Wild West Hauntings, page 11
Of course his admiration for her sucking skills sent her jaws into overdrive, and she pulled on him until he moaned loudly.
“Oh yeah, suck me harder. Show me how bad you want me.”
Without hesitation she gave him exactly what he wished. Her man increased the movement of his hips, cupped his hands around her head and pumped into her mouth. Spurred by the frantic need that gripped her she opened her throat, allowing his cock deep access. The rigid and then sudden halt of his grinding signaled that he was climbing the orgasmic tip.
A second later his body tensed as he deposited his love juice down her throat.
Once he’d empty himself completely, he removed his cock from her mouth. Then he bent down and kissed her lips before he’d untied her right then left wrist from the headboard. He made sure to give each arm and wrist a gentle rub before placing them at her sides.
“I love you,” he whispered and pulled the sheet over them.
Exhaustion had settled into her body and she was ready to sleep but not before letting Damon know just how much she loved him. “I love you, too, so … so much.” With the words still lingering on her lips, she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep in his arms.
Chapter Eleven
The atmosphere of Rachel’s bedroom seemed off. She figured it could be her—the weird day she’d had and all the stress she’d been under. The pressure and strain were bound to catch up to her eventually. She just wished it’d quit messing with her mind and affecting her during the day and at night when she was trying to sleep.
She rolled over in the bed, lying on her side, moving to her back, then her stomach. No position worked or gave her comfort. Her mind whirred with words she and Dalton had shared down in the graveyard.
Dead.
Buried. Grave.
We had our chance. Gone.
Contemporary, corporeal counterpart.
Chance to love again, take it.
Let each other go.
I have to let you go.
Don’t go.
“Hello, sugar.”
A faint kiss brushed her neck. Letting out a small purr, she snuggled against the man in her bed, happy that he’d returned to her, graced her dreams again.
He wrapped his arms around her. “Miss me?” A low, rolling chuckle teased the fine hairs near her ear.
The deep tone of his voice seemed different, more sultry.
“When you’re away from me? Always.” She wiggled her ass against his growing cock. “Before we get all frisky and stuff, I need to ask you something that’s been bothering me. In my last dream, you came to me in the graveyard and didn’t seem yourself. You told me I didn’t know what I’ve done. What did you mean by that?”
“I’m not sure, sugar. I don’t quite remember us having that conversation.”
Puzzled, she stiffened in his arms, wanted to turn but his hands wouldn’t allow movement in any direction. “Really? It was night. Cold. You said I needed to go, that I didn’t know what I’d done. And something about my weird clothes.”
“Sorry, sugar, but I don’t recall any of that.”
How can he not? She wanted to pursue the line of questioning, but his hands roaming around the front of her torso caused all thoughts to flow away and passion filled the emptiness left in its wake.
Dalton fed his hands up under her t-shirt, palmed her breasts, his thumbs lightly circling her nipples, while he scattered kisses along the side of her neck and top of her shoulder. Her body warmed, heat curling in her veins. Dipping her head back, she tilted her face, anticipating the rest, and the best parts, of the dream to come.
He captured her mouth in a firm, demanding kiss that electrified her senses. Their tongues toyed and stroked along each other. She wanted to be as close to the man who called her wife as possible.
They rolled around in a playful wrestle, pulling off clothes, nipping, kissing, stroking, as each sought sexual dominance over the other, then settled together. He laid his body over hers, his hot skin igniting flames of desire within her. Plunging her hands into his hair, she kissed him for all she was worth, barely noticing his face was hidden in the shadows again. He slid a hand between her legs, thumbed her clit and fingered the tight rosette of her ass.
Rachel relaxed, allowing him to ease into both locations better. He worked her slit and ass, sliding his digits in and out, circling them against her muscles. In an erotic beat, he pumped and thrust his hand, rocked her hips. She whimpered into his mouth as an orgasm built and exploded through her body.
A murmur of approval hummed from him. He broke the kiss, peered down at her. “Why, sugar, you’re sure adventurous tonight.”
