Forevermore Ch. 02

When Belinda was free, she grabbed her wrists and turned them. She touched the marks that her bonds had left behind. It hurt to speak and her heart still galloped in her chest, fight or flight. It was a panic attack but this time, her body had interpreted it correctly.

Something, or someone was trying to kill her.

"Come here," he murmured once she had been set free and there it was. The choice, run or surrender. Belinda felt the current that hummed under her skin. Pleasure and pain, she should save herself. "Please," he added in a hoarse voice that sounded almost as if the life had been choked out of him as well.

Instead of turning tail, instead of barricading herself in the bathroom, instead of running to the bar, out of sight, out of reach, Belinda curled up in his arms. She didn't want to save herself anymore. Belinda's legs quickly entwined with his. Her hair spilled down his chest and shoulders and she hid her face in the crook of his arm. Her hand found the indentation on his beautiful chest and rested right there, on his heart. The heart that didn't belong to him strummed away in perfect rhythm. His stolen body was even more handsome than it had been on the original owner.

"Woman," he called her and held her small hand to his chest. They were joined. They were a part of the other, inextricably woven together. Belinda wondered how many layers and lives had been shared between the two. "I'm wet with your orgasms," he rolled Belinda to him and face to face, she saw the sheen of her cum on his cheeks and chin.

"I thought I was dying."

"But then we'd be together, my love."

Jesus Christ, he really was trying to kill her, wasn't he? She reached her arms up around his neck and stared into those eyes. Those eyes that shone with love and adoration, the depths there reflected the light of the tunnel that she'd drifted off to. Till death do we part and maybe not even then, Belinda thought. She should squeeze his throat until there was nothing left, just those gray eyes, frightened of her finally.

"Would we?" she whispered and pressed kisses to his face. Run, the red capital letters typed across the screen in her mind. Get out. But instead she melted into his mouth and hummed as his tongue painted her upper lip and then her lower and his teeth nibbled both.

Edgar pushed her hair from her face. "Yes. I think so. All I know is that I was waiting for you there."

There. In the house. In the walls. He was a palpable vibration from the moment that she entered his dwelling. Waiting for her, had Edgar reached out to say hello? Had it been him prompting and prodding that made her hand sign the lease? Or was it all just because Belinda hadn't been responsible with her meds?

"It's not your imagination, darling girl," he heard her and Belinda bit her bottom lip hard. Dammit, she kept forgetting that they had no secrets. Or at least she didn't.

Edgar was still a mystery. His mind anyway, not his body. Not his erection, that was big and it throbbed. It lay against Belinda's thigh, it was solid and hot and she could feel the vein that ran the length of it. It was hot and full of blood. She reached out to touch him and moaned as her fingers found him. His skin was satin and his dick was iron. It nestled in her hand and dripped its sweet fluid on her skin.

"This isn't my imagination," she told him with a chuckle, "even my fantasies couldn't be this good."

"Let me give you everything you fantasized," Edgar kept his eyes on hers and that look was a promise. Something smoldered there and told her that the ropes were just the beginning of his desire to possess her. "I want you to ache for me like I do for you," there was a tremor in his voice and she could feel it in his skin.

"I do," she whispered as he moved to hover over her. "I do," she said again, like a vow as he touched the burning tip of his pulsing cock to her lower lips. "God help me, I do," Belinda meant forever as he opened her fully and thrust powerfully inside.

She was so wet that she took all of his cock, all the way down to his balls, in one violent thrust. It was perfect and she wrapped her calves around his ass as she curled her fingers in his hair. Her whole body hurt from him and yet, she needed more.

"Make me yours," Belinda groaned and tightened around his shaft. She gasped as the pleasure of him pulsated inside. "Make me yours, Edgar."

This time, she was rough. Belinda pulled his hair while she pushed her hips up. She drove into his pelvis to fuck him back. It was almost vicious. He yelped when she twisted his hair. The sounds that came from her were deep and she had become nothing but an animal. "Fuck me," she growled at him and locked him inside with her legs.

The bed groaned as he pushed harder and deeper. The slap of their sticky bodies kept the same tempo as their wild hearts. Belinda kept one hand in his hair and yanked Edgar's head back. She bared his tender, white throat. With the other hand, she dug her nails into his cheek and her lover growled and showed her his fangs.

Edgar fucked her faster. He pounded Belinda into the mattress and their bodies melted together. She purred with pleasure as her pussy gushed more of her hot, milky juices. Her need was a puddle below them and Belinda whispered, "Fuck me like a whore. Make Little Bell your whore."

She sank her teeth into his neck, right where the unearthly, unnatural pulse drummed. The life beating a little harder there as Belinda began to bite down. Was this just passion? Would she leave him with a hickey or would she rip his throat out and watch him bleed out all of her blood?

Belinda wasn't sure and at the moment, she didn't care because she felt the orgasm tremble right there, right at the deepest part of her. Fuck, he was deeper inside her than anyone before. Didn't that make her a virgin all over again?

