Dissent (14 page)

“That's
sick.”

“Yeah,”
I nodded, putting the ice pick back and closing the cabinet. When we
were done, we were going to re-lock the door and I was going to
contact someone who specialized in this kind of thing and tell them
about what was in the basement. Because it should be preserved. It
shouldn't end up in some person's attic.

I
walked over toward the exam table, pulling a rag out of my pocket and
wiping it clean.

“What
are you doing?”

I
ignored him, cleaning the table until it was spotless, then pulled
myself on top of it. “I, ah, have this problem,” I said,
looking down at my feet.

“What's
wrong?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

I
looked up slowly, trying to keep my face straight. “I seem to
be suffering from... female hysterics,” I told him and his face
broke out into a huge smile, until I went on, “I think I am in
need of... treatment.”

His
smile fell slowly as he realized the meaning of my words, his eyes
getting small, but his mouth falling open slightly. “You're
fucking with me, right?”

I
pushed my thighs together slightly, feeling the desire, hot and
pulsating. I wished I was fucking with him. I was weird about my
so-called haunted buildings. It was the adrenaline and the
excitement, the wonder, the fear... it all merged into this cocktail
that, invariably, made me hot. Horny. Intolerably so.

“I'm
not fucking with you.”

“Seriously?”
he asked, starting to come closer.

I
nodded. “Seriously.”

He
got to the edge of the table, pressing his body into my knees until I
opened them and he slipped into the empty space. “My hands are
dirty,” he said, holding them up, covered with dirt and grease
from opening the door. “But,” he said, looking down at me
with hungry eyes, “I think I can... what was the phrase?”
he asked, looking up to the corner of the room for a second. “Oh,
yeah,” he said, looking back at me. “I think I can
perform a valvular massage... with another part of my body.”

“Well,”
I said, smiling coyly, “if you think it might help this...
pressure and... these vivid fantasies and...”

“Wetness,”
he supplied, watching me with a small smirk.

“Yes,”
I agreed, looking up at him with big, innocent eyes, “wetness.
What do you think I should do about it?”

“I
think you should to stand up and take off your pants. You need a
proper exam,” he instructed, moving back a foot so I could jump
off the table. I reached quickly for my button and zipper, then
pulled my pants and panties down, awkwardly stepping out of them over
my shoes and taking my jeans and putting them on the exam table.
Because no matter how horny I was, and how fun a little role playing
was, I wasn't sitting my bare ass on a table where people used to be
strapped down.

“Okay,
Miss. Meyers. I need you back on the table, legs wide open please,”
he instructed, sounding cool and detached as any doctor, but watching
me with hungry eyes as I followed his directions. He moved down to
his knees in front of me, grabbing my knees and pushing them up until
they balanced on the edge of the table. “Hmm. I do see a lot of
wetness here,” he said, looking up at me. “If you will
just... lay back and relax, I am going to do a procedure to help ease
the symptoms of your... hysterics.”

“Yes,
doctor,” I agreed, grabbing the sides of the table, tense,
waiting.

Then
his tongue slipped between my slick folds, licking slowly up the
cleft, making my legs shoot off the edge of the table, slamming into
his shoulders, as I took a shaky breath. His hands reached for my
ankles, pulling them until my legs laid over his shoulders as he made
his way up toward my clit, making a big circle around it, but not
touching it. Then he backed up slightly, breathing hot air over the
sensitive nub, and making my breath hiss out of my mouth.

He
backed up long enough to make my rational mind start to surface, just
long enough to get tense. Then his tongue started fast strokes over
my clit over and over. Unrelenting. Not giving me a chance to catch
my breath or even groan. It was all-consuming. I pushed myself up
until I didn't need to brace myself, bringing one hand to the back of
his head, the other laying numbly off the edge of the table.

I
don't know how he saw it, because he stayed buried between my thighs,
his tongue lavishing across my clit, but his hand went up and grabbed
my free one, holding it tight as he continued his torment. My orgasm
was building fast, my body becoming taut in anticipation.

Then
his tongue stopped suddenly, making me cry out an objection a split
second before his tongue flattened out and pressed hard against my
clit, holding there and I crashed down into my orgasm with a barely
audible gasp as I pulsated, slow and throbbing, a deep, rolling
sensation that seemed never ending. His tongue rolled over my clit
again and I groaned, grabbing his neck hard as another quick wave
pulled at me.

His
hand squeezed mine as I gasped for air when the orgasm subsided. He
slowly pulled away, kissing down the inside of my thigh before
getting back onto his feet. I pulled my suddenly very heavy thighs
together, ducking my head as I tried to get my breathing to slow
down. To make my way back into my body.

His
fingertips reached out and brushed my jawbone, gently forcing my face
up to his. He smiled a strange, small smile, then leaning down and
taking my lips for the barest of seconds before pulling away. He took
a deep breath, shaking his head, then looking away. When he looked
back, the odd light in his eyes was gone, only humor remaining.
“Well, Miss. Monroe,” he said, his tone back to being the
professional doctor, “how did that treatment work for you?”

My
knee-jerk reaction was to tell him that it was sub par. That I was
underwhelmed. That he was going to have to invest in a vibrator
because his manual skills were lacking and his practice would suffer.
I didn't understand why my first response when it came to Isaiah was
to lie, to snip at him, to deflect.

I
took a deep breath, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “I
should be hysterics free for a while,” I said, not able to look
at him as I hopped down and awkwardly struggled back into my pants.

