Possess Me (17 page)

The girl had been taking off her shirt, her cheeks red as she watched Ben lying on the blanket at her feet, stroking his erection.

Michelle hadn’t been able to look away. Everything about his bare body had been fascinating, but the sight of his hand stroking his cock, the perfect pearl of pre-come that had appeared right at the tip, had sent her running back home cursing him. She’d touched herself for the first time in her bed that night.

“Oh, Mimi. I never knew you were there. That feels so good, babe. I can’t tell you how many times I woke up coming, dreaming of your mouth on my cock. Only you. Always. Yes.
Merde
. Shit, yes.”

He filled her mouth and her lips stretched to take more, to take everything. She relaxed her throat, inhaling the clean, male scent of him while her nails traced the muscles of his thighs.

“
Mimi
.” Ben’s hands slid into her curls, clenching in her hair, and she hummed in pleasure, causing his hips to jerk.

“There’s enough room on the chaise for two, Benjamin. Lift her dress and show her how good she makes you feel. Drench your mouth with her taste.”

Michelle heard Bone Daddy’s rough growl, and then Ben was pulling back, lifting her up and taking her place on the red, backless sofa.

He caught her hips and dragged her down, until her thighs were straddling his face, her dress around her waist and her mouth once more a breath away from his erection.

She released a shuddering breath when he pulled her panties to the side, revealing her to his gaze. And the Loa’s. Michelle turned her head to see Bone Daddy, now naked, stroking his less-than-solid shaft as he studied her soaking sex.

“I may have to change my mind, Michelle. Your smooth pussy is so pretty. And pierced? Mmmm. I bet Benjamin’s tongue pressed against that lovely silver ball would make you want to scream. But you can’t scream. If you do, someone will come to the door. You have to be quiet, Michelle. So very quiet as he fucks your pretty pussy with his tongue.”

Michelle bit her lip until she tasted blood, pressing her forehead against Ben’s hip. He growled against her thigh, just as aroused by the sight of her, by the Loa’s words, as she was.

He pressed the flat of his tongue against her sex, the tip curling over her clit before flicking out again to taste her arousal. His grip tightened and he moaned, pulling her closer. As though he were starving for more of her, demanding to be fed.

Michelle lifted her head and saw that white pearl forming on his cock. Her tongue lapped out to taste it, and her eyes closed. So good. Pure Ben.

Her mouth opened over him once more, and she became lost in sensations. Hers and his. His tongue stiffened to thrust inside her and she muffled her shout around his flesh, sucking him deep until her cheeks hollowed and his hips lifted off the chaise.

“That’s right, sweet. You should see his face. He is so hungry for you. Take him to heaven,
cher
. Give him what he needs.”

Michelle felt a warm breeze wrap around them, and knew it was Bone Daddy, knew he was touching them the only way he could. It whipped around the base of Ben’s shaft, slid between the cheeks of her ass, increasing their pleasure.

The wind whipped over the ties of her dress, unlacing the top and sliding beneath her heavy breasts suggestively.

Michelle took the Loa’s cue, lifting her breasts out and rounding her back to press Ben’s shaft between them while she sucked hard on the head of his cock.

He was there. In her mind. And she knew she’d thrown him over the edge. His thumb rubbed her clit as his tongue thrust deep inside her once more, and Michelle joined him in his climax. Her body shuddered against him, throat working as she swallowed him down. He was moaning, caressing her with his tongue, drinking her in until her heart rate returned to normal.

God, she loved him.

Both of them froze at her thought. Shit. She needed to get out of there. She looked up at Bone Daddy in panic. He was smiling in satisfaction, like he was solely responsible for their orgasms. He was dressed once more in that same white linen outfit. When he saw her expression his brow furrowed.

Michelle almost sobbed in relief when someone knocked on the door.

“Be out in a minute!”

She scrambled off Ben’s body, grateful for the spotless condition of the bathroom as she practically fell on the floor beside the chaise. She jumped up and adjusted her dress, looking in the mirror and retying her laces. “Hurry up, Ben. I don’t know how we’re going to sneak you out of here without causing a scene.”

He stood behind her, buttoning his pants and tucking his shirt in as he watched her. The knock was more forceful, and Ben smiled. “We better let that poor woman in. Come on, Mimi. We’ve had our appetizer. I think I can keep my hands off you long enough to eat dinner.”

She tilted her head, suspicious. “You being agreeable makes me nervous.”

Ben chuckled. “What? I just fulfilled several fantasies in one go. I’m always agreeable when I’m satisfied.” He put his hands on her shoulders and nuzzled her wild curls with his chin. “Are you always so paranoid? I should know now since I plan on having dessert as soon as possible.”

He winked at her and she made a face, heading toward the door and almost guaranteed embarrassment.

She turned the lock, pulling open the door to come face-to-face with . . . “Mama Elise.”

The older blonde lifted her gaze to the ceiling, avoiding Michelle’s deep blush. “I see nothing. I know nothing.”

Ben smiled as he pushed Michelle out the door. “I love you, Mama.”

“Well, of course you do. I didn’t raise a fool.”

“SPEND THE NEXT TWENTY MINUTES WORKING ON YOUR
individual projects.”

“Yes, Ms. Toussaint.”

Michelle smiled at the obedient-sounding chorus. She loved her students. They drove her crazy, but she remembered what it was like to be a teenager in New Orleans. Most of them started out in the class, thinking art would be an easy grade. But, if she did her job right, they’d all leave with a better understanding of the historical, social, and personal importance of art in their lives.

At the very least they’d have a safe outlet to express themselves.

