Charlotte Boyett-Compo- Windspectre (3 page)

Clean and shaved, brushed, and clothed in the soft flannel of her long nightgown, Cathleen threw the covers back and crawled beneath the cool, starched sheets. She popped the top on the second soda and drained it as though she hadn't had anything to drink all day. Although she was still thirsty, she snuggled down in the bed. The room was pleasantly warm now and the pillow upon which she laid her head felt heavenly. Within a few moments, she was fast asleep.

And dreaming once more of strong, authoritative hands that peeled away the covers, slid the fabric of her nightgown up her thighs, parted her legs then molded themselves around the orbs of her aching breasts.

"'Tis only me, Cathleen,"
her dream lover whispered as he took possession of her body, her nightgown dissolving.

His hands were so knowledgeable, his kisses trailing liquid fire down her neck and along her shoulder, across her chest, his tongue flicking briefly in the hollow at the base of her throat before sliding lower to encircle one engorged nipple.

"Ah …," Cathleen breathed.

Firm, velvet soft lips suckled her peak and drew from her ragged pants as her body writhed of its own accord beneath the passionate onslaught. Everywhere upon her body, she felt fleeing touches that were warm and promising sweet ecstasy—along her abdomen, down her spine, across her hips, beneath her knees.

Gentle teeth raked, nibbled, worried first one nipple then the other until she was nothing more than one whimpering mass of expectation.

"Mine,"
she heard his phantom voice whisper in her ear and his warm breath sent shivers down her side moments before his tongue flicked inside the sensitive folds.

He moved lower in the bed. It dipped beneath him as he planted darting kisses down her chest and over her belly. He moved possessively between her legs, elbowing her thighs farther apart and she could feel his chin dragging across her wiry curls.

"You smell heavenly,"
he said and a low chuckle came from his wide chest—she could feel it reverberating along the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs.

Knowing lips closed over her sex to draw upon her silky folds. His tongue lapped hungrily, dragging upward, probing so delicately along each groove indenting her inner lips. As that firm muscle flicked across her clitoris, she slammed her hands down to thread her fingers through silken hair that was thick and full, gossamer soft in her hands.

She felt his fingers move to the clitoral hood and ease it aside so he could sweep his tongue along that slick surface. Her moan was loud, her hips arching up to meet his brazen suckle as his lips closed around her clit.

"Oh my God!" she whispered.

"Not even close,"
he said with a laugh.

For a moment Cathleen remembered a horror novel she'd read—the words identical to those of the sensual demon hero—and she tried to wake but the press of her phantom lovers lips dragged her deeper down into her erotic dream and all thoughts of the incubus from the novel fled her thoughts.

Cool fingers stroked down and around her sex then one firm finger pushed against her opening, causing her to jackknife off the mattress with need.

"Please," she whimpered, wanting to be filled, wanting to be loved, wanting to be claimed.

"In time, my Cathleen,"
he soothed her and it felt like a dozen hands roaming freely over her fevered flesh to make her squirm and whine.

For what seemed an eternity he laved her vagina and his strong finger probed just at the entrance of her channel but did not go in, did nothing more than tease her. She writhed. She moaned. Her head whipped back and forth on the pillow as her hands gripped his silken curls.

By the time he finally slipped his finger deep inside her and twisted it slowly back and forth, she was mindless with passion and lost in the throes of a lust so acute her body burned. Her sheath was slick around his warm flesh and oozing from between her legs. She could smell her own essence as it eased from her and it was a heady scent that added to her desire.

"So soft,"
he whispered.
"So hot."

He pushed her legs as far apart as they could go then slid his hands beneath her knees to crook them upward, planting the soles of her feet firmly on the mattress. His weight was so delicious as he slithered up her, the hairs on his chest tickling her straining nipples, his sleek abdomen pressing into her belly to flood her clit with blood.

"Are you ready for me, Sweeting?"
he queried.

"Yes!" she hissed, her hands fluttering at his broad shoulders, gripping his smooth skin, reveling in the feel of her palms dragging over his hard muscles.

