‘What is this pole-dancing whereo
f you speak?’
‘Don’t matter. Thing is, love, we’ve got a problem.’
‘Evangeline.’ He seized her hands and she felt the flame that still burned in him, despite his phantasmagoric appearance, warming her to her core. ‘What is amiss?’
‘Her ladyship. She’s taken it upon herself to save him from me.’
‘The woman Shields?’
‘That’s the one.’
The spirit seated himself on the well wall and gazed abstractedly at the stars.
‘She has ever been a thorn in our flesh, has she not? Her ancestor it was laid open the manor for the witchfinders’ use. What is her purpose?’
‘She says she doesn’t think he deserves what’s coming to him. She knows what we mean to do – of course she does. Over the centuries, there ain’t been a Shields that’s bothered their heads about our business. They’ve let us get on with it. Too many troubles of their own. But she … I dunno. I think she’s fond of him.’
‘He is loved?’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t go that far. She just fancies him, I reckon. But if it goes any further …’
‘Is it like?’
‘Well, you know, I think I’ve got him well enough hooked in. At least, I hope I have.’
‘Hope isn’t enough, Evangeline. Hope will not bring me back to glory. There are still three months until the harvesting. You must keep his blood up and his thirst high for you. There is no other course.’
‘I know it. God, John, it’s hard, though.’
He drew her on to his lap and cradled her head in his shoulder. His snowy ruff tickled her cheek in that comfortingly familiar way and she felt herself reassured.
‘There’s no other girl in the whole of England could win him,’ whispered John. ‘No other girl in the whole of England can make a man’s heart pound louder and his cock stand prouder than my Evangeline. You are my sweet and wicked little miracle.’
His hand pulled up her skirt in bunches, drawing the fabric slowly over her sun-kissed thighs. She stretched out her legs, assisting him, and laid back in his arms until her neck tipped and coils of her hair trailed in the tufty grass. He kept an arm braced beneath her spine, holding her firm while she began to raise one leg.
‘This has done fine work for me,’ said John, patting the spreading slit between her legs that was exposed by her actions. ‘This saves me a little more each time it is filled. Fill it again, Evangeline, fill it endlessly. Let your greedy cunt be my salvation.’
His fingertips nestled in the wet channel, strumming Evie’s clit while she let her leg point up to the stars.
Now, here, with his hand upon her, she felt a different order of pleasure than she did in her everyday dealings with village lads and passing fancies. Those were playthings, to be used, to be enjoyed and discarded once the orgasm had been gained. This was a deeper connection, a rooted thing, the fruit of ancient seeds.
She and John had history spanning three and a half centuries – she continued her line and, she hoped, she would end it. The time was approaching when all the efforts of her ancestresses would be realised. John would return and they could enjoy the togetherness they were never granted in life. Oh, she longed for it.
Her clit vibrated with her lover’s touch. She felt the strength of it, making her cunt quiver with need for his cock. She shoved the triangles of fabric that covered her breasts roughly aside, exposing her hard nipples to the evening air. With her own skilled fingers, she twisted and tweaked them, working in concert with John to bring her body into a state of possession. Possessed by pleasure, desire, and love, she whipped this way and that in her lover’s arms until her orgasm had its way with her.
And then it was John’s turn. Tipping her from his lap, he pushed her on to her knees and had her leaning over the old well wall with her skirts about her waist.
‘Who’s had you here today?’ he enquired gruffly, piercing her cunt with three long fingers.
‘Three village lads and the man who owned the pub where I won the contest.’
‘Is that how you won?’
‘No, it was fair and square! But I gave it him afterwards, in the tap room.’
‘I see. And here? Who’s had you here?’