RUINING ANGEL (12 page)

He moans as he slides inside of me and I wrap my legs around his waist to hold him there. The pressure is just enough to keep me wanting more. We gently rock back and forth. He touches me and rubs me consistently so that I will definitely orgasm. His tempo increases the more I pull on his arms and I feel his need spread through his body. Not once has he ever come before me. Pleasing me is his first priority and then he quickly rushes to finish. That is what I like about Carron’s nature; he makes others happy before himself. Tonight is no different. I come all over him and he lets out a satisfied grunt as he continues to thrust deep inside of me, searching for the release he is looking for. With a final push he comes, semen seeping from his cock as he stills and lets his body pulse with pleasure. We are both panting as he rolls off and lays spent on his back.

I go to the toilet and expel the evidence of our love making. When I join him back in bed, he slings an arm over me and drifts off to sleep easily. Soon, contented snores drift from his side of the bed.

While he sleeps my mind wanders to Angel. I don’t normally allow myself to think of him when Carron is around, because I know it will only end in tears. But the unexpectedness of seeing him today has me rattled. I wonder what it was he was doing here. He was here to see me, but why? What would he have said? What would he have done? Exhaustion finally takes over my body. The last thing I remember before I fall asleep is a single tear trickling down my face as the bedroom ceiling leaves my vision.

This is the end of Ruined’s sample. If you would like to read more, please purchase your copy from the Amazon store.

A SAMPLE OF BURNING

OBSESSION

**Burning Obsession is edited by Jennifer Roberts-Hall Preface

Tommy Walker had often admired the flame of fire that burned amber as it lit his father's cigarette. The way it licked the end of the little match stick had him completely enraptured. But he found the more he watched it, the more he was no longer content with just doing so.

He felt an urge deep inside of him - an urge to see that sweet flame lick as high as the heavens. Tommy decided that tonight would be a perfect time to fulfill that urge. Never having any kind of mother to speak of, and a drunk and violent father, Tommy felt no remorse at what he was about to do.

He got up off the couch and crept his way over to where his father was snoring into oblivion in his recliner chair.

The bottle of whiskey hung dangerously from his father's hand, threatening at any minute to drop and spill its contents over the already stained shag-pile carpet.

With minimum effort, the nearly full bottle was in his tiny hand. He eyed it curiously but had no desire to taste it. Instead, he started to dribble its contents at his father's feet and proceeded with the trail of liquid out of the living room and down the carpeted hallway to the back door of the house.

He paused to unlock it with the tiny key that hung on the hook on the wall and stepped out into the cold night, the brisk air making him suck in his breath. It was pitch black outside and Tommy couldn't see where the concrete path that led from the house met with the lawn, but that didn't scare him.

He continued with the liquid down the path until the dewy grass could be felt underfoot. There was still a little whiskey left in the bottle, so he went back inside to where his father was still sleeping off his latest hangover.

Careful not to disturb him, he poured the rest of the alcohol into the seat corner of the armchair. With a small smile of satisfaction, Tommy picked up the matches off the side table and made his way back to the rear of the house. He stood on the grass, seeing the faint glow of the lamp that lit the living room. His house was isolated from the rest of the small town, but Tommy was pretty sure it would be seen for miles around very shortly.

He shivered involuntarily and his teeth started to chatter. Most ten year olds would be tucked up in bed at this hour - snug as a bug with warm pajamas and dreaming sweet nothings. Well he wasn't like other ten year olds, he thought and wiped his dripping nose with his finger as he sniffed loudly. His summer attire should really be accompanied by a jumper and track suit pants to keep him warm.

Oh well. A warm fire should do the trick.

He took out a match and struck it against the cardboard box. The sizzle of the match as it produced a flame made his eyes burn with excitement. He lowered it carefully to the ground, ensuring the flame didn't extinguish with any sudden movements. His tiny hand reached towards the alcohol that had now seeped into the concrete.

As the alcohol caught alight, Tommy reflexively stepped back. Fire raced through the house faster than he thought it would and he was disappointed he couldn't savor it longer. Old carpets, curtains and wood beams accelerated the intensity of the fire and it was only a matter of minutes before the house structure was completely engulfed.