"Then feel me, my Cathleen. Know my flesh!"

His stiff cock pressed at the entrance to her vaginal sheath then thrust inside—deep and full and stretching her to capacity as he filled her. She could feel that giant member throbbing, grazing her very womb and he seated it as far inside her as it would go.

"Oh …," Cathleen moaned for it was pleasure/pain that wracked her needful flesh and she encircled his shoulders in her arms, felt his cheek against her shoulder, and enfolded his hips tightly within the perimeter of her long legs, locking her heels behind his back.

In and out—deep and pressing—his cock moved within her velvety channel. He pushed and pulled, thrust and withdrew slowly, the size of his shaft almost more than her body could accept. Slowly then with a firmer resolve, an increase in the thrust, he took her, carrying her along with him to heights to which she had never dared venture before.

She felt his tongue flicking on the side of her neck, reveled in his soft kiss along the column. She could feel his lips suckling the vein in her throat and smiled, his warm breath fanning the hair at the back of her neck.

Though lightning flared wickedly beyond the motel's windows and loud thunder shook the glass panes in its wake, Cathleen lay writhing beneath the forceful ministrations of her phantom lover, reveling in his ownership. She barely flinched at the little sting but was soon quivering like a leaf in the wind as her lover carried her to heights she had never known she could reach. When the last tremor of satiation coursed through her, she sank into a deep, untroubled sleep that lasted until the shrill ring of the bedside phone awakened her.

"Thank you," Cathleen said, hanging up. She glanced at the clock and was amazed to find it was five minutes past eight in the morning.

The dream lingered in her mind, lulling her and she lay there staring up at the ceiling and reliving the delights she had experienced in sleep. Her lower body felt heavy, a bit sore and when she started to reach down to touch herself between the thighs, blushed deeply and thought better of it. Such things were unseemly. Only bad girls touched themselves
there.

Thoughts of the phantom man of her heated dreams would not leave her, though. When she closed her eyes, she could see that amber gaze as clearly as though he were hovering over her bed. Quickly opening her lids, she felt her heart racing, for she almost believed he would be there bent over her. She even thought she could smell the essence of him—pungent and salty—wafting over the room.

"Get a grip, woman!" she chastised her wayward spirit.

She listened and was relieved to hear no rain pelting the roof. The day seemed overcast, but at least the wind had laid and no thunder rumbled ominously to herald more bad weather.

Tossing the cover aside, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Almost immediately, a wave of dizziness overtook her and she put a trembling hand up to her forehead. She felt weak, almost giddy, and it was all she could do to find her feet. Sluggishly, she made her way to the bathroom and hooked a hand inside to flip on the light. After emptying her bladder, she walked to the sink and turned on the cold water. She felt hot, flushed, and there was a trickle of sweat beneath her armpits. Hanging onto the rim of the sink, she lifted her head tiredly and looked into the mirror.

Her eyes grew wide.

Her breath caught in her constricting throat.

She was extremely pale with dark circles etched beneath her blood-shot eyes. Her lips were swollen and there was a dark red line—similar to the rust line from the tub's spout to the drain—wavering from a midway point on her throat to the neckline of her flannel gown. Putting a hand to the line, she moved her fingers to its beginning and winced at the pain centered there. The line felt brittle and as she rubbed at it, dark flakes peeled way. Turning her head slightly, she was stunned to find two puncture wounds red and puckered against her white flesh.

"What the hell is that?" she breathed, her eyes shifting from side to side as though searching for an answer … or a way out.

She snatched a washcloth from the rack over the toilet and turned the hot water on full blast. Wincing, she soaked the rag under the too-hot water then reached up to scrub at her neck. The pristine white washcloth turned dark with the residue from her neck and the puncture wounds opened, seeping crimson liquid down her starkly white skin.

"No," Cathleen denied. "No, this isn't happening."

Something had bitten her during the night, something with fangs that left puncture wounds and she began to shiver. What if it was poisonous? A brown recluse spider? A Black Widow or—her heart thudded so hard against her ribcage she nearly passed out—some variety of venomous snake?

