Chapter 24
Emory
"Power is not in control, but in the trust you give and receive."
Our bodies are entangled before I can even catch my breath from his kiss.
My legs wrapped around his naked body as he backtracks to the bathroom.
I feel one of his hands leave me, then a silence that clings to the walls, joins the condensation as the temperature and tension rise.
Pulling me away, he forces our eyes to meet, and growls, “My turn.”
In a moment, I am clinging to him as his hands leave my body, gripping my ass firmly. He swirls the head of his cock between the lips of my vagina until they spread willingly for him. Wide-eyed, I look at him.
“It’s ok, my dove.” He reassures me. “I am sure you are ready, now.”
My face twists, and a feeling of ‘I could have taken him a long time ago’ crossed my mind.
What did he mean by telling me he was sure I was ‘ready’? Ready for what, him?
“HA!” I involuntarily laugh aloud, but before I can rebut, he slams into me.
Every Inch of him nestles tightly inside me.
He stands there holding me close to him, till his breathing stabilizes.
He methodically bounces his hips, manipulating gravity to work in his favor.
“Ollie-” I try to speak. I try to keep my mind focused on the questions, the questions about my sister, about the garden…
Why does he make me feel so alive?
I feel like a soul lost in the cosmos, and he is my lifeline.
My nails dig into his back as I make my marks, adding them alongside those he already possesses.
His massive hands are all over me, exploring every inch of me, like a homicide detective at a crime scene—treading lightly so as not to tamper with any evidence, but diligently searching, all the same.
“Oliver, please don’t-” I breathe, “Don’t think this gets you out of anything."
He pauses for a moment. “What did you say, little bird?” Lifting his face while giving me the side eye, he continues, “Don’t, what?”
Then, he slams me against the wall of mirrors. I don’t even give it a second thought when I answer, “Don’t … stop.” I plea, as he looks at me, his face free of the cloth he used to hide it, and glares at me in all his glory. “Please don’t stop.”
“Don’t stop what, my Dove?” His scars call to me, an unspoken hint to the story of his past… a past I know extraordinarily little about. His voice rings in my brain again, “I haven’t done anything yet.”
Still throbbing inside me, his purposeful pulsations act as a countdown.
One.
“Do you-” I try to play the game, “Do you know where my sister is?” My voice is shaky as I ask my first question.
“Yes.”
Two.
“Why-” I try to keep my mind clear, and questions straight forward—the fuzz from my inevitable climax creeping up on me. “Why would I have d-dreamt that?”
“Your body and mind have been through a lot.” He sighs into my neck, “It could have been stress.”
Three.
“What happened to Peter?” He yanks his cock out of me, grappling me by my nape. “Ah!”
“You want answers, Emory?” He speaks through gritted teeth. “You really want to ruin this moment with his filthy name.” He isn’t angry. He is frustrated, sexually frustrated.
It has never crossed my mind before, but it must have been years since he had felt a woman.
Then the real questions start rolling through my brain-housing group.
Wait, he is dead… How can he feel me?
Are we tethered in some way that allows our bodies to intertwine the way they are?
Fated—no destined?
Was I always meant to find him?
If so… why?
My feet hit the ground, and he begins to drag me by my hair to the bath he made for me. The scents were calming and aromatic—the opposite of the dynamic environment.
Lavender and chamomile, again—are these the only scents he has?
Aside from his morally grey attitude, seeing how much he cares, warms my soul—until my face gets plunged beneath the water.
I am bent over the claw-foot tub, as terror hits me and flashes of the accident cross my mind in a cinematic reel displayed in high definition.
Panic takes control of my body, as my arms begin to flail, and my legs kick out in all directions.
Smacking my knee into the side of the tub as I fight to get free, and in doing so, I open my mouth as a response to the pain.
My hands finally grasp the side of the basin—water goes over the edges due to my thrashing, and I slip, only to be slammed back into the water.
The moment of horror lasts a lifetime in my mind.
I continue in my pursuit to get free from his grip, and my mouth bursts open again.
All the air is released when Oliver rams into me from behind, and I inhale a great deal of water this time.
At this point, my lungs become a water-skin for the botanically infused liquid.
I don’t notice right away, with the unexpected distraction, that I am not drowning and that the feeling of fear has been replaced with exuberance.
The sensation of his cock in me, mixed with the horror and PTSD from the accident, forms a dangerously delicious cocktail.
They are like two diverse forms of adrenaline competing for control.
It isn’t long before the intoxication, from the pounding I am receiving, has me on cruise control.
No longer did being submerged in the water scare me. No, I welcomed it.
Once he finally pulls me from the water, he holds me in his arms, shaking me violently.
“My dove, please. Please wake up, my dove.” My lashes flutter as my eyes open, and his beautifully broken face is looking down on me.
“Oh my gosh, I thought I lost you.” A single tear falls from his eye, like a lone diamond sifted through the sediment of a riverbed after being eroded from its point of origin and washed away, and lands on my lip.
“Did… Did you finish?” I muster.
A small laugh is his response. “That is what you are concerned with right now?” He shakes his head, lowering it slightly before he continues, “No, little bird, but that is ok.”
“Come, let me bathe you.” Cradling me in his arms, he lifts me over the side of the tub, resting my ass on the edge for a moment.
The water is nice and warm, inviting even—I didn’t notice that the first time, having formerly been mortified from my initial introduction to it.
Before placing me in the water, he strips me of my already wet clothing and tosses them in the sink.
“You will still join me, yes?” I drop my head in an erroneous display of sadness, while keeping my eyes on him as I wait for his response.
“Of course, my dove.” Slipping out of his slacks and into the water, he does something that he hasn’t done since the moment I’ve laid eyes on him—he removes his Scally cap.
