Shadow Lover (Siren Publishing Allure) (27 page)

His eyes followed hers, then whispered, "You little Jezebel. What else do you have in that den of iniquity you call a closet?"

"Enough to make you sweat for a lifetime."

"My God, what have I gotten myself into?" he breathed as he kissed her deeply. She received his kiss with a moan, begging him not to stop. Kirk finally pulled his lips away, looking with interest down at her blouse. Slowly he began unbuttoning it, and as each button gave way, he kissed, and licked the exposed skin, then lay the blouse aside, exposing her lacy bra. Reaching beneath her, he felt for the clasp of her bra, and she closed her eyes, feeling the excitement of his hot breath on her neck.

Finally the clasp released and he pulled it off, enjoying the bloom of her unconfined breasts. Savoring their loveliness, he couldn't keep his hands away and caressed their lush firmness for a moment, then let his tongue teasingly tweak her nipples, making them as hard as diamonds. While his mouth drew on her breasts, he lifted her up and felt for the skirt button and zipper. Once they were open, he pulled it down, and threw it on the floor. She was naked except for her garter belt, which he released strap by strap until he got to the lace bikini panties. He then took the thin lace material in his teeth, roughly grasped the cloth, and brutally ripped and tore until she was revealed to him.

Chyna's heart was thundering so loud, she half expected lightning to strike her at any moment. Anticipation filled her as she watched him with heavy-lidded eyes, and felt him spread her legs apart, then begin to lick and draw on the inside of her thighs. She squirmed, feeling the play of his tongue as he slowly made his way up to her cleft. His strong tongue finally invaded her, and she cried, "Oh, God, Kirk!" She began to writhe and moan with such pleasure that she reached down and buried her hands in his thick, long hair, pulling him even harder against her.

As if they had a mind of their own, her hips deeply rolled while his tongue probed inside her. She became so excited her canal began dripping hot, burning liquid, as if it were bleeding. She could hear a sucking sound as if he were drinking her. Then his flickering tongue began a wild erotic movement, and she cried out. Her arms flailed out on the sides of the bed, grasping the covers until she almost ripped them, but she couldn't be still. The bed squeaked with her wild movements, but his tongue continued to unmercifully probe deeper and deeper into her and draw on her hot, sensuous liquid. All at once she saw stars while a delicious hot spasm of delight spread through her groin. Languishing in the delicious warmth, she watched with surprise as he suddenly jumped up and began tearing at his clothes.

Then all at once he fell on her, pulling her to him. She was warm and soft in his arms. His hands fondled her breasts for a time, then his mouth found her ear and his tongue probed inside, teasing her, wickedly. She began bucking and moaning until she thought she was going to die. With each thrust her body made against him, Kirk's arousal grew. He buried his face between her breasts, then forced her legs open, teasingly rubbing his engorged cock along her cleft.

Chyna lifted her legs, urging Kirk to bury himself inside her. Finally, as he delved deeply into her tight cunt, the fury of his thrusts sent Chyna into a wild, writhing motion, pushing against him as he plunged himself deeper and deeper into her moist softness. His hands cradled her buttocks as he pulled her up, taking her with him, deeper and deeper into his wild world of ecstasy. They both held each other tightly as they climbed together. In his passion, Kirk began drawing and biting Chyna's nipples. Chyna winced, but the pain seemed to be part of the pleasure. Then when the blossom of orgasm hit them, he jerked like a violent whipcrack as she shattered around him.

As Kirk slumped over her, Chyna opened her eyes and lifted her hands looking at the telltale blood beneath her nails. She knew if this continued it wouldn't be long before Kirk's back had more scars than his face.

* * * *

Quinn stood outside Chyna's door, listening to the maddening sounds of passion until he thought he was going to explode. He paced, his fingers splaying, then gripping as they hung at his side. "The damn bed is going to fall down," he muttered, the sound continuing to grate at him. When he had stood it as long as he could, he flung the door open and looked furiously at them both. They lay there naked and sated, looking like two illicit lovers caught in the act. Chyna cringed against Kirk, pulling the cover up over her.