Slowly she turned to face the door into the bedroom, her eyes wide, lips parted, breath barely able to squeeze past her constricting lungs. The tile beneath her bare feet felt colder than the plains of the Arctic. Her gaze fell to the floor, to the threadbare carpet, half expecting to see something slimy come slithering toward her. Her body was quivering with fear, the hem of her nightgown fluttering against her legs.

She stood there trembling violently for a long time before she took a step toward the doorway. Her lungs felt compressed, barely able to drag in air. What if she was so far gone with toxins invading her system she could not make it to the phone to call for help? What if she collapsed on the way to the bed and whatever had bitten her leapt or slithered over her body to have another taste?

Moaning deep in her throat, tears filled Cathleen's and trickled down her ashen cheeks. She didn't want to die. She had too much to live for. Her future was ahead of her—bright and waiting.

"The phone," she whispered. "You must get to the phone."

She took another step and nothing jumped out at her. Nothing moved in the other room. She heard nothing save the faint roar of cars and trucks out on the highway, a door opening and closing somewhere along the row of rooms, a car engine turning over.

Another step and she was in the doorway, holding her breath as her eyes swept across the gaudy carpeting, seeking something that should not be there. She whined as her bare feet moved onto the carpet but that fabric felt no warmer than the chipped, stained tile upon which she'd been standing in the bathroom. If anything, the material felt slimy on her soles.

She lifted her attention reluctantly from the floor and scanned the tousled bed covers. The top sheet and blanket and spread had been thrown back to reveal the bottom fitted sheet—the elasticized corner having come away from the mattress during the night. Nothing was coiled or sat perched on the white material. Neither pillow was indented with the body of a coiled serpent.

Once more she looked at the floor, but there was nothing moving, nothing lying in wait—that she could see.

Her scrutiny homed in on the slice of darkness beneath the bed. Anything could be lurking there. Along with dust bunnies and bed mites and God only knew what else, a viper could be twisted around itself, its triangular head up, forked tongue flicking the air.

Slowly, her vision shifted to the shoes she had so unthinkingly abandoned. One lay on its side. Had something crawled inside it? Was some eight-legged horror now making it his new home? Or was that poisonous thing hunched down inside that shoe's mate?

Her clothes were hanging there in the closet where she hoped nothing had crawled or hopped up to invade them. Taking a quick step, she snatched those clothes from the hangars and struggled into them, panting with each movement she made. Once dressed, she stood there indecisively, wanting to pick up her shoes and shake them, but afraid something would shoot out at her.

There was nothing in the room she could use to poke at her shoes and she had no desire to cross the carpet between the bathroom and the bedside phone barefoot.

Did she really need to call 911? Had her body actually been invaded by something deadly?

She tested the way she felt like someone would poke at a sore tooth.

She didn't feel queasy, just very tired. She didn't hurt anywhere although the puncture wounds on her neck were tender to the touch. Her head didn't ache, but her eyes seemed very sensitive to the slit of morning light coming in from between the garish draperies. She wasn't weak, wasn't lightheaded—just tired.

Backing up, she entered the bathroom again and quickly swept her travel bag from the vanity and stuffed her hair dryer, brush and comb inside. She reached to the shelf in the bathtub to retrieve her toothbrush, paste and razor and added them to the travel bag, continuously turning her gaze to the opened doorway to watch the threshold as she worked. Zipping the bag closed, she retraced her steps to the doorway and once more peered cautiously at the floor surrounding the bed. She would have to slip between the two beds to get her overnight bag. The thought made her tremble. What if the thing that had taken a bite out of her was under one of those beds and lying in wait for her?

Her gaze fell to her shoes again. She really needed her feet protected and she would need the shoes to drive.

She whined, her fears having escalated to such a point she was sure the thing that had attacked her was inside one of those shoes. Clutching the travel bag to her chest with one hand, she ran the other over her lips, surprised to feel sweat beneath her palm.

Did she have a fever? Was the poison galloping through her system, heading for her heart to stop its beat? To her lungs to cease their ability to draw in air? To her brain to shut down all bodily functions at once?