Soon it blazed so fiercely that Tommy had to take a step back - he certainly was quite toasty now!

He couldn't really say how long he stood there transfixed like a drug addict who'd just had his first hit, but he vaguely remembered a fireman dragging him away from the blaze. Tommy cried out, infuriated by the intrusion, although he was sure the fireman thought he was crying for his father.

He couldn't be more mistaken though. What Tommy really wanted was to relish in this moment and remember how he was feeling forever. After all, who could really say when he would get to feel this kind of high again?

More importantly, how could he possibly top such a brilliant start to his addiction?

Chapter One

Carolyn Faulkner lived in the small town of Dover. At twenty seven years of age she had no intention in leaving it whatsoever.

With a miniscule population of only 958 people, she had the anonymity she craved after being thrust into the limelight as a child.

Of course she would never say it to her mother’s face, but the fact remained that she was certainly the reason Carolyn desired obscurity and had decided to live in the southernmost township of the Huon Valley in Tasmania. It was as far away as she could get from civilization. The people who had once stared openly and judged her took no notice of her here.

Even though it was a long time ago, her mother’s affair with the Premier still left a bitter taste in Carolyn’s mouth. Her father, despite his own hurt in the scandal, had made the choice to move to Dover the day before the news broke in the headlines. The move to the rural town allowed them a little bit of peace back in their lives in the ensuing months.

Her mother, always been the kept socialite, decided that her flair for business would be better received in Melbourne and had got on the very next plane out of town, taking her millions with her. Of course her mother paid the alimony that the courts had set in the divorce, but that wasn’t the same as having a mother’s love. The hurt at being abandoned by her mother at such a young age followed Carolyn well into her adult years.

She tried to stifle her growing resentment at her mother as she stepped out of the shower stall. Even though summer was here, it certainly did not feel like it. She had the heating on in the bathroom, yet still shivered as she hurried to dry herself. She was making an effort to go and see her, but why she bothered was anyone’s guess. Her father always encouraged a reunion between mother and daughter whenever the opportunity presented itself, although Carolyn thought she’d rather have an accident with a nail gun. Even in her twenties, these infrequent get togethers with her mother ended in tears; her own tears usually. But alas, the phone call had come a week ago to say that her mother would be in town for two days before she flitted off to Africa for yet another business venture.

So here she was, getting dressed for a trip to the boutique cinema that was located on Elizabeth Street in Hobart. It didn’t hurt that she had free tickets either. The State Cinema was one of the most popular places to visit in North Hobart and Carolyn had been there on many occasions. It was a good hour and twenty minutes away from where she lived and she wanted to be early so that she could get inside and get a seat before there was any chance that she’d be seen with one of the most despised people in Hobart’s history.

Her mother, Brittany, was staying at the Henry Jones Art Hotel down near the pier in the Hobart CBD precinct. Carolyn knew her driver would have her on time for their little get together so she hurried to put on her clothes and make up. She was just about out the door of the tiny cottage, when she remembered that she hadn’t yet emailed her article to her editor for tomorrow’s print of The Mercury. She had been assigned to the crimes section of reporting for the Mercury two years ago after completing a double degree in journalism and criminology. This job was her pride and joy and she had worked hard for it. Cursing, she ran over to her laptop and flicked the power button to boot it up. The screen came on and she drummed her fingers impatiently on the desk while the computer program hummed to life.

Finally her homepage was up and running so she typed in her password and logged on to the Mercury’s database. She clicked on the file she was looking for and pressed send on her latest work. As she logged off and shut down the computer, she smiled to herself.

This report was a work of genius if she did say so herself, and she felt it would cement her position as a professional writer from here on in. Carolyn was sure that she would be the talk of the office by tomorrow morning.

She grabbed her keys and made her way out to her car. She drove a 1974 Holden Torana in bright orange. It had been lovingly restored by her father and super charged to give it some extra torque. Her father couldn’t have been more pleased with the end result and her mother couldn’t have been more pissed with the choice of car.

