I giggled. “How long’s it been? Three hours?” I thought how we’d fucked like teenagers, making the floorboards creak, at the castle. Blake had grumbled something about how, when it came to places to fuck, only modern buildings delivered discretion. He possessed surprising modesty for a man with such an overactive libido.
His mouth ate at mine, and his hand slipped under my skirt and into my panties.
“You’re very wet, Penny.”
“Must have been the yummy scones and the paintings.”
He unzipped his pants and lowered his briefs. His big hard cock sprang forth. “I thought it might have been my animal charms.”
“That too.” I touched his cock, recalling how I’d gagged after I’d sucked on it that morning.
He placed his head between my legs. I never tired of that tongue, and Blake went down on me more often than I blew him. I thought I wasn’t doing it properly. I’d even asked him, to which he replied that his dick loved my cushiony lips but desired my tight cunt even more.
It was raw, unbridled lust, and as his tongue whipped up another sheet-gripping orgasm a torrent of pleasure gushed through me.
His hands slid over my body as though on a voyage of discovery, soft and tender, and then he parted my legs almost roughly, which I liked too.
“I thought you had an appointment,” I said breathlessly.
“That can wait.” He entered me in one thrust that made my eyes roll to the back of my head.
His deep penetration hit spots that made my pussy convulse from the scorch of sensation. He rolled me on top of him, and as I moved up and down, his eyes were on mine, love written in them.
Blake’s cum-stained lips parted. His heavy breath expressed the aching arousal I felt grinding over his hard cock, and I opened like a flower as the buildup moved toward what promised to be another convulsive climax.
My drenched nipples ached from endless sucking, and my breasts were smothered by his constant fondling.
Blake’s eyes were hooded, and he became lost in his own erotic bubble. His chest collapsed, and a raging release erupted through me, clutching his cock and drowning it in a torrent.
His head fell back, and a gasp turned into a groan as he emptied himself into me.
I fell into his arms. Our breathing was rapid and in tandem as we gradually made our way back.
“You’re an exquisitely sensuous creature,” he whispered.
* * *
AFTER BLAKE LEFT FOR his meeting, I went for a walk in the forest.
A pretty bird with blue wings had me sighing with wonder. It really did feel as though I’d stepped into a fairy tale. Golden gossamer sunbeams filtered through the trees as though sent from heaven.
The forest had hints of the supernatural, as though I could step into a beam of light and be whisked away to another time. I wished I could, even though I would miss Blake.
Infiltrated by these strange but pretty thoughts, I ambled along the avenue of glistening soft green leaves. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, I lifted my head up to the giant trees and found the sky smiling back at me.
At the end of a path snaking from the wood, I spied a cute picture-perfect cottage. Bathed in sun, the garden exploded in an array of colors.
I headed over to take a photo, expecting to see a witch. It didn’t give me a bad vibe, though. If anything, I’d been transported to another time, when technology was only a word and not a way of life.
Stooped over, gathering herbs, a woman with long dark hair noticed me and smiled. “Hello there.”
“Hello. I was just admiring your lovely cottage. I hope you don’t mind me looking.”
“Not at all. It’s such a nice day to be out and about. Are you a tourist?”
I nodded. “That I am. From London. I’m staying at Raven Abbey.”
“Oh, how nice. I’m just collecting some chamomile.”
I looked over the picket fence. “This garden is so perfect. The colors are amazing.”
“Many come by and take photographs. I imagine there are a few postcards getting around.” She chuckled.
“It’s wonderfully photogenic, and your garden’s a delight.”
“Thank you. It’s a labor of love.”
“My name’s Penelope.”
“I’m Marion,” she said, smiling sweetly.
“I envy you living out here in this wonderland.”
“It’s not an easy life. I have to work at it. I grow most of my food, and I have some animals at the back.”
“That’s so admirable, though.”
She smiled again.
“Well, I’d best be getting back.”
“Nice meeting you, Penelope.”
“And you.”
I watched her as she went back into her home.
* * *
I ARRIVED TO FIND Blake asleep. He looked so peaceful that I couldn’t disturb him. I held up the bottle of whisky. For some reason, I felt like a hit.
“It’s a bit early for that.” I heard from behind.
I turned to see Blake with his hands behind his neck, smiling and looking relaxed.
“Did you go for a walk in the forest as planned?” He rose from the bed. “I might as well join you.” He lifted the crystal decanter and poured himself a shot.
“I did. I met someone who lives in a cottage outside the wood.”
“Right. A man?” His frown nearly made me chuckle.
“No. A woman.”
“That cottage belonged to Gareth Wolf. But he’s no longer alive.”
“Her name’s Marion. She grows her own food and has animals. She was lovely.”
“Marion?” Blake studied me. “What did she look like?”
“She had dark eyes and hair and a scar on the side of her face. Very pretty, though.”
The frown on his face deepened. “What side?”
“Huh? The scar?” I asked, feeling a tightening knot in my tummy from Blake’s sudden intensity.
Gulping down a shot of whisky, he nodded.
“On the left side.”
An aching gap of time fell between us.
“I’m going there now,” he said at last.
The breath that I’d been holding escaped. “Why? Do you know her?”
He didn’t seem to hear me. I followed Blake and half expected him to stop me, but he seemed lost in a trance as I scurried along behind him.
47
* * *
BLAKE
WE SHOULD HAVE BEEN scattering Milly’s ashes at twilight as she’d requested. Instead, I almost ran along. I knew that forest path so well I could have moved through it with a blindfold on and still found the cottage that now housed my undead mother.
It had to be her. The scar gave it away. It was from her fucking savage husband after he’d held a knife to her throat before slashing her face in one of his drunken jealous rages. Hiding under the table as a six-year-old, I watched on, shivering through a cold sweat. That experience, which felt like fingernails digging into a wound, flashed before me.
But why fake her own death?
It was assumed she’d fallen into the river. They’d even sent in divers. Now I understood why her body had never been found.