Savage love, p.5

Savage Love, page 5

 

Savage Love
 



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  She shrugged one shoulder, “I thought the ordeal would open old wounds.”

  He drummed his fingers on the desk. “It won't. Ask me.”

  Carolina took a deep breath and exhaled. “Patrick will you help me, help Justin?”

  He ceased the movements of his fingers, his tone patient, “Maybe. Can he tell his father what happened?”

  “Not yet. I'd think you'd understand. You were once like him. Villains stole his innocence. Now they will pay for their crimes,” she vowed.

  Patrick waved his hand in the direction of the guns. “This you do for love, like you did for me. You've already given Justin back his life; don't risk yours for someone you hardly know.”

  “I know him. He's a child who needs me. What more do I need to know?”

  “That for you, killing isn't right,” he scolded.

  She gave him a wide-eyed look of disbelief. “But for you, murdering is?”

  “Yes, because it's my job and because my soul, as you understand it, is already assigned. You know this Carolina as you also know that while on the surface I appear human I am not and although I've taught you some of my ways, you must always remember weren't fired in the same kiln. You can never be identical to me.”

  Carolina wanted his help, not another lecture on her reckless and inappropriate behavior. Her eyes grew dewy. “Please Patrick, he needs me and I need you, am begging you to do this.”

  Patrick uncharacteristically lashed out at her, his voice low and biting, “Do you cherish him more than me, our history? What about the twins? Don't they need you? They're as innocent as he. You're their mother, which should mean more to you than defending the child of a man you claim you're not sleeping with.”

  Carolina felt dry scaly coils strongly tightening around her middle, one of her greatest fears, but she held her ground, believing he'd never truly hurt her. Blinking rapidly she straightened her spine to say, “Though I've always loved them as my own, even before the deaths of their parents, regrettably the twins are not mine of womb as you very well know, nor do they honor me with any maternal or even familial reference. To them I've ever been 'Carolina' such as a stray animal along the road would be 'cat' or 'dog' and for six years you too have only referenced me as such, 'Carolina', to the point that from your mouths I grow weary at the sound of my own name, think by now I should have achieved a greater standing in all of your lives but it's not the case with you three. Yet I would walk barefoot through hell and make the return journey upon my hands and knees for the lot of you. Nevertheless, here you sit questioning my devotion because I have room in my heart to care for a violated and desperate child who needs the comfort of a mother. I can't fail Justin as I didn't neglect my call to avenge you or the responsibility to assume parentage of the twins.”

  He walked over and clasped her hands firmly in his, studying her intently until she flushed the rose glow of dawn, then he quietly lectured, “Slaying demons for Justin won't bring you happiness. Let go of your anger before some innocent is seriously hurt or lost.”

  Pulling her hands away from his she lowered her chin. “I'm sorry Patrick.”

  “Spend time with Justin and the twins; take them all on vacation until this business blows over. I'll have tutors accompany you.” With continued scrutiny of her Patrick abruptly asked, “When were you going to tell me about Dylan?”

  Although embarrassed by her earlier outburst and unable to meet his eyes, her reply was nonchalant, “It wasn't important. I slept with him once, nearly a month ago.”

  With an index finger under her chin, he raised her gaze to meet his. “You had only ever desired me. But you'd have me believe sleeping with him didn't matter?”

  Looking into his eyes, she whispered the truth, “Dylan says he's in love with me, calls me 'honey' in a tone that is sweet, sincere and sometimes seductive. He phones a dozen times a day leaving messages that he misses and needs me.”

  “So there is something between you two,” an unvoiced, 'aha' shaped his words.

  That he wasn't bothered by her disclosure annoyed her and she stated peevishly, “I told him to go away, that I'm happy alone. It's not my fault he's fixated upon me.”

  Cupping her face in his hands, Patrick rewarded her with one of his rare smiles, “I don't blame you or him Gingernut. None of us can pick and choose whom to love; from experience we know that harsh truth.” Releasing her, he repositioned himself on the edge of the desk. “I'll finish this thing for Justin if you'll do something for me.”

