Her eyes leveled on his and she said in a voice that dripped icicles, “You just f**ked me against the wall like a common whore.”
No, his temper wasn’t rising.
It had exploded.
Even so, his voice was low, even and rumbling when he asked, “How in the f**k do you figure that?”
Her body jerked, she glared at him then he watched something dawn on her, her face going slack before she winced.
“This is punishment,” she whispered.
He was back to confused.
But he was also still furious.
“Punishment?”
“I don’t deserve this,” she said softly.
He was losing patience, not that there was much to lose.
“Elle,” he clipped, “explain.”
She went back to her earlier theme. “Put me down.”
“No.”
“Put me down!” she cried.
“No!” he shouted.
“I can’t believe this of you. Not you,” she snapped then her voice dipped quiet, even hoarse, as if she was fighting tears. “Not you.”
Something was happening and the situation, out of his control and degenerating quickly (as… fucking… usual with Elle), was hitting the danger zone.
“Explain Elle.”
She shook her head and pressed against his shoulders.
He pressed her deeper into the wall, so much deeper, he heard the breath escape her lungs.
“Now, Elle. Explain how the f**k you can twist what just happened into something bad.”
She stared at him and he could swear he saw wetness trembling at the bottoms of her eyes.
“You treated me like a whore, to punish me for what I did. I can’t believe you’d do that,” she whispered.
Christ, what was the matter with her? Was she mad?
“I didn’t do it,” he bit out.
“Yes you did.”
“How could you think that?” he clipped.
He could barely hear her when she finally explained, “You didn’t kiss me.”
But he heard her.
And his body went solid.
For a second.
Then he relaxed, buried his face in her neck and burst out laughing.
He felt her stiffen again in his arms.
“This isn’t funny,” she whispered.
He lifted his head then he pulled her away from the wall. Then he walked with her in his arms to the bed.
“Prentice –”
His mouth came to hers. “Baby, I didn’t kiss you because I wanted to watch you come and I can’t do that when I’m kissing you.”
He heard her sharp inhalation of breath and her fingers curled into his shoulders.
They reached the bed and without hesitation he took them down, him on top.
His hand went to the side of her head, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone as he looked into her eyes in the moonlight.
“This time, you can come while I’m kissing you.”
“Prentice –”
“But you’ll be naked,” he went on.
“Prentice –”
“And so will I.”
“Pren –”
She didn’t finish his name because he kissed her quiet. And he remembered he used to do that all the time too. And he remembered how much she liked it when he kissed her.
Because now, immediately, as she had done twenty years ago, the minute his tongue touched hers, her soft body melted into his.
And he kissed her a lot. And he did it everywhere.
And, much, much later, when they were both naked, he was rocking deep inside her tight, wet silkiness, he knew exactly what she looked like with her hair spread across the bed and her body underneath him, Prentice made her come while he was kissing her.
And that, too, was phenomenal.
* * * * *
Fiona
Fiona was back in the place she went to when she died.
She hadn’t been there in ages.
It was nice enough.
Well, actually, it was lovely. With a gently rolling stream, trees in fragrant bloom, abundant wildflowers, the grass so green it nearly hurt her eyes and it was so thick, you could sleep on it.
There was a big tent there, made of silk, next to an apple tree, its blossoms carpeting the roof of the tent and all around. The flaps of the tent were opened wide and inside there were soft rugs, a comfy armchair with ottoman next to which there was a ready supply of the grisly crime novels Fiona liked to read. There was also a lovely guitar she could play and a big bed with a downy mattress, stacks of pillows and a fluffy duvet.
Fiona was real there. She walked with her feet on the ground, she didn’t float. Her body was solid, not see-through. She could feel things and move things without concentrating.
And there was night and day and she slept there.
She went there directly after she died and she thought, at first, it was heaven.
It was heavenly enough but she was alone and she didn’t think heaven would be eternal solitude. That would stink, and heaven, in her mind, didn’t stink.
But she’d been tired back then, tired from fighting the pain and tired from knowing what her body’s weakness was doing to her family.
So, when she first arrived, she slept a lot. And she slept well. And she got used to no pain and tiredness (but not to being dead).
Then one day she was walking along the stream and trying to figure out the different scents of the trees (because what the bloody else was there to do?) and zip, all of a sudden she was a ghost in her great room watching Prentice and Jason, both looking handsome but haggard, in dark suits, and Sally, looking confused and exhausted, in a pretty little black dress, coming through the front door.
At first, she didn’t know she was a ghost and thought she’d been granted a reprieve.
She was back, she was in her home, she had no pain and there was her family.
It didn’t take long to realize they couldn’t see her because, looking down, she could barely see herself and that she was dead, dead, dead because they’d just arrived back from her funeral.
It did take awhile for her to get used to this cruel twist of fate but she did and she’d been with them ever since. She spent her time haunting them (of course), being pissed off (of course) and learning how to materialize and dematerialize, not only in her house, but anywhere in the village.
She tried to go somewhere else, like Los Angeles where she’d always wanted to go but she couldn’t leave the village even in the company of, say, Prentice or her sister Morag when they left town. Any time she’d try, she’d automatically dematerialize and end up back at the house (which also pissed her off).
She hadn’t been able to be seen or heard, not that she tried too hard because she’d involuntarily damaged her family psychologically enough without them hearing her ghostly voice or seeing her ghostly body.