What had started out as an easy degree in education had become a godsend. Who would have thought that she’d ever be happy out of the whirl of the New York art scene, teaching students with minimal supplies and constantly fighting for the art department’s right to exist?

Yet here she was, in jeans and a paint-spattered T-shirt instead of stiletto heels and the latest runway fashion, and she didn’t miss a thing.

The greatest perk was that she was painting again. She looked down at her half-finished canvas and wrinkled her nose. Sort of.

When had her artwork gotten so dark? For the last year everything she’d started painting turned into demonic spirits and dark figures attacking helpless victims. Sometimes those victims looked a bit too familiar for comfort.

In quiet moments she admitted to herself that she was still afraid. Still afraid of the darkness she’d seen, and that the fact that she could see it at all meant there was something wrong with her.

She stepped back and studied her current work in progress. She was using lighter colors again, and the scene, while still violent, held signs of passion as well.

Two lovers embraced. The woman had two faces, and one of them was being attacked by a ghostly entity. And there, watching from a nearby building, was another familiar form.

All in white, tall and almost angelically beautiful, was Bone Daddy. She looked around, making sure he wasn’t hovering over her shoulder. He’d gotten bored with her class schedule and slipped away a few hours before. She hated to admit it, but she was starting to get used to his presence.

The bell rang, and her students made a mad, loud dash to the door. She waved at them as they called out to her, then picked up a wet sponge, pressing it against the top of her canvas and watching as the water made the color run together—rivers of red, yellow, and gray. Maybe next time she would try a landscape.

“Why ruin a work of art?”

Michelle attempted to tear her attention away from the hypnotic patterns to answer the female voice. “One man’s art . . .” She glanced up and froze. “You.”

“Me?” A pale girl with black hair, black clothes, even black lipstick stepped into her classroom, and shut the door. “Me, the girl who watched that handsome blond have his wicked way with you the other night?
That
me?”

“No.” Michelle swallowed past the dryness in her mouth, her hands slowly sliding across her supply table, searching for one of the palette knives she used for texture. “Not that you.”

The girl tilted her head curiously, a thoroughly creepy smile curling her caked lips. But it wasn’t really her Michelle was looking at. It was him. It. No matter how many years had gone by, she’d never forget it. The entity from the mugging. The one who’d wanted her dead.

Damn. She couldn’t find the knife. It didn’t matter. She couldn’t hurt this girl. She mumbled a phrase her mother had taught her, a demand for the spirit to depart from her sight.

The girl laughed. It was a grating, high-pitched sound. “Nice try. But you are no houngan or mambo, no voodoo shaman to send me packing so easily. I’ve been watching you for a long time now, Michelle Toussaint. I know all about you. All about your mother. Your friends. Ben.” She walked by one of the student’s stations and gagged. “That is
not
art. You’ve gone down in the world since we last met. A simple teacher in a poor neighborhood. That crook wouldn’t want to rob you now.”

Michelle’s body was vibrating with fear. And that fear made her angry. “So, you’ve just been stalking me for four years? That sounds pathetic. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“I wouldn’t say stalking as much as admiring from afar. Not all the time, mind you. I do have a life of my own. Such as it is. I just like to check in on you from time to time. It soothes me, knowing that if I wanted to be seen, I could be.” The petite, possessed twenty-something skipped closer to Michelle’s desk, her eyes bloodshot, her face slightly bruised beneath the pancake makeup.

“I appreciate the attention.” She had to get out of here. Michelle could feel the walls closing in on her, snapshots of that evil face leering over her body as the thug attacked flashing in her mind.

The Goth shrugged. “Just protecting my property. He doesn’t want you, you know. Doesn’t know you the way I do. I think you’d be wise to break it off. For his own good, you understand.”

Ben? It was threatening Ben? “Leave him alone.”

“I will if you will.” She came closer to Michelle, circling the desk so she could see the ruined painting. “You really shouldn’t do that. You have talent. More than you know. I’ve waited a long time for someone like you, Michelle. And I realize I was wrong to have lashed out at you that last time. You need to be cherished. Kept safe. Touched.”

The black nails on the small white hand held her riveted for a moment, and then instinct took over. Michelle ducked beneath the outstretched arm, sweeping the girl’s legs with one of her own, sending the entity and the body it held tumbling to the floor.

She reached the door, her hand just closing over the doorknob when she was stopped by hands clawing at her hair, flinging her against a nearby easel.

“I’m not. Done. Talking.” The girl reached back and touched her head, drawing back fingertips covered in blood. “Look what you did. You don’t know what a rough night I’ve already put this body through.”

The being brought the girl’s fingers to her mouth, tasting the blood. “She was the one who wondered what was going on upstairs. How far she could take her interest in pain. But she’s weak. Much weaker than I originally thought. I’ll have to find a new one now. Just another disappointment.”

Michelle rolled to a standing position, fighter’s stance, knowing she didn’t have the strength to fight this kind of entity. “How inconvenient for you. You obviously don’t enjoy being disappointed. Why do you bother?”

“To feel, of course. I could feel your hair in her hands. I can feel her terror right now. Her pain. And yours. And it makes me want to feel more.”

“
Cher
, I’ve been waiting for hours. Aren’t you done yet?” Bone Daddy walked through the door, and the irritation on his face quickly turned to rage as he noticed the carnage, and the spirit holding fast to the girl’s body.

Michelle felt cold shock weigh down her limbs as the Goth girl fell backward onto her hands and feet, crossing the floor like a monstrous, deformed spider at rapid speed until she reached the window. How had she done that?

“I hadn’t expected company. I would have worn a better outfit.” With that the girl threw herself out of the open first-floor window, losing herself in the crowd of children ambling toward the parking lot.