Quinn hated the sight of Chyna in Kirk’s arms. The two clung to each other intimately, and if Quinn hadn’t known they were lovers, he could have guessed. Looking at the mussed bed and its satisfied occupants, his nostrils flared in anger. Just then he saw a piece of ruined white material that had apparently been ripped from Chyna’s body and sauntered over toward it. "What happened here Kirk?" he asked as he lifted it with one finger. “Couldn't you wait for the poor girl to get undressed?”

Pulling on his trousers, Kirk said, "Get out of here, Quinn. We have nothing to be ashamed of. Chyna and I are engaged to be married, and I don't appreciate you barging in this way!"

"Oh? When?"

Kirk looked at him. "What?"

"When's the wedding?"

"We haven't set a date yet, but it's up to Chyna. I'm ready anytime."

Quinn snickered, looking down at the shredded cloth. "Apparently." He looked down at Chyna. "Better make it soon, Chyna, or he'll wear you out before the wedding."

Kirk crossed the room, grabbed Quinn's collar and shouted, "When you come into this room, creep, leave your filthy mouth outside!"

"She's not yours, yet, Frankenstein, and if I have anything to do with it, she never will be!" He took the ravaged piece of lace, deposited it into Kirk’s hand, and said, “Here, add this to your collection. I’m sure by now you must owe the poor girl any number of…what are they called… panties?”

Kirk pushed the panties in Quinn’s face. “Keep your filthy hands off Chyna’s things. They’re nothing to you now, and they never will be.”

Kirk turned quickly away, and Quinn saw his bleeding back. "What the hell is this?” he said, touching a finger to one of the scars. “A scene from one of her novels? The hero tears the lady's clothes off and makes mad, passionate love to her?" He looked down at the blood on his fingers. "Oh this is good," he said to Chyna. "A little blood always makes it more interesting." Looking back at Kirk, his deceitful eyes narrowed, and his poisonous words dug down deep. "What are you doing, Kirk? Trying to impress the lady? Trying to live up to the men in her novels?” Shifting his eyes toward Chyna, he smirked. "Well, how did he do, Chyna? Did he make the grade? Did he take you to the Land of Ooh La La? Did he make your eyeballs sweat?" Suddenly the smirk left Quinn's face and his nostrils flared as he spoke with a voice low and ominous, "Well, you've had your fun, madam. You've played around with the poor pitiful creature in the basement long enough. Now maybe your ready to quit fooling around and take on a real man."

Chyna looked at him with disgust for a moment, then with a wicked gleam in her eyes she pulled herself up on her knees. With the sheet barely covering her curvaceous body she looked at Quinn with a sexy, heated look. She lifted one hand and pushed it into her thick, mussed up hair like an old time femme fatale and gazed at him through heavy-lidded eyes. "Oh, yes, Quinn,” she purred, “I'm ready. I want a real man sooooo bad.” She hesitated for a moment, then looked up at him wide-eyed and innocent. “So tell me…do you know any?"

Kirk let out a loud snicker, and Quinn's eyes blazed. He turned and angrily slammed out of the room. He heard Kirk and Chyna laughing at him all the way down the hall. When he got to his room, he went directly to a drawer in his chest and carefully dug beneath a neat pile of underwear. At last winding his fingers around a smooth object, a delicately carved white-handled knife came into view. He placed it in his palm and stroked it for a moment, handling it very carefully. As he turned it over, it flashed in the light. It felt good in his hand. He turned suddenly and made an expert throw. It landed in a family portrait, rocking gently in the eye of—Kirk!

After a sleepless night, Chyna walked out of the mansion just before darkness began fading into dawn. She trudged up to Cat's Paw and stood on the edge of the little bluff overlooking the dark ocean waves as they lapped angrily against the old lighthouse. She stood there like a ghostly silhouette against the brightening sky, the wind whipping her hair around wildly. Then looking down at the base of the tower, her curious eyes narrowed on the familiar window and saw cold darkness where a warm candle usually glowed. Her thoughts went back to the night Quinn had met her on this rise—to the day in his study—then the day in her room when he’d attacked her. Like the screaming wind, the words whirled around her head, blowing—coiling—twisting—

See the lighthouse in the distance? That's where the old widow lives. Never go over there, she's a witch—a Witch—a WITCH! Lady, I’ve been controlling you since I first knew you were on the planet—the widow’s a very powerful woman.