He
was oddly silent and I grabbed my cell, turning the flashlight back
on and making my way back into the crypt. He still hadn't said
anything when we walked into the dark room where the stairs were. I
wasn't even entirely sure he was with me until I felt something brush
past my leg and screamed, flying backward and knocking my head hard
against Isaiah's chin.

“What's
wrong?” he asked, his hand settled on my hip.

“Something
touched my leg,” I said, shining the light around, partly
afraid to know what it was, but even more afraid not to. “Oh,”
I said, my light finding the bright yellow eye of a black kitten.
Tiny. And literally... eye. One eye. One was missing. He was way too
small to be alone. “Awe,” I said, getting down toward the
floor to look at it. “You have to have a mama around here
somewhere sweetie.”

“I'm
afraid not,” Isaiah said, reaching for my hand and shining the
light a few feet behind the kitten where a large mother cat and three
other kittens were laying, stiff, covered in blood. “Looks like
a raccoon got a hold of mom and siblings,” he said, letting my
hand fall.

I
reached slowly out toward the kitten who opened it's mouth to show me
it's sharp teeth and attempted a hiss that was too weak to be
anything other than adorable. “Is that how you lost your eye,
buddy?” I asked, carefully putting my hand around it and
grabbing the back of it's neck.

“Planning
on taking it, aren't you?” Isaiah asked, sounding almost
amused.

“Well
I can't just leave it here to be killed too. Or starve to death.”

“There
is something called the circle of life, you know.”

“You
sound like a hunter,” I said, taking the struggling kitten
between both my hands.

“I
am
a hunter,” he countered and I could practically hear
him shrugging.

“Well
this isn't the woods. And he's not some full grown deer capable of
taking care of itself. And I'm not some kind of monster,” I
said, getting to my feet, a little too angry over his lack of care of
some stray kitten. Wasn't that a thing, though? Didn't they say you
should judge a man by how he treats animals? Well, he was treating
the helpless kitten like it was some kind of nuisance.

“I
think it's sweet you want to help it,” he said, following
behind me as I made my way to the stairs. “Maybe don't hold it
against your chest, Darcy,” he warned as I started to climb up.

“Why?”

“Because
it probably, at the very least, has mites. Or fleas. Or ticks.”

“Oh,
right,” I said, holding it outward, grateful for the gloves. It
didn't make for the easiest ascent though.

“Go
ahead,” Isaiah said behind me, like he was reading my mind.
“Don't worry, I got you.”

I
felt the tiniest of flutterings in my belly and took off up the
stairs way too quickly, completely uncomfortable with the sensation.
Back in the light, I slipped my phone away, watching as Isaiah
re-locked the door and then moving toward the desk and half putting
the kitten on top. “How do you know if it has bugs?”

Isaiah
snorted, coming up beside me and, with his bare hands, started
sifting through the kitten's black fur. “You see them. They're
tiny, but you see them moving around.”

“Anything?”
I asked, watching as he checked the ears, then flipped it over to
check it's belly.

“Not
that I can see,” he said, putting it back on it's feet. “But
it's probably smart to give it a bath for mites and fleas and ticks.
Just to be sure. People can get all of them too. They will probably
do all of that at the shelter though.”

“Oh,
no,” I said, cradling the cat between my hands, still a few
inches away from my body, just in case, “it's not going to a
shelter. I'm keeping it.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,
seriously.”

“You
can stop calling it an it, by the way,” he told me, inspecting
his hands quickly before putting them into his pockets. “He's a
he.”

“Right.
Well, I am keeping him.”

“He's
an ugly little fucker.”

I
pursed my lips, looking at the one big yellow eye and the complete
lack of another. He was ugly. But he was so ugly he was almost cute.
Almost. “Well, he's a tough guy. A survivor. I think he looks
pretty metal. He can be our little mascot.”

Isaiah
smiled, shaking his head. “Alright. Well, I think that mall we
are parked at had a sign for a pet store so lets go load up before
Burt has a heart attack.”

“Alright,
Poe, let's get a move on,” I said, quickly making my way out
the front door.

“Poe?”

“As
in Edgar Allen,” I supplied, taking off toward the woods.

“I
hope no one is allergic to cats,” Isaiah said as we walked.

“They're
not.”

“How
can you be sure?”

“Because
Jay is allergic to mold and country music of any kind,” I said,
smiling. “Todd is allergic to ragweed and pollen. Mike is
allergic to hops... or barely. We're not exactly sure. We just know
he can't have beer. Joey is allergic to milk and Burt isn't allergic
to anything.”

“Wow,”
Isaiah said, nodding, bumping into my shoulder to push me in another
direction. “That's impressive. What about you? Are you allergic
to anything?”

“Bullshit,”
I said, smiling sideways at him.

We
broke through the woods a few minutes later and made our way toward
the bus to find all the guys leaning against it, all already finished
with their shopping.

“Is
that a cat?” Burt asked, a fatherly annoyance in his voice.

“He's
metal as fuck,” Jay said, nodding, and I wanted to throw my
arms around him.

“His
name is Poe and he survived a raccoon attack that destroyed his whole
family.”

“You
gave it a back story?” Joey asked, lowering his brows at me
like I had lost my mind.

“It's
the sad, but true story of his life. I am going to go run and buy
some stuff for him. I'll be right back. Here,” I said, handing
the kitten to Isaiah who was, oddly enough, the one out of all of
them that I trusted with him. “I'll be right back.”