Set The Dark On Fire

“So? I didn’t think I was going to get it.”

He was probably telling the truth, but it didn’t matter. “I’m sorry,” she said, opening her bedroom door and letting in the cool night air. A coyote howled in the near-distance, its plaintive cry sending a shiver down her spine. “Good-bye.”

After he left, she wanted to lie down on her bed and indulge in a good, long cry. Instead, she took the bus schedules out of her desk drawer and studied them, wishing the idea of leaving didn’t tear her apart inside.

12

In the dark, she was running. Behind her, she could hear labored breathing. Heavy footfalls and the rustle of tall grass.

The hanging tree loomed before her, dark branches against moonlit sky. She knew she was running toward it. But what was chasing her? A lion wouldn’t have made a sound.

Fire exploded before her eyes like a cloudburst, illuminating the scene. On the ground in front of her, Hamlet crouched, mouth wet with blood.

She stopped and blinked and he was gone.

Everything was gone.

She stood alone in the quiet dark at the Graveyard, hands clenched at her sides, searching for her pursuer. She looked behind her warily. There was no one there.

A strange sound, one that was oddly familiar, whispered from above. The creak of wood. Swaying weight on a taut length of rope.

Fear crept up her spine, making the little hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end. Slowly, very slowly, she turned around.

Mama was there. Swinging. Her chin was down, tucked into her chest, a fall of wavy hair hiding her face.

Shay cried out, clapping her hand over her mouth.

Mama’s head snapped up. Her eyes were wide open, dark as wine. “Don’t look back,” she said, lifting one slender white arm to point.

Of course, she looked. And saw only the glint of metal as she was struck.

She woke up, gasping for air, clutching the blanket to her throat. The ground was hard and her surroundings strange. The dark shape of a man wavered into focus. Instinctively, she covered her head and screamed.

“What is it?” Luke asked, taking her hands away from her face.

Shay stared up at him in blurry-eyed confusion. The fire had burned down low, but she could see him, all hard lines and sharp angles. She could feel him, rock solid and just as cold. “I had a nightmare,” she said, moistening her lips.

“What about?”

“I don’t remember.”

He released her hands but didn’t move away.

“You’re freezing,” she murmured, touching his shoulders. They were as if sculpted from ice. “Why didn’t you get under the blanket with me?”

Every part of his body tensed further, including his mouth. He said nothing.

Shay pushed off the blanket and came to her feet, shivering as she added the last logs and the remaining palm fronds to the fire. It sparked up, blazing bright for a few moments then settling into a slow burn.

Luke watched her, motionless.

Already chilled, she returned to her place on the blanket. Not asking or inviting, she just pulled him close and covered both of them, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her face to his chest, trying to generate body heat.

“My knee,” she whispered after a moment. “It would feel better if I, um, elevated it.”

Without a word, he insinuated his leg between hers, lifting her knee over his hip and fitting into the notch of her thighs as naturally as any man had ever fit against a woman.

Shay shivered again, but not from the cold.

As the time passed, it became obvious that neither of them was suffering from the effects of the cold any longer. With the fire at his back, and her at his front, Luke warmed up nicely. His skin felt like heated marble beneath her palms. The night wind rustled through the palm trees and the burning logs crackled, and, under the blanket, things got downright toasty.

She was as close to him as a lover, and her body knew it. With her leg resting on his hip, her breasts touching his chest, and her arms around his neck, it was an explicit embrace. His hard thigh was snuggled right up to her crotch. Her lips were just inches from the pulse point in his throat. Through half-lidded eyes, she watched it throb.

He smelled smoky and musky and hot. Her mouth watered to taste him.

The remnants of her nightmare faded away, unable to compete with the sensory overload she was experiencing here and now. Her body swelled with longing and her skin tingled for his touch. On some level, she knew he wanted nothing to do with her emotionally. He didn’t even want to desire her physically. He seemed to think she was beneath him.

In that moment, it was exactly where she wanted to be.

Trembling, she leaned forward and placed her open mouth on his neck, touching her tongue to that pulsing vein, tasting the evidence of his desire. He drew in a sharp breath and tightened his hand around her upper arm, pushing her back.

At first she thought he was going to get up and leave her. She didn’t have to look down to know he was aroused; she could feel the heat of him, see the proof in his glittering eyes and taut face. But unlike other men of her acquaintance, he didn’t let his body govern his actions, and he’d walked away from her sporting an erection before.

She wasn’t sure why he stayed, but when he threw back the blanket and feasted his eyes on her near-naked form, she knew he wasn’t going to walk away. With the absence of his warmth and the rush of cool night air, she was aware of every inch of her skin, every part of her body. Her bra and underwear weren’t quite dry, and neither were his wool-blend pants. She could feel the damp heat against her inner thigh.

His gaze raked over her like a caress.

She was conscious of his eyes on her mouth and her barely covered breasts, the slight curve of her tummy and not-so-slight curve of her hips. As always, her stiff nipples were tenting the thin cotton of her bra, begging for his touch. It was kind of embarrassing how prominent they were, considering the size of her breasts.

“Do your nipples ever relax?” he rasped, staring at them.

She moistened her lips, tasting the salt of his skin there. “Um… yes.”

“When?”

“I’ll let you know.”

He smoothed his palm over the dip of her waist, and her entire body flexed. She clenched her hands into fists, fighting the urge to tilt her hips forward and ride his thigh. Avoiding her straining nipples, he traced the upper edge of her bra with his fingertip and paused at the tiny clasp between her breasts. Instead of releasing it, he moved on, dragging his thumb down her middle, burning a hot trail all the way to the front of her panties. When he reached the apex of her thighs, his eyes met hers, and her tummy jumped.

He may not have recognized a yoni when he saw one, but he knew his way around the real thing well enough. His fingertips grazed the plump lips of her sex and slid along the crease. She was so swollen and sensitive, if he used any more pressure, she would come.

And he hadn’t even kissed her.

Shay realized she was lying there, acquiescent, letting him call the shots. She was enjoying what he was doing, of course, but she’d never been shy about being an active participant in sex. Stranger still, she didn’t want foreplay She wanted his tongue in her mouth and his body over hers. She wanted his penetration, his climax, his control.