Villain

All he’d been able to think of as his tongue plundered her mouth was sinking into her warmth. Would her wet little cunt grip his cock, massage it until he’d spilled every last drop of cum inside her? How would her nipples taste inside his mouth, and would she moan as he suckled them?

Groaning, he flipped the top button of his pants open and lowered the zipper, pulling the fabric down to his hips until he’d freed himself. His cock jerked as it popped out. He stared down at himself, at the bright pink color of his balls, the corded veins rushing with blood along his shaft. The swollen, plum-shaped head of his member glistened with cum, and as he curled his fingers around himself, he groaned and closed his eyes.

“Stella,” he told the dark, his grip closing hard as he pulled and jerked his dick in earnest. “I want to fuck…Christ, I need to fuck your pretty little cunt.”

He rolled his hips in circles as he touched himself, using his free hand to cup his balls. His testicles were full and heavy in his hand, balled tightly with need as he played with them. Drops of cream spurted on the head of his rod only to dribble down toward the folds. He wished he could put his mouth around himself so he could suck his own dick and pretend it was her warm, sweet mouth on him. He wished he could have Stella’s mouth locked around his cock while Faith did what she used to, buried her little fingers inside his ass.

In his mind, that’s what they did. He stood with Stella on all fours before him, desperately eating his dick; his hips humped wildly as he drove himself deeper and deeper into her mouth. Faith’s tongue was licking the swell of his buttocks, two of her fingers pummeling into his ass, parting the tight tunnel with fast, hard stabs.

Gabriel groaned, wondering what it would feel like to sink deep into Stella McKenna’s tight, wet cunt, wanting to know the feel of her pussy gripping around his dick, and to spill his milk inside her. He spat on his palm, then fisted his hand around his cock again, telling himself it was her cunt around him; taut, hot, wet. The smell of her arousal still clung to his nostrils, and he held on to it as he fucked his hand. No, not his hand.

He was fucking Stella McKenna. Fucking her like he wanted, like he needed. Her pussy was slick and syrupy, tightly clamped around him.

“Stella,” he groaned, envisioning her naked body under his, her cunt clenching his cock as he pounded inside her. He cried out as a third finger entered his ass, fucking him with equal vigor.

“Ah, Faith.” The words rumbled from his chest. “Oh, baby, I miss you. Yes, baby, fuck those fingers in, screw ‘em in, fast and hard.” He, too, screwed the luscious Stella McKenna fast and hard.

His hand squeezed around himself, mimicking the spasms he’d feel inside her cunt. Air hissed from between his teeth at the sudden pleasure exploding through him.

A deep, loud cry echoed in his ears, his body rocking out of control as he spilled himself in his hand…all over Stella McKenna’s hot, sweet pussy while three sure fingers continued to pound into his burning ass.

For an eternity, he lay panting on the ground, his pants slung low around his hips, his cock still rigid against his belly.

By all saints, he wanted to fuck again, and again, and again. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t remember ever having felt so hot, so desperate to screw someone, except with Faith. His body was a living hell, his nerves quivering in desperation, his body shaking with stark, hot need for this strange woman who’d barged into his life and complicated everything.

Gabriel didn’t want to even think of what would happen if she dared to come back again. He’d have to hold his ground, keep his desire in check. He couldn’t yield to it, or the spell might be broken, and Faith would be gone to him forever.

“Come to me, Faith. Please come to me now,” he whispered hoarsely. Before he broke his vows to her, before the magic waned, and before he lost her.

I swear by everything I am, I will not age a minute until you come back to me.

His words, spoken in a last goodbye as he lost Faith’s body to the flames, were like a slap in the face now. Every day he told himself he was a day closer to being with her again. And to think of risking losing her forever because of some foolish, sick lust!

Reaching toward the pile of filthy clothes beside him, he lifted his scepter and stared into the glass ball at the top of it. A diamond sparkled inside the glass cocoon; the smooth wood handle of his staff was thick and heavy in his hand, as long as his forearm.

If only he’d found that diamond sooner, he’d have paid that lowly gangster, bought Faith’s problems away from her, and she would have never—ever—done this to herself. To both of them.

Yes, it was Gabriel’s fault. He should’ve found this stone long before. He should’ve stopped the wedding. Should’ve killed the man who had stepped between them. Then, at least Faith would be alive, even if he’d be rotting in a prison somewhere.

Prison was far better than the sheer agony of this infernal wait. Better than the torment of having to be in his own company forever. Better than this wretched solitude.

“Do you at least remember me, Faith?” he asked hoarsely. “Do you remember me at all?”

* * *

No moment during the following weeks passed without Gabriel tormenting Stella’s mind. No thought at all without him being there. Stella swore she could hear him, hear him whispering inside her head, his deep baritone voice so easily distinguishable.

Come to me. Come to me now.

Was she making up these words? Did a fanciful part of her long to think these words real and true and meant for her?

Stella even wondered if this was how people became crazy: imagining things, imagining being haunted by dead people, imagining being put under a spell. Stella thought that at this rate, she’d go mad come winter, and be sent to the asylum like some of the older folks. The doctors there were reported to summon preachers to treat their clients, determined to rid their possessed souls of the dark spirits.

She wondered if Faith Harrison’s spirit was dark. Was it inside her, and accountable for her tortures?

Stella took great care not to let the townsfolk see her turmoil. They’d seen enough during other occasions, and she was loath to be subjected to their merciless tongues. All they saw was Stella McKenna, always keeping to herself. Hardly anyone noticed when she started to shake, or when her eyes looked red and bloated. No one came close enough to feel the heat emanating from her body; and they gratefully didn’t notice the fevers this time. Maybe they were used to them. Or maybe they were used to ignoring her altogether. Stella went about her day as usual, but there was nothing ordinary in her thoughts, in the way her sex would throb, contract and loosen, eager for a touch. For his touch.

Sometimes she couldn’t take it, it felt so acute. When the desire came too harsh, she would stumble to an alcove or a narrow alley and hide under the shadows so she could touch herself. She’d let her sensitized breasts spill out of her dress, let the air brush her nipples, let her fingers slip inside her underwear and let herself remember the memories. Those memories she had stolen from someone else, and which she sometimes wished were her own.