her trip outside. She smells earthy. Her hair is wild. Her face has a smudge ofmud. The bottoms of her feet are muddy. There is soil embedded under her fingernails, dirt from my sister and niece’s grave. I study the chipped and ragged edges, damaged from cleaning the choking weeds covering their graves. She’s filthy and I want to get filthy with her.
She was clearly exhausted from the hours I spent fucking her. A bruise is forming on her cheek, deep purple against her fair skin; a bruise that I caused when I tackled her, but none of it matters. I can’t feel bad for it, because she’s here. I’ve been inside her, and will be again. My feelings for her are even more primal than before now that I’ve tasted her.
I turn on the warm water and run her hands underneath.
“What are you doing?”
I can’t talk about what I’m doing because I don’t know. I haven’t the slightest idea why I’m washing her hands or why I told her about my sister and my niece. This is supposed to be sex. Me fucking her beautiful body until I got enough.
I pick up the soap, add some to my hands, and begin to wash her palm, removing any traces of her efforts outside. That telltale change in her breathing makes me look at her. Her eyes are trained on my ministrations. I slow down, sliding the soap sensually over her elegant fingers, the same fingers that were wrapped tightly around my cock in the shower yesterday, fingers that gripped my knife like a pro just know when she cut flowers. The sight of her holding it was so dangerously beautiful, that for the first time in my life I could imagine her using my knife on me, cutting me and then riding my cock while my blood dripped over her fingers.
I shut off the water and turn her hands over, noticing the cuts from where she must have injured herself, all for my family. I raise her hands to my mouth and kiss each abrasion marring her soft skin.
“Stone,” she murmurs, and I watch her eyes become hooded. Desire is stamped on her face and I want to join her, slide my cock inside her, but I need to feed her before I take her again. I pick up a brown bottle and add a few drops on her fingers.
“That smells like my oil.”
“I know. I made it.”
“You made it?”
“You like honeysuckle and it grows on my property.” I rub the oil into her fingers, soothing the abrasions.
“Go sit. I need to clean your feet.”
“I can just take a shower.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Cause I’m going to fuck to you like this. Smelling like wildflowers and sweat from taking care of my dead family.
“Go.”
I watch as she walks to the small square table I built when I first moved in. It’s rough unfinished oak. Her pert ass moves beneath my shirt and damn if I can concentrate on getting the things I need. She sits, watching me as I get a washcloth and the large bowl of water. Kneeling, I set them down and pick up her foot, dipping the cloth in the warm water, then wash the bottom of her feet, wiping, rinsing the dirt away. I switch and wash the second foot. When I look up at her she’s watching me, those green eyes searching my face. I wash up to her calves, looking right between her legs at the dark shadow. Her moan has me looking up. Her skin is so sensitive and I love how easy she is to read.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, hiding my grin. My countess wants to get fucked.
She shivers. “Nothing. Ticklish,” she wheezes her pupils dilated.
“Yeah?” I ask and bend her foot at the knee and bring her foot to my mouth, kissing her ankle. The move opens her legs wider, and I see a peek of her pussy. She tries to push down the shirt, hiding herself.
“Hiding from me, Countess?”
“I—”