She released Edgar's neck when she screamed. Again and again, she cried out as her body shivered around him and her pussy gripped him at her depths. He churned in and out until her ghost lover let out a bellow that could only be a struggle to live.

The little death bobbed up and down, back and forth. They were both caught in the current of pleasure and oblivion. Edgar trembled from head to toe as he called for her, as if lost in the shadow world once more. "Belinda," it was a cry from the depths.

Edgar came with a howl. He reared back once more as he exploded into her depths. She felt each spurt, each torrent, each hot little stream of her love's essence as it flooded inside. He filled her completely, her pleasure, his pleasure, their pleasure. He continued to rock back and forth inside and fucked Belinda full of his cum until he was spent.

***

Belinda sat up in a panic when the doorbell woke her. Fuck, where was she? What was happening? She put her hand down and felt the velvet material of her sofa. Her lovely green sofa was the perfect size, the perfect softness, the perfect fabric for long, glorious naps. Or passing out after another afternoon drinking session.

The doorbell rang again and she thought fuck whoever it was. Belinda's attorney paid all the bills and she hadn't been here in Fells Point long enough to make any friends. That eliminated the only two necessary reasons to answer the door.

"Belinda, come on, open up. I see your shadow."

Fuck! What the hell was Shelly Tolliver, her Hollywood agent, doing here, at Belinda's haunted house? "Shelly, is that you?" Belinda called out.

"Yes, of course it's me. Who else loves you enough to come to this dump to see you?"

Her house was not a dump, it was magnificent. It was her first real home in at least a decade. It just came with its own quirks and an interesting personality.

Speaking of which, how was she going to introduce Edgar to her agent? And where was he? Why wasn't she naked in his arms?

"Belinda, I'm serious. I'm worried about you. Open up."

Belinda hugged her legs close to her chest and pressed her cheek against her knees. Yeah, she was beginning to worry about herself too. She'd passed out and it wasn't even dinner time. Shit, she didn't even remember drinking. All she could remember was his eyes. Those eyes that shone with love or murder, depending on moment to moment. Either Edgar adored her or he was trying to choke the life out of her.

"Belinda, I'm going to call the police if you don't open up, hon."

Choked her, that was right. Belinda cleared her throat, it was tender and her voice was thick and froggy. "Hold on Shelly," she told the woman. Yeah, sure, she'd let Shelly inside but only after she figured out if she had just had the greatest fuck of her life or if she was completely mental. Bat shit.

Belinda stumbled as she found her footing and reached out for the handrail to steady herself. It was just one flight of stairs but it seemed to last forever as she climbed and climbed. Finally, she reached her bedroom door and whipped it open.

Nothing. Nothing and no one was waiting for her. The ceiling fan galloped at a steady clip and the curtain blew with the late afternoon breeze. Her bed was even made with hospital corners. The comforter was folded over and the blue sheet underneath was neatly creased.

Not even a head print on the pillow. Belinda felt the tears rise in her throat. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to cry because she was clearly so fucked up or because she was going to miss him so badly.

"Belinda? Yoo hoo," she heard Shelly call out.

Fucking yoo hoo. She was just coming to check on Fantasia, her cash cow. If it was just Belinda, she'd be allowed the dignity of being left alone to her own crazy devices. Fantasia Fox was going to fuck up Belinda's life until one of them was dead, that much Belinda was sure of.

A quick look in the bathroom mirror and Belinda shook her head. This was disheartening. Her face was pale and puffy and she had purple circles under her eyes. What else was new? Her hair was a matted, tangled mess, whatever. But what about the broken capillaries on her face? The ones that must have popped up in her struggle to breathe. And shit, Belinda tugged at the neckline of her tee shirt, if it was all her imagination, why did she have purple handprints there?

Why did her whole body ache like she'd been assaulted?

"Belinda, seriously, I have my phone out. The police will do a wellness check," her agent's voice had gotten shrill and demanding. Belinda nodded to her ghoulish reflection, deal with you later.

"Coming, coming, Jesus Christ," Belinda yelled as she came downstairs. She reached the front door and hesitated with her hand on the knob. She should really put on a scarf, a turtleneck, something to cover up the marks. But she wasn't going to be able to hide all of the evidence that she was falling apart.

She threw open her front door and said, "ta da."

"Christ, Belinda, what took you so long?" Shelly asked. Her mouth was a thin, straight line and her lipstick had seeped into the cracks around her mouth. Even with all the fillers Shelly had pumped into her lips, it was all disintegrating. Her agent looked around suspiciously as she entered Belinda's house. Her agent must have instantly felt that she wasn't wanted. "Are you okay?" Shelly asked as she scanned Belinda up and down.

Belinda shrugged, she didn't really have a ready lie that worked. "I was taking a nap," she waved Shelly inside. "Definitely not ready for company," Belinda headed back into the living room and picked up a cigarette and lit it. "Thanks for announcing everything to the whole neighborhood though," Belinda said with a sarcastic grin. "I'm sure they had no idea that I'm a fuck up until now," she collapsed onto her green sofa and took a drag.