  She felt a flush of warmth at his use of his affectionate name for her that he hadn't spoken since the night of her brother's death. Getting the endearment past his lips, the special term he'd given her the moment he'd returned from death, opening his eyes to gaze upon her, had taken her sleeping with another man and she hoped the change, though small, meant he'd want to renew their physical relationship. She'd missed his focused and tender lovemaking, how he fused their bodies, then completely became one with her and she'd pleasured him thoroughly as well, had sometimes enticed him with her erotic zealousness to stay with her for weeks, times when she slipped into her happy fantasy that they were an ordinary couple. Tonight she'd make him want her again and she'd pleasure him in so many ways that he'd want to remain with her for at least a quarter-year. She heard him call her that sweet endearment again, 'Gingernut', and her bosom swelled in response. Straightening her posture so her breasts were in his direct line of vision and with a renewed sense of power, Carolina smiled seductively and bargained, “You'll get back all pictures and videos of him?”

  “Everything,” he guaranteed, his face an unreadable mask.

  “Okay,” she quickly agreed.

  With a probing undertone to his voice, Patrick sought to clarify her response, “'Okay', as in you're listening and no longer daydreaming or 'okay', you're ready to do what I ask?”

  “I'm ready,” she wholeheartedly assured him.

  “Work at being happy with Dylan. Don't push him away because you feel obligated to me or because you're afraid,” he kindly counseled.

  Carolina gave the man she'd always hoped would make their bond legal, a murderous look and only two things stopped her from reneging on her agreement. First, she really believed a divine power had answered her pleas and given Justin another chance at life, granting them another opportunity to be together, because she'd been terrified of giving one-hundred-percent of herself in performing the ritual. The other was that she knew no other way to help him aside from her original plan. Filled with misery, Carolina's mind flashed on the bottle of whiskey she'd stashed in the pantry. She didn't need to be sober while she worked at being happy. Defeatedly she asked, “Is that all?”

  Patrick remained emotionless and indecipherable, his tone even, “Only a few more details. First, I brought gifts for the twins, clothes and necessities for Justin too.”

  Carolina would have smiled in gratitude if she weren't miffed at being constantly spurned by him and now he'd resorted to manipulation to be rid of her, handing her off to another like a bag of used clothes that no longer fit. However, she'd not breakdown before him or beg him to take her back. She was growing used to being cast off, and if she fooled herself a bit longer, her entire being wouldn't hurt so much when he left again. “That was very thoughtful of you,” she remarked evenly.

  “Generosity is my pleasure Gingernut. Now, the second issue, I've reclaimed my whiskey. Your father told me because of your temperament, you must never drink.”

  Carolina was flabbergasted. “You've been spying on me.”

  Patrick gave her his best 'who me' look. “Also I took the liberty of paying your staff for their vacations and bonuses since I knew you'd be busy with the boys.”

  She gave a tight smile. “Thank you. Tell me the total and I'll write you a check.”

  He waved her offer aside. “Lastly, for you, I have a token of my undying affection.” He retrieved a large gift box from behind the desk and placed it in her resisting hands. “Go ahead. Open your present.”


  She gave in, and like kids on Christmas morning, they sat on the floor where immediately Carolina ripped away the violet ribbon from the package before tearing into floral wrapping paper. She took her time admiring the lid which was beautifully hand painted with stalks of lavender, inscribed with the words 'Devoted To You' and initialed P. C. D. As she peeled back layers of crinkling, white tissue Carolina's movements were halted by his hand on her arm. From the breast pocket of his black long sleeved shirt, he withdrew a quarter sized gold medallion. Draping the chain over her head, he positioned the medal to rest against her black T-shirt at the center of her breasts, “It's a blessed medal to protect abused children and the abandoned. I brought one back from home for each of us.”

  Looking at him with fascination, believing where he'd been, she asked, “Will you ever allow me to see your true home as you did with Ciaran and Clover?”

  “Yes. Now finish opening your gift.”

  Resuming her forage in the box Carolina withdrew a large manila envelope, several data discs and two laptops. The loud sound of her heartbeat filled her ears. She steeled herself to open the envelope but Patrick stopped her with a look, letting her know she didn't need to see what was inside.

  When very aroused her speech lilted, shifted and sometimes morphed to the dialect of hidden places, hinting at her past, and now she asked in such a fashion, “Tis everything?”

  “I would have brought you their heads but I didn't want to deprive the wolves.”

  “You didn't get hurt?” It was a question she asked out of politeness because since he was twelve and she'd brought him back that first time his response had been the same whenever he championed a cause.

  Patrick gave her his classic untroubled look, “No, Gingernut I didn't.” Motioning with his hand to the items he'd recovered he advised, “Put those in a safe place. Give them to Dylan when the child is ready to discuss the matter, but is should be soon. Prolonging the disclosure will make an already difficult situation even harder.”

  She nodded in agreement. “I'll talk with Justin.”

  Patrick fixed his eyes upon her. “There are some serious loose ends, Liz and her boyfriend, but when the time is right I'll finish what I started.”

  Carolina felt sick. “Why did she have him hurt?”

  “She's depraved and the abuse was a means of getting back at Dylan for seeking sole-custody. If Justin lives full-time with him, Liz won't be paid any child support. So she planned to get what she felt she'd be loosing plus a considerable amount more.”

  Carolina recalled what Dylan had said about his ex-wife, how Liz enjoyed twisting the knife and she felt her temperature rise. “That she'd do something so terrible is unforgivable and all for a few measly dollars.”

  “Hundreds of millions Gingernut, she was planning to blackmail Dylan.”

  Her spirits fell at learning of his wealth. She'd imagined him as a farmer or rancher and hearing that he wasn’t either had her feeling stupid for wasting her breath telling him the ancient ways of making his husbandry efforts plenteous. Her voice was bluesy, “He has that kind of money? I thought better of him.”

  Patrick felt disesteemed, because he too had 'that kind of money', then realized she'd given herself to a man she knew nothing about and spoke to her as if she was unbelievably obtuse, “Dylan, his brothers and Justin are international music royalty.”

  She shrugged then gave him a huge hug, nearly toppling him backward. “You're the only royalty I know. How will I ever make this up to you?”

  He hugged her back with equal intensity, “I don't expect you to, but if you're offering I'll think of something.” Squeezing her a smidge tighter, he asked, “Gingernut, when I questioned your devotion a wee bit ago, were you afraid of me?”

  She melted into the warmth of his embrace, snuggling closer. “Patrick I know you'd never hurt me and I could never fear you,” she maintained, taking his face in her hands to tenderly kiss his cherubic lips. With her embrace, she offered him solace as he did in return and they were as they'd been from their inception, taking comfort from gentle kisses and caresses. She crawled onto his lap, resting her head against his strong shoulder and he wrapped his arms around her to fulfill his promise, allowing her to drift off to his true seaside home in another galaxy.

  Patrick, never loosening his hold on Carolina, got to his feet supporting her as if she weighed less than a packet of crisps, and carried her to her bedroom. Disrobing her sleeping form, he then slid a rosy-pink ‘Tinkerbelle’ nightshirt over her always-tempting body. Affectionately he tucked her beneath the covers then lay beside her, resting his head against her breasts, his left palm flat against her abdomen, experiencing a sense of wonder and for once, he wished he were permitted to be in love with her.

  ****

  The following morning Carolina's internal clock wasn't responsible for her stirring. Instead, the pressure of a hard kiss against her lips, the taste and texture of a tantalizingly familiar mouth, roused her from slumber. Unguarded, she draped an arm across his muscular back. Moaning faintly, she smiled against his lips, easing the covers aside, inviting him in.