Suddenly the dark candle burst into flame, and a face beyond the blaze looked up at her and lingered, the dancing flame casting undulating shadows into the deep hollows of her ragged old face. Chyna blinked against the spewing surf, and all at once the face was gone, retreating into the eerie darkness. She stood there, thinking about the nightmare of the last few days. Since the moment Quinn had found her and Kirk in bed, he had grown steadily worse. Every chance he got, he tried to poison Kirk’s mind against her, but so far Kirk had remained strong. When Kirk wouldn’t listen, he cornered her and ridiculed their relationship, spewing out threats by the dozen.

She knew his habit of going to the widow, and lived in fear that his threats would come to pass. He had done a good job of terrorizing her. She couldn’t eat or drink without being afraid it was laced with something the old widow had given him. She had become suspicious of every plate and teacup that was placed in front of her. She found herself pushing her plate away if after only one bite she tasted something different than what she was used to. The end came one night at dinner.

“What is this?” Chyna asked, looking down at the food in her plate as if it were alive.

“Meat loaf,” Elaine replied, smiling impishly. “I got tired of the same old recipe, so I tried something new. It’s a little different, but I bet you’ll like it. I went crazy with fresh herbs—” Elaine’s eyes widened when she saw Chyna jump up from the table with her hand over her mouth.

Later, with a sick look on her face Chyna apologized to Elaine. The sweet, thoughtful Elaine expressed worry that Chyna’s picky eating habits might be the result of needing more rest and recuperation from her experience in the hurricane. Chyna agreed, but knew that Quinn was her problem, not the hurricane. It was then that she realized she couldn’t go on like this. She had to get help. Not knowing what else to do, she decided to fight fire with fire.

Now, gathering her courage, she turned and ran down the slope and plodded as quickly as she could across the sandy beach, coming closer and closer to the old eyesore that had stood for many years against the pounding surf. The dim morning light cloaked the shabbiness of the sentinel-like structure, making it hard to see the peeling paint and the prominent water line. The air blew cool and moist against Chyna's worried face, and the desolation that stretched out into the morning darkness was filled with the distant lapping of the ocean. It was a cold, lonely sound that echoed, wave upon wave, chilling the very soul. As Chyna neared the tower, she trudged, step by step, up to the door, and with some hesitation, knocked timidly. In only moments the door squeaked open. Chyna saw nothing at first, then slowly the old woman’s wrinkled face peered around it. “Come in, my dear. I’ve been expecting you.”

Chyna’s eyes widened at her words, and a prickling of fear coursed through her. “M-my na…name is Chyna Marsh, and I’ve come—”

“No formalities are necessary. I know who you are, and why you’re here.”

Chyna’s eyes darted nervously around the room, trying to stifle her fear of the small dark space. “How could you?
I
don’t even know why I’m here.” She looked back at the widow. “I just…I can’t believe in all this…this—”

“Apparently you do. Otherwise, why would you come?”

“Because it’s the only way to fight…” She stopped abruptly, a sense of defeat lowering her voice. “I have no other choice.”

The widow’s sagacious eyes watched Chyna, then indicated the couch in front of the fire. “Sit down, my dear, and warm yourself.”

“I’m a guest at the mansion…” Chyna stopped, looked at the widow, and cast her an uncertain smile. “I guess I can’t tell you anything you don’t already know.”

“It’s all right, dear, please go on.”

Chyna’s eyes traveled upward, feeling a chill at the large, grotesque shadows the leaping flames painted along the walls. “It took me a long time to work up the courage to visit you.” Chyna’s nervous fingers began pulling at the threads of the thick sweater she wore. “I’ve looked over from the windows of the mansion time and again…wondering.” She hesitated, a turmoil building inside her. Suddenly a deluge of tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’m scared,” she whispered. “I love Kirk, and I’m afraid…” She sniffed, blotting her face with the sleeves of her sweater that almost hid her hands. “I’m afraid…”

The old widow laid her scrawny hands over Chyna’s nervous ones. “You’re afraid he’ll be taken from you.”