“Yeah, and how about we don’t talk?” Her voice lilted soft and low. She closed his lips with a finger, afraid chatting with him would ruin the pleasant, all-too-realistic dream.
He nodded. His lips feathered her finger, then opened and encompassed it. Sucking on it, he repositioned his body, hands grasping the sheets above her shoulders, and claimed her.
Rachel shuddered at the sensation of his cock sliding into her pussy, filling her heated core. She gloried in the feel of him and hugged him close. The fine hairs of his chest tickled her breasts. His hot breath fanned her throat. Trailing her tongue along the contours of his shoulder and neck, she tasted the salt of his efforts, breathed in his scents. His subtle fragrances, mixed with the musky robustness of his passion, surrounded them, inciting her lusty passion to climax.
Her body tensed beneath and around his steel length, doing to her pussy what his fingers had done moments before. She purred as the first delightful spasm vibrated through her. He increased the cadence of his thrusts, sliding in and out of her wet center with ease. The headboard tapped against the wall in rhythm with their movement. She tilted her head to glance at the vertical posts.
His cowboy hat, which normally hung on the outer one, was missing. She glossed over the fact that she wasn’t watching it bob back and forth as he immersed his cock in her harder, deeper. She squeezed her eyes shut, raked her nails down his back as sparks flashed on the insides of her eyelids.
“Oh God,” she cried out, her body shuddering with its release.
“Sugar, there’s no God.”
The horrid statement filled her mind and the atmosphere around snapped to a glacial temperature.
Poltergeist!
A sinister cackle followed her thought. “Thanks for the good time, sugar!” the ghost scoffed out Dalton’s term of endearment.
She woke and shot up in her bed, scrambled toward the headboard and crouched against it. Disconcerted from what turned out to be a nightmare, sweat beaded on her brow. Moist clothes clung to her body.
I wasn’t with Dalton!
Her stomach churned. Icy tendrils wound their way up her limbs like freezing vines of angst. Wrapping the flat sheet around her and breathing deep to calm her racing heart, she surveyed the room. Shadows extended toward her—some with sharp, claw-like edges, reaching as if they wanted to capture her, drag her to a deeper horror. Others sat huddled in the corners, monsters waiting to strike.
What had she done? What had invaded the lodge, her life?
My bed?
Rachel flipped on the bedside lamp. The illumination dispelled the spooky silhouettes, changed the stalking fiends back to furniture, but it didn’t eliminate her trepidation. Regardless whether it was bright or dark, the threat still lurked, waiting for her to drop her guard. While she fought to stay awake, she prayed no one else was at risk from the malicious spirit.
****
The coolness of the bedroom was the second odd occurrence that Bristol noticed after she’d woke unexpectedly in the room bathed by shadow and light. The first had been the baby’s unusual kicking pattern.
What the…
After sweeping her open palm over her stomach in the hopes of settling the little one, she glanced at Damon. As usual he was wrapped around her body with his legs across hers and his arm protectively draped around her belly bulge.
She wasn’t shocked by the massive body heat he gave off because that was a normal occurrence for her man when he slept. No, it was the shiver that ran down her spine when her gaze rested on the panty remote on the nightstand near Damon’s head.
The dial moved once.
Fear followed by confusion plummeted through her body, and suddenly her mouth felt full of cotton.
Surely her eyes played tricks on her.
Nope. The vibration between her legs promised she wasn’t seeing things. Was it equipment malfunction? In horror her body opened up, and she spread her legs as the vibrations hit that special spot.
Oh … this feels good.
Embarrassed by her reaction to the stimulation, she closed her legs only to have the vibrations massaging her pussy increase.
No. She had to stop this. Now.
She nudged Damon in the side. He moaned in his sleep and changed positions, moving his body away from her. With both hands, palms down she firmly placed her hands on either side of her body and tried to push to a sitting position.
Pressure. Rock solid.
As if an invisible hand held her in place, she couldn’t move.
Between the fear and bliss running through her body, she couldn’t speak loud enough to wake the man beside her—that was until the vibrations increased to high and the panic sifting through her body sent an urgent moan from her lips.
Her gaze hit the nightstand again just in time to catch the dial move on its own once more increasing the speed of the ministrations between her legs.
The temperature in the room dropped.
Cold. So Cold.
“Stop. Please. Stop,” she begged on a jagged plea. The visibility of her breath confirmed she wasn’t imagining the drop in temperature.
Her panic stirred Damon. He stretched and then stilled. “Bristol? Baby?” There was strong alarm in his voice.
“Ah … yes.” She sucked in a breath. “Oh … no, please stop.”
He must have noticed the dial on the panty remote move to the high position at the same time that she whimpered the ‘stop please’ because he shot up in bed. His sleep-filled gaze was confused as he looked at Bristol.
“Oh God. Oh God.” The orgasm ripped through her body, sending tremors through her limbs.
Damon’s confused gaze turned to a wide-eyed stare and never once strayed from hers while the orgasm shook her body. When she’d finally gained enough breath to speak, she begged on the cusp of a yell, “Turn it off. Please.”
Once her words had sunk in, Damon bolted off the bed, grabbed the remote and smashed it to the floor splintering the plastic into many pieces.
Abruptly the vibrations halted.
Finally.
A slow, wicked chuckle seeped through the room, sending splinters of fear racing through her body. “What the hell was that? Damon?”
Every fine hair on her body sprinted to attention as nausea coiled deep in her belly. Damon sucked in a breath, and in the silence the air whizzing through his teeth sounded like a balloon being filled with air.
It didn’t take long for Damon to slide into the space next to her on the bed, tuck his right arm against her lower back, and then protectively splay his left palm across her belly. His gaze darted back and forth across the moonlit room. “Darlin’, are you okay?” He planted a kiss on her forehead then against her cheek.
“I’m freaked the hell out. What just happened?” In the soft, shadowed light, Damon looked visibly shaken. The deep creases of concern, or was it fear, around his eyes, and the clamminess of his skin confirmed her suspicions. “Damon … was that a ghost or something?” The words stuck like glue in her throat. “What if it comes back?”
“Don’t you mean who?”
The poltergeist. That shit … it’s true.
Concern shifted Damon’s facial landscape, and then he bit his bottom lip, which was a sure sign that he was deep in planning mode. “Hold tight, baby. I need to make a call.”
He went for the phone.
Who in the hell could he be calling at this hour?
“Baby … it’s really early in the morning,” she reminded him.
Damon waved a hand at her, a sign for her to not worry. “The person I’m calling will be up.”
Okay. Was he calling the ‘Ghostbusters?’ That thought brought a tilt to her lips. She’d always thought that movie would’ve made a great Broadway play. She even imagined herself in one of the lead roles. Perhaps the love interest.
Bristol glanced at Damon. Still heavy in conversation, he gave her a wink and kept talking. The temperature in the room heated several degrees, making it comfortable. Damon moved past her and onto the balcony, and nature suddenly called—scratch that—screamed. The baby had a habit of resting his foot near her bladder. The last thing she wanted to do was remove herself form her spot on the bed, but she needed to use the facilities so she swung her legs over the bed and pushed herself onto her feet.
“I’m going sweet boy,” she whispered to her belly as she reached the bathroom door. Once she’d emptied her bladder and washed her hands she glanced into the mirror.
Shock sent a scream bellowing from her mouth.
Horrified by her marred reflection, she grasped the front of the vanity with both hands as the baby kicked her hard practically knocking the breath from her.
Moments later, Damon crashed through the door. “What’s wrong?”
Her breathing leveled. She only had to glance in his direction once. His curious gaze followed her finger to the lipstick words scribbled across the mirror.
Both stood motionless in front of it, staring with disbelief at the content of the message.
It was only the knock at the door that caused Damon to speak, his tone sounded as if someone had punctured all of the air from his lungs. “Come in. It’s open.