"Well I'm sorry about that but when you don't return phone calls and emails, I don't know what you expect." Shelly remained standing in the foyer and kept her arms crossed firmly across her chest, refusing to accept Belinda's excuses.

"It's just been a couple of days," Belinda said as a cloud of smoke trailed around her.

"What are you talking about?" Shelly scowled. "It's been three weeks. Tomorrow is the first of October."

Belinda pushed her hair back, out of her face. "Really?" Had she lost track of time that badly? What had she been doing for days and days at a time? Drunk again? Fighting for her life? No wonder she felt soul weary.

"Yeah, it's been a while. Belinda, I wouldn't just show up out of the blue for no reason. I'm used to writers having," she paused and looked Belinda over. Mental breakdowns? Substance abuse problems? Shelly fidgeted with the buttons on her jacket. "Creative temperaments." she whispered, "Is it freezing in here or is it just me?"

No, it was just the murderous spirit that lived in the walls. His heartbeat, his energy, his sadness that had seeped into every inch of the house and now, it had invaded Belinda herself. "No it's always kind of cold," she admitted out loud.

"Let's go get some dinner," Shelly held her hand out, her crimson talons waved at Belinda. "Some food will do you good."

She meant instead of bourbon and pills and god knew what else Belinda was over here doing where she had lost weeks at a time.

Belinda didn't want to leave but she felt fairly certain that, with that look on Shelly's face, her agent wasn't going to take no for an answer. "Okay, sounds good," she grabbed her black leather backpack and bent over to slip on her sandals. "Shit," Belinda muttered as she winced, the pain shot down both legs and almost knocked the wind out of her.

Shelly asked, "You okay?"

Belinda's ass burned and the pain took her breath away. Worse, she had no idea what she had done or what could have caused it. Everything was a complete blank.

"Sure," Belinda lied and walked Shelly to the door.

"So this place is adorable," her agent said with a smile as they began to meander down the brick sidewalk. "Very period," she put her glasses on and stared at the sign for Belinda's favorite bar. "How about this place? The Horse You Came In On," she read out loud.

Belinda made a face and put up her hand, like she was about to tell a secret. "Lousy food," she lied. The Horse actually had great food. Now her stomach was growling and she could totally go for a bacon cheeseburger and fries. If they went inside The Horse, someone was sure to spill the beans about how much time Belinda spent bellied up to the bar.

As they continued up the street, Shelly grabbed her elbow and leaned in, like it was a secret. "By the way, I'm no editor but the new book? It's freaking fabulous. Your best work by far. So all the angst and the rehab is definitely doing wonders for your writing."

Her new book?

"I sent you a copy of my new book?" Belinda felt as if the hands were around her throat again. Choking the life out of her. Dammit, it was one thing to write Fantasia's romance novels but quite another when a dead person wrote them. Put a whole new spin on ghostwritten, Belinda smirked to herself. But really? Her best writing? Fuck, that really hurt.

"Yes, you said it was a rough draft," Shelly rubbed Belinda's forearm. Her agent's jewelry slinked along her raw skin. "But I have to tell you that I thought it was perfect. Just like that."

"Really?" Belinda felt the sensation under her skin, literally crawling out of her skin. It felt like withdrawals, it felt like she was going to be sick. Was it just that she wasn't drunk enough to deal or was it the absence of the oppressive presence?

"Yeah, it's great." Shelly guided her like Belinda didn't have her sea legs yet and she wondered if she actually needed help to walk. She'd lost so much time. Where had she been? "I've got something to tell you," her agent sounded excited and steered Belinda toward an open door. "This place looks good."

The Thames Street Oyster House did look good. The door was open and the scent was heavenly and besides, Belinda was in no position to refuse. Crazy people didn't get to be picky. "Sure," she nodded and let Shelly lead her by the hand to an outdoor table. Belinda felt like she was outside of her body, watching it all, like a ghost. Click, puff, drag, clink, sip, she had a Coke and a cigarette and a menu. Shelly had insisted on the Coke and Belinda guessed part of that was due to the worried look her agent gave her right now.

"Belinda, you know that I care about you, right?" Shelly peered at her over her glasses. Shelly normally never wore glasses, not when anyone worth impressing was around. Shelly was as plastic and Hollywood as anyone could be and still be alive. She had peroxide, blonde hair. Her skin was Botoxed and tanned and made up so that it had a plastic, Barbie doll sheen. Shelly had fake tits and a fake ass and fake nails and fake teeth. She still insisted that it was all good diet and yoga and definitely not drugs. It was partially due to all the fillers in Shelly's face but it was difficult to know how Shelly really felt about anything. Belinda nodded yes anyway.

"So you'll take this the right way when I tell you that you look like shit."

Belinda snorted and smoke trailed from her nostrils like a dragon.

The waitress brought bread and plates and Shelly ordered for Belinