Forevermore Ch. 02

She must have really tied one on. That was the only explanation for the buzz under her skin and the ache that seemed to come from her bones. Yeah, great idea, you fucking idiot, Belinda told herself. Get black out drunk in your creepy, haunted house.

"Good morning," the voice said. It was the deep voice that sent ripples down her body. It was the voice from her dreams and the house and the very walls themselves and now it came from the pillow beside her.

Belinda gasped and opened her eyes. It all came back with a rush. She put her hand out to touch his face. Jesus Christ, that face. That face that was a stranger's and yet, it was so familiar in some way that she couldn't quite remember. "Am I crazy?" Belinda whispered and she was almost afraid to hear the answer. Yes, of course you are. Didn't you learn anything in rehab? The voice of reason occasionally narrated her downward spiral.

The face smiled and she felt it in her soul. It was a beautiful smile, radiant and warm and his eyes danced with joy. Those expressive, gray eyes that could be so haunted and so savage were now on the verge of laughter. "Are we both crazy?" he asked with a chuckle that came from somewhere deep down. Belinda felt it in his chest as she realized that their naked bodies were entwined. "It wouldn't be the first time I have questioned my sanity," he confessed and clasped her face with both hands. His hands trembled and it seemed that even skin to skin contact couldn't be believed. But his hands were solid and warm and his breath on her face was a perceptible wash of his heat.

Alive. They were both alive and yet lingered in between. This house, this place, even this bed was in a place of shadows. They had definitely infected each other with madness and longing. Was it still considered crazy when someone else shares your illusions?

"Are you real?" Belinda ran her hands up to his black curls. His hair was an unruly, wild mop and she wondered if it weren't because his face had been buried between her legs in the night. "Really real?" she whispered as she touched his pale face. He was so handsome with his generous mouth and square jaw. His neck was dark with what looked to be a five o'clock shadow. How could that be? None of it made sense but the bristle of his beard was rough on her hand.

Her fingers wandered down to his chest and she sighed as she touched him there. His muscular chest was covered with more wild, black hair. This hair was coarse and thick and there, at the center of his pecs, was a heartbeat. He breathed and Belinda's hand raised and settled. His heart beat and his body was solid and his hands were on her. He was as alive as she, maybe more so.

"I think so," his deep voice was tender and soft and it seemed that he too needed assurance from her. His eyes searched Belinda's, "Are you?"

Her mouth was drawn to his. Her lips reached for him and Belinda seized him hungrily. She pressed into him with her whole body as their kiss began. He moaned inside her as he gave himself over. His tongue delved along the bottom of her upper lip and teased her tongue to come out and play. His hands moved from Belinda's face to her shoulders as he tasted her.

Belinda melted into him and took his breath inside. He no longer chilled her. The man's mouth was wet and hot and she could feel his heart race as the embrace continued. She could feel it tremble on her fingertips as they explored each other. His skin was alive and her hands were fascinated. He felt like warm velvet and her fingers melted into the soft heat of his flesh.

"My Belinda," Edgar murmured breathlessly between kisses.

She finally surrendered to it. Sure, she was crazy but this was as real as anything she'd ever known. No, that was a lie; this was much more real than her ex-husband and their white on white life.

There was no other explanation. Nothing else could be true; he was here with her. "Edgar," she whispered as he caught one finger in his mouth and playfully bit the tip. She laughed and pretended to escape his arms. When he snatched her closer and pressed the full length and width of his body against her, Belinda purred as she felt all of him. "Oh, Edgar," she blushed and felt the heat rush through her body.

He was hard.

This kiss was a mad rush of breath and a tangle of tongues as Belinda let her hands wander. Her fingers ran down from his solid chest, down the core that moved as he panted, down to his pelvis. Her fingers insisted on discovering every inch of his body. He opened his legs and gave himself over to her with a groan as her hands moved to his cock.

Had it just been so long since she'd been with a man? Or was he just made for her, she wondered, as her hands were drawn to the magical feel of her lover's flesh. Belinda felt him on her fingers and sighed with lust. It was impossible to be so soft and yet so hard, to meld so perfectly to her hand. The steel inside strummed as her fingers studied him. She hummed as their kiss continued. She ran her fingertips over his slit and she felt his precum spill into her palm.

"What are you doing to me?" he moaned when she broke the kiss and followed her body's command to kiss him everywhere. Belinda's mouth was open and she felt the drool spill down his chest. She licked his throat and tasted the vein that trembled there with his new, steady pulse. She kissed her way to his chest and let the tip of her tongue outline the muscles there. Belinda followed the indentation of his abs to his chiseled hips. All the while, she stared at his hardness. His beautiful dick beckoned to Belinda with a throb and a wave, as if it needed to remind her that they were actually old friends.

She cooed and covered the bulging head of his manhood with hot breath. "I'm tasting you," she whispered. Belinda glanced up and caught his soulful eyes, wide and astonished as she did just that. He stared, mesmerized, at her tongue as it dripped onto his flesh. His fingers dug into her shoulders as he gasped. "Loving you," Belinda told him as she licked along his dripping slit. His liquid was warm and salty and the scent of him there was familiar. Her hands ran over his body as she tasted him. His balls were drawn up and hot and full. His sack was velvety and warm and covered in more of his thick, black hair.

His cock had Belinda spellbound. It was thick and dark pink, almost red. It was a hot rope of veins and it strained to get at her. She curled up into a ball between his beautiful thighs and stroked his skin. There was something familiar about him, impossibly familiar and yet, somehow, it was still the first time for both of them. She opened her mouth and let her eager lips settle around the bulging head. Belinda bathed him softly back and forth with her tongue. She hummed with pleasure as he let loose a river of his liquid and she swallowed it down, greedy for more.

Belinda looked up and felt the rush of goosebumps down her back as she caught his eyes. She was lost there, happy there. Belinda could hear him in her head even though the only sounds that came from his mouth were grunts and growls. He was an animal that had to rut, a predator in heat.

"Take me, love me, have me," the voice begged. Belinda opened her mouth wider and dripped down his shaft. She tasted his salty, manly flavor and savored it in her throat. She closed her lips around him tightly and drank him in. Belinda felt him clench and tremble under her.

Belinda kneaded his balls, back and forth in her small hands. She pushed her mouth further down and took almost all of his dick inside. Her mouth had never been so full. She breathed him inside and her beloved moaned and thrust his hips up. Edgar fucked her mouth.

Belinda heard the voice. It guided and directed as his fingers curled in her hair. "Yes, take all of me, take me inside. God, yes, Little Bell," and his hands pushed her down. The cock invaded Belinda's throat and pushed into her esophagus. She fought and tried to pull away. She choked on the intrusion and tried to claw her way back up but the hands insisted.

Even if she couldn't breathe, she didn't want to stop. She would rather drown like this, drown and die of pleasure.

He gasped and the electric tremor ran under his skin. Belinda drooled down his beefy dick. Her nose was pushed into the puddle at the base of his cock. He thrust and growled and took her roughly, like a dirty whore. She should be on her knees, dirty and pushed up against a wall. Fucked and used, the hands were tangled into her hair and the saltiness of his seed poured down her throat.

"Take me, suck me, take all of me," the voice trembled with heat and longing and need. He wasn't asking, this was a command. His belly rolled and quivered and his balls were boiling hot beads in her hands. The man inside her throat was about to burst with pleasure. That was what he wanted, to feed her every last drop of his ecstasy.

"Yes, you're mine," the voice was just a whisper, hoarse and full of need, "All of you, just mine."

The stream of his seed burst inside Belinda's throat and she drank it down. She couldn't pull away, she couldn't fight it. Her body had surrendered as the flow of his milky desire pumped and the hands insisted that he hold her down. It was far too hard and he was much too rough. His dick was sure to bruise her inside and Belinda couldn't struggle anymore for breath.

"Belinda," the voice in her head was the voice of the man and he released her just in time. Belinda coughed and wheezed as she took in air, just in time. Once her lungs were fully inflated, the hands gripped her once again. They drove her down in one vicious thrust to her esophagus once more. He exploded inside her throat and pulled her off again. Then, once more, his orgasm continued and it rushed inside. Belinda only tasted, only breathed him.

He cried out and it was a savage, almost tormented sound.

When he finished, his fingers were soft. He released her head and smoothed his hands through Belinda's black hair. His whisper was tender and trembling as he brought Belinda up his body, into his arms. "Darling, my darling," he shivered and curled himself around her, breasts to his chest, legs entangled. "What are you doing to me?"

Belinda's throat burned and her eyes stung with tears. "You hurt me," she just mouthed the words. Her lips were sore and she felt bruised and fragile.

His eyes were large and sad. Edgar pulled her even closer, she was breath of his breath. "Oh my love, I'm so sorry. I would never hurt you knowingly."

Belinda shivered as the knowledge made her cheeks burn. She was ashamed and the longing frightened her. It crashed over her body and she clung to him just in case she was lost in it, lost in him. She swallowed hard and it stung. With every breath she tasted his brine.

"Do it again," Belinda whispered as their eyes met.

***

It was a little past noon when he released her. Belinda winced as she pulled the bathrobe around her shoulders. She was sore. She felt like she'd been through a fight, some kind of physical altercation and that seemed to be accurate.

It was a fuck fight, she thought with a wry smile, they made love like animals. Belinda pressed the button on the coffee pot and reached for her cigarettes as the black brew churned and dribbled into the pot. Half the day was gone and yet it had seemed like no time at all. She was weak and shaky. Her legs and arms were rubbery and her pussy throbbed. Her lips were sore and just to hold the cigarette between them took effort. She'd never had sex like that. It felt like something she should be frightened of, like she'd been attacked. It seemed like something she'd barely survived.

Belinda exhaled smoke and poured herself a cup of coffee. Maybe it had always been like this. Maybe she just hadn't gotten laid in so long, she smirked, although that didn't seem right. No one had ever done this to her. She watched as Edgar entered the kitchen and felt the smile on her face. He cut through her billow of smoke to wrap his arms around her waist and she realized that no, this was unlike anything else.

He pushed her hair back and tucked it behind her ear. "My love," he greeted Belinda. He watched her, studied her, more like a predator than a lover.

She had been consumed. There wasn't a place on her body where he hadn't been. Belinda felt as if something of hers had been left behind in the bed. He had taken something from her. "You want some coffee?" she asked him between puffs.

He shook his head. Edgar was naked and his skin shone with sweat and lovemaking. His hair was a wild mess of black curls and his eyes twinkled, focused on her and only her. "No, I don't need anything but you, Belinda," his whisper still seemed to come from everywhere all at once.

Even with the delivery boy's body, there was something otherworldly about him. Shit, she felt the chill run down her spine as she recalled the young man with the washboard abs. The man that she had brought home to fuck. Belinda knew that she had forgotten something. Here she thought the kinkiest thing that was going to happen was that she'd be fucked by two men.

Not murder.

"Oh god," Belinda mumbled, she remembered it all, all at once. "What happened to him?" she asked and took a deep, almost painful drag. "What did we do?" The poor Viking boy, he never saw it coming, did he? Here he thought that he was going to throw a bone in a lonely housewife and bam, he'd disappeared instead.

Edgar ran his fingers through her hair and smiled. "You didn't do anything, Belinda," his lips grazed her forehead. "You're innocent, my love, not to worry."

She didn't feel innocent though. She felt like she had conspired to snuff out a bystander. Fuck, she needed a drink, maybe worse than she'd ever needed one before. Even Belinda could see how alcohol wouldn't make this situation better.

Okay, not to worry that they technically had murdered the delivery boy. There was no body, not a dead one anyway. Was it murder or had they fucked him into oblivion? Had he shapeshifted as they made love? Was he now just a puddle of cum?

Or was he now in the spirit world, trapped within the walls around them? Was he electrical vibrations that quivered and pulsed like a ghoulish heartbeat from beyond the grave? Or had he become the host that had given her lover new life?

"How is it that you're here with me?" Edgar whispered on her neck with his arms around her waist.

"You mean, here in Fells Point?" Belinda melted in his embrace. She closed her eyes and savored the feel of him, the scent of him.

"Yes, my love. Why are you here, of all places?" Edgar chuckled. "Aren't you rich and famous?"

Belinda snorted and flicked her cigarette. "Rich? Yes, I guess so but I'm not famous. Fantasia Fox is the famous one."

Edgar took her by the hand and led her to the living room. "Tell me everything I've missed," he murmured and held her hands as he guided her to the green sofa. "It's odd. I know you but I don't." He scowled and his forehead creased, "Does that make sense?"

It did somehow. Perhaps Edgar knew her from reading about her, the way she knew him. Belinda touched his face and smiled at the familiar light there. She felt as if they'd known each other all along even if that was impossible. "Fantasia Fox is my pen name, she is sort of famous. I mean, not like you though," not immortal.

He laughed, "I was never a rich man so I don't know how much notoriety matters." His gray eyes gleamed and he kissed her forehead tenderly. How was this the same man who had just savagely fucked her until she was on the verge of tears? "And how are you not married? You're so breathtakingly beautiful."

Belinda sighed and bit her lower lip.

"Are you married?" he took her hand, he looked worried.

"Oh god, no," Belinda turned to face him. "I was married but my ex-husband has just gotten his new wife pregnant," she whispered and trembled as Edgar ran his hands down to her belly.

"Good," Edgar whispered as he drew her close and laid Belinda's head on his chest. "Then I don't have to worry about sharing you."

"No, you don't have to worry," Belinda said, her mouth screwed up tightly in a bow, "I'm all yours." She swallowed hard, the tears were a hard knot in her throat, "If you want me." It had been so long, had Steven ever really wanted her? Belinda couldn't say for sure anymore.

Edgar pulled her closer and kissed her, a hundred little pecks, adoring kisses on her forehead and cheeks and even the tip of her nose. "I've only wanted you," he whispered. "Don't ask me how I know, but I know that I've always wanted you."

Belinda felt the tremor of want run down her spine. Just his voice alone, his hands, his eyes on her. It was an overwhelming combination.

"Were you madly in love with your husband?" Edgar wondered as he pushed her hair back from her face. "Was he the one?"

Madly in love with him? Enough to need her stomach pumped when he said goodbye? Belinda pursed her lips as she contemplated. Was Steven White the one? With his chiseled, good looks and his perfect handshake, his infectious grin and his dimples, his broad shoulders and his fake tan.

"No, it wasn't him," she whispered and pressed her head into Edgar's shoulder. Something about living in Steven's all white world seemed stifling now. "I did want a baby though," she remembered with a sudden grip in her chest.

"Come to me," he pulled Belinda into his lap and he pressed her head to the crook of his of his neck. "I feel certain that I can promise you this. Someday, my beloved, you will have another name and so will I. We will meet in another time and another place. Perhaps we won't even remember why we are in love, but we will be. Then, my darling," Edgar looked her in the eye, "then we will have a houseful of babies."

It seemed so simple and perhaps that was the explanation for all of it. Belinda watched his strong hands circle her flat belly and she quivered as his fingers left behind a vibration that coursed through her skin. She believed him, no matter how crazy it sounded. She could see them; children with black hair and huge, blue eyes. They had eager, little smiles and pale skin. They were beautiful children that had been made with so much love.

Edgar traced the tips of his fingers up her arm. Even after all of that, even after he had spent hours in her bed and ravished her body and soul, his touch was something that Belinda craved. "I need to know everything," he murmured. "I can't be this lost with you. There are things that you think and I don't understand," his mouth was a straight line of concern.

"Well, there has been some time, you know, since you," Belinda nodded. She didn't want to say the obvious word. Since he died. Since the man of her dreams had crossed over into this place that was neither here nor there. Everywhere and nowhere. Him and something else altogether.

"It has, I suppose." He ran his hands from her shoulders to her waist. "I need books, I need newspapers," he held on to her tightly but now he was distracted. It was the same impatience that she had felt when he had wanted to write. Edgar wanted everything all at once and Belinda knew exactly what that felt like.

"You need the internet," Belinda told him with a smile.

He broke away. His eyes were intense and he seemed to be ready to jump out of his skin. He had so much nervous energy, he crackled with it. Belinda wondered if it weren't his genius that demanded everything flow quickly.

"Come on, I'll show you," she took him to the office and turned on the Surface Pro. "Do you remember this?" She scooped her wild mess of black hair over her left shoulder. "When you were writing with me?"

He came in close, behind Belinda. His scent washed over her, the scent of warmth and sweat and sex and salt. It enveloped her just like his skin. Jesus, Belinda had an addictive personality but could she be addicted to a person?