Footsteps padding across the bedroom floor signaled the visitor would arrive soon. Damon’s gaze shifted to the door as it opened. Kane entered, dressed in a white leather Native American style outfit complete with feathers and fringe. Matching moccasin fringe boots covered his feet and lower legs. The pristine material accentuated his olive skin tone. He wore his hair long and straight, the ebony color brilliant from the light in the room. A tiara-like crown of white with blue-tipped feathers set in a white strip of leather adorned his head. Several colorful lines of paint ran from his nose to the outside of his cheekbones, across his chin and forehead.
He wasted no time in reading the words on the mirror, “This baby is mine.” And then his piercing brown eyes narrowed in on Bristol. “Damon tells me you’ve experienced a sexual episode with this spirit.”
Patiently, he studied her, waiting for her response. Embarrassing moments seemed to be a prerequisite for her before Kane appeared. Utterly overwhelmed by the turn of events, she bit down on her bottom lip as she felt the warm flush move into her cheeks at his comment.
“Now is not the time for awkwardness, Bristol. A trickster has laid claim to your unborn son. And it was through sexual familiarity that this spirit was able to speak to the child. To whisper to him through your orgasm. I can guarantee you that whatever he said to your son was not nice, and that this baby is frightened.”
Damon’s horrified expression kicked her in the gut. And she was sure it mirrored her own.
“Kane! You must do something to help us.” Damon’s words sounded overly-demanding, but Bristol knew it wasn’t how he meant them to sound. Fear drove him now.
Kane touched Damon’s arm. “Calm yourself. Your child and wife need you strong.” Gently yet forcefully, he clutched Damon’s shoulders.
“Come. We must clean you and this room from this trickster. He will be back.”
Back?
Once they’d settled in the bedroom, Damon and Kane moved to a corner of the room to talk briefly before Kane said, “I’ll return soon. I need to get a few items for the cleansing. And I’m going to put a protection charm on you and the baby.” True care and concern dripped from his expression as he patted her shoulder, his strong, callused hands almost making her feel reassured. “It will be okay, Bristol. I will deal with the trickster and send him away.”
Kane seemed so sure of himself, in his ability to deal with the trickster character.
God, she hoped he was right, and that he’d protect her and the baby.
A warm, comforting smile passed Kane’s lips before he took Damon’s hand into his. “I will keep your lady and child safe. I promise.” The air shifted and crackled with raw energy around Kane, and Bristol blinked from the invisible power. “If you know anything about me, Damon, know that I am a man of my word. Bristol and the baby will not look into the eyes of evil as long as I have breath in my body.”
Damon didn’t reply for a minute. Then he said, “I knew you would. Thanks, buddy.”
Once Kane had gone, Damon closed the door behind him. Exhausted, Bristol took a seat in one of the red wing-back chairs in front of the oak fireplace in their bedroom as Damon made his way across the room and dropped to his butt beside her legs.
“Among his cattle ranching skills, is Kane an exorcist or something?” Inquisitive, she ran her fingers through her man’s hair, the unruly sun kissed strands soft as silk. First off, Kane’s appearance tonight was definitely unusual.
Reminiscing about their previous meeting, she remembered how she’d seen him in jeans and a flannel shirt, hair tied back at the nape of his neck and in cowboy boots, but tonight, he looked like the Native Americans she’d seen on several occasions at the pow wows she’d attended throughout her teens.
Damon rubbed her leg. The simple touch calmed her racing heart. “He’s a gifted man, able to see things that we can’t.”
“What kind of things?”
“Spirits, entities, the future and past.”
Bristol crossed her hands over her belly—a protective gesture. She knew without a doubt that she would fight the poltergeist with every bone in her body to protect the child living within her. Even if it meant giving her life, she’d do it. “Then he’s a psychic.”
Damon had risen early in the conversation to get a drink. He returned with two bottles of water, handing one to Bristol, and then took his original place on the ground beside her. “In Native American culture he’s known as having the gift of sight, darlin’.” To Bristol’s surprise a wave of sadness washed over Damon’s face. “Kane is destined to become a shaman.”