  For a few seconds there was the rustling of clothes, then the clank of a heavy belt buckle hitting the floor, before she felt his nakedness, the hardness, his warmth beside her. She removed her nightgown, snuggling closer. Climbing on top of her, he feathered kisses across her upturned face as he took position at her entrance. He slid just the head of his penis into her starved opening, making her cry out in need. She craved the feel of his weight pushing into her, longed for the complete joining of their bodies, wanting his hugeness to stretch her until pain became pleasure. Cupping his muscular buttocks, she urged him forward, her body yielding as he advanced, her breath catching from the throbbing torture when he was but half-the-distance in. Her vagina voraciously gripped his shaft when he was planted root deep, strong fingers digging into his flesh, motivating him into movement. She clung to him as he slowly, rocked against her, teasing and tormenting, drawing out their reunion. His lips roamed her face and torso. Long fingers twined in her corkscrewing curls. Their steady rocking continuing, as her hands traveled up and down the muscled terrain of his body until she felt the gathering fireball of her pending climax behind her mons veneris and she clutched him to her, nails digging into his shoulders as a meteoric orgasm exploded within her body.

  He continued his steady movements, the satiny plane of her stomach sliding against the slick steel of his six-pack as he felt her climax again, pleased that he'd given her such satisfaction. Withdrawing his rigid manhood, he flipped her onto her stomach and positioned her beneath him; pushing aside the heavy weight of her hair to trail his mouth down the center of her back until he reached the rise of her buttocks, then kissed the twin dimples on either side of her lower spine. His fingers kneaded the plump, firm cheeks as his knees nudged her thighs apart.

  Hearing her purr, feeling her buttocks lifting rhythmically, he mounted her, lay prone atop her body, blanketing her with his full weight. Making one sure and emphatic stroke, he entered her still clenching vagina, adopting a strong rhythm that drove her deep into the mattress. Entwining his fingers with hers, he bit the side of her neck, sucking strongly in concert with the energetic bowing of his penis, each pull more poignant, every plunge more purposeful and despite his greater strength she lifted them up, urgently undulating beneath him, rocking and spanking her voluptuous rear against his loins until she was shuddering beneath him with the extreme intensity of her third orgasm, her lusty, lilting cries urging him on, making him drive harder and deeper into her until with one final, forceful thrust he came inside her tight, convulsing body.

  When his breathing normalized, he rolled off Carolina, positioning her to lie in the crook of his arm. “Good gracious, you're stronger and tighter than any woman I've ever known.” Planting an unsteady kiss on her damp forehead, he twirled a strand of curling fire around his index finger, “I've missed being with you something fierce but we better get movin'. You over
slept.”

  She allowed herself the pleasure of stroking rippling contours from his chest down to his stomach where she fingered veined ridges standing out against the golden flatland. Stretching lazily she asked, “What time is it?”

  Feeling his penis starting to harden again, he trapped her journeying hand before answering, “Near seven-thirty.”

  She used her free hand to massage the corded muscles of his thigh. “What are you doing here?”

  “If you have to ask I must have done something wrong,” he chuckled trying unsuccessfully to capture her other hand.

  “You're a nut.” She kissed his shoulder while giving him a strong pinch high upon his inner thigh and heard his roar of ominous thunder. Startled she pushed away from him, resting her back against a mound of pillows asking, “Really, why are you here?”

  He wanted her to pinch him again but didn't press the issue when he saw the bewilderment in her eyes. “Your friend invited me over for breakfast and-”

  Before he could finish, the door opened and Patrick entered dressed in priestly black. Looking at Dylan, completely straight-faced he blamed, “You were only supposed to wake her. It doesn't take so long to rouse the dead.”

  Given her recent encounter with Justin, Carolina felt the color drain from her face. “Patrick that's an awful thing to say.”

  He gave a lazy shrug, “What's terrible is the inconsideration I'm dealt.” Not caring that Dylan was in her bed; Patrick walked over and leisurely kissed her lips. “You are always beautiful Gingernut, but especially in the mornings.” He kissed her again, his tongue contacting hers, tasting the concentrated honey flavor of dried persimmon. Dreading this time he stated reservedly, “I needed to tell you goodbye.”

  Carolina felt herself growing misty-eyed and miserable. Although she was physically and emotionally aware of Dylan at her side, she still wanted and needed Patrick with her. “Stay for breakfast. Only Justin saw you yesterday. The twins will be disappointed they missed your visit.”

 
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