Locks of hair, as black as a raven's wings, fall from the chasm of darkness that has kept it hidden this whole time—pieces of various lengths sway just above his eyebrows.
I feel his index finger push up on my chin, commandeering my mouth to shut.
“Catching flies, little bird?” Embarrassed, I release an awkward chuckle.
As I move through the water, positioning myself between his legs. “Oliver-”
“Yes, dove?” He brushes my hair from my face.
My eyes scan every millimeter of the surreal site before me.
The trickling of water adds an appropriate soundtrack.
From my periphery, I see him raise a rag to my forehead.
I wince at the initial touch but embrace the pressure as he cleans a wound, assuming I got in the garden.
The alabaster bubbles that float atop the water disappear, as rose-colored suds fall from the cloth to take their place.
Glancing down, I catch the tip of his dick bobbing just above the water, like a turtle’s head on a lake.
I look up, and before he can protest, my lips are around his cock—my face beneath the water afresh.
Taking him into my mouth, I press my nose to his stomach.
There was something about not being able to breathe that added a sense of thrill to the experience. I slide my lips up and down his length.
He is so fucking incredible.
Little pulses hum under his skin, skating over my tongue—like raw energy through exposed wires, little shocks riding the current to the head of his dick.
I pause, swirling my tongue around the tip, running it over the slit, collecting all the pre-come before I drop to the sensitive spot just below the mushroom top, a collection of delicate nerves.
I work at it till I feel him jerking beneath me…
his grip tightens in my hair… a pounding, drums under the water from him slamming his fist against the porcelain.
Then, there is an explosion—I feel it as it slides down my throat. Hot. Thick.
Fucking delicious.
I feel his body collapse, his back briefly suction-cupping to the curve of the tub. The tension that once held his muscles captive has now relinquished its grasp, and his breathing—although it is interrupted on occasion by a small hitch is pacified.
“What… was that?” His voice comes out breathy, “Where… where did that come from?”
The exhaustion hits me as I look up at him…
my eyelids are at half-mast, as I snuggle into his chest. Tracing his scars with my fingertips, I soak in the moment, embracing the feeling of belonging.
I could stay in this moment for a lifetime, but reality snaps back, “So you said you knew where my sister was?” My head bounces on his chest as I hear a ‘tsk’ emanate from over my head.
Lifting my weight to where I am sitting, he exits the tub, never looking back as he disappears into the next room.
Exiting the tub, I grab hold of a robe hanging on the wall to the left of the doorway.
As I peer into the bedroom, I see he has laid a change of clothes out for me on the bed.
In a few strides, I am at the bedside, running my fingers over the silken material before I allow the towel to drop to my feet.
I lift the stunning grey gown, slipping my hands between its seams, letting the cloth drop, feeling the fabric cascade over the curves of my body—his eyes are on me, as I glance over my shoulder at him.
He is all covered again, but my eyes have seen the truth, and now I can’t unsee it. Frantic knocking on the door draws our attention from each other. Oliver walks to the door, opening it to find Niven hyperventilating on the other side.
“I had no other choice, sir.” Her hand flies to her chest, an attempt to steady her breathing, “My remedies couldn’t save her.”
“Dove,” He is facing me in seconds. “I need you to listen to me.”
“Wait,” Confusion numbs my face. “It never clicked before.” His hands land hard on my shoulders. “How can she see you?”
“She is a medium, Emory. This is serious.” His hands move from my shoulder to my face, “I need you to listen-”
He plants a soft kiss on the center of my forehead, and I watch as he tries to back away from me, his hands up, palms facing me to keep me calm, “It’s Evelyn.” Trepidation and fear flash in my eyes as the walls are set ablaze with a scintillating deep red light.
An ambulance?
“She is here… you lied!!” Pushing past him, I run down the stairs.
My eyes are blurring as tears begin to pool, and my vision gets all distorted, causing me to slip on the stairs.
My eyes clear, as the liquid falls from my eyes, permitting me to find the front door and throw it open.
I am standing on the front steps. The world freezes, as I do when the cold air hits me.
Everything is moving in slow motion, and I watch as a dove soars above the yard.
My eyes follow it, my vision flowing smoothly with the flight of the bird of peace.
It's as though it is guiding my gaze, and it is.
I finally see her, my mom, with Evelyn’s arm draped over her shoulder, assisting her to the emergency vehicle. “Mom!” I scream at the top of my lungs, but she doesn’t hear me. As I am about to yell again, my voice is overshadowed by a roll of thunder, yet another winter storm rolling in.
Damn winter storms.
“Mom!” I continue, “Mom!”
Since I am getting nowhere shouting at my mother, I try a different approach. “Evelyn!” And like those moments in old movies—the time slows, the storm muffles, and all that’s left in this world is my sister and me.
Watching for some sign that she heard me, I wait—tears on pause until it happens.
She looks up.
Our eyes meet.
My chest constricts.
We both start crying as she breaks away from our mother—we run for each other, her hand outstretched towards mine.
I reach my hand out to her. We are so close.
She is right there. Then, like the same end of magnets meeting, we are repelled away from one another—Oliver has me by the waist, and she is stopped in midair—hands flailing, feet kicking, with a mist coiling around her torso.
We do our best to feel each other, touch one another.
To embrace each other's warmth, so we pull against our restraints.
Suddenly, Oliver loosens his hold a little, and a surge of relief rushes through me.
I see my hand is hovering over hers, and I give in to gravity…
but my perception betrays me. My hand sinks straight through hers like she is a projection—a hologram.
I watch in horror as the mist devours her—inch by inch.
I am hauled backward, back into the dark halls of the manor.
The door slams shut, and I drop to my knees after Oliver releases me.
What is happening to me? Was that even real? Am I—
even real?