Carolyn couldn’t have been happier that both parents felt either way; any opportunity to cause her mother a little bit of discomfort, well it made her feel all that much better.

She fired the old girl up, pressed her foot down on the gas, dropped the handbrake and roared down the long dirt driveway.

****

As Carolyn made a left on to Elizabeth Street, she glanced around for a free car park, but there seemed to be slim pickings. She made a right into Lefroy Street and pulled into the permanent parking lot just as another car was vacating its spot. Carolyn yanked the steering wheel hard and squealed the car’s tires as she snatched the car space before anyone else could pinch it. She locked the doors and pocketed her car keys as she made her way to the cinema. From her bag she pulled a beanie and yanked it down hard over her long blonde hair. It wasn’t cold out; she was just trying to avoid anyone noticing her, especially her mother. Tasmania was probably the only place in Australia where she could get away with such a thing in the middle of summer; all that cold Antarctic air blowing in from the south made sure of that.

As she was walking along, she heard someone call out her name.

‘Carolyn! Carolyn Faulkner, is that you?’ said the masculine voice.

She turned around to see Jamie Pickering. He was one of the most arrogant, rude and unnaturally good-looking guys from her high school, and there he was – in North Hobart. Small world.

‘Hello Jamie, how did you know it was me? It’s been what, twelve years?’

‘Oh I’d never forget a face as pretty as yours,’ he flirted confidently.

Pretty? Not a chance. Not in the conventional sense. She thought her teeth were too big for her mouth and she had freckles galore.

Carolyn’s misperception of herself came from not having a mother around to instill the self-confidence a young woman needs when growing up. Her father had never thought to comment on such things either. She felt like the ugly duckling that had never eventuated into the beautiful swan. The reality however was quite different. Her overall appearance could be compared to that of Claudia Schiffer or Jodi Kidd – both tall and gangly models with similar bone structures.

‘I see,’ she said distractedly, not having the time or the inclination to continue the conversation with him.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

‘I’m meeting someone.’ She pointedly looked at her watch. ‘Gee, would you look at the time? Sorry Jamie, I really must be off.’ She turned on her heel and left him standing open-mouthed.

Carolyn could feel his eyes on her back until she had finally turned the corner and was out of sight. She had to hurry if she wanted to miss the grand entrance with her mother by her side. She pulled open the door to the cinema and went straight over to the counter to pick up her ticket. The State cinema allowed alcoholic beverages to be bought and taken in with you and she decided that if she were going to make it through the night with her mother then she was definitely getting a glass of bubbly – driving or not.

The doors to the cinema were in sight, and she had almost made it through when she heard that voice; the one that made her wish the whole ground would just swallow her up in an instant.

‘Carolyn, darling! Yoohoo, Carolyn!’

She quickly turned around and made her way over to her mother.

‘My god Brittany, you do know people don’t say ‘yoohoo’

anymore, don’t you?’ she asked in an exasperated tone.

‘Darling such profanity from you is unbecoming of a young lady, and how many times must mummy tell you not to call me Brittany?’

Her nasal polished articulation of the English language made Carolyn want to bang her head against a wall. Her mother’s perfectly manicured hands, bright red lipstick and coiffed hair almost completed the picture of Cruella Deville.

‘At least once more, mother,’ she retorted.

‘Come now darling, have you got your ticket? By the way Carolyn dear, what is that ghastly hat you have on your head?’ She didn’t wait for Carolyn’s reply as she dragged her off towards the entrance to cinema number three.

****

In his mind, he would always be Tommy. The minute he turned eighteen, he had left his foster care home in Launceston and had changed his name to Christian Bowers – not legally though; the fake driver’s license had almost been too easy. So far, he had remained as inconspicuous as possible, holding out for the big thrill. Sure, he’d dabbled in the occasional fire here and there, something to keep the juices flowing and the urges at bay, but the big night was finally here. He’d been meticulous in his planning, arriving in Hobart a year earlier – waiting for this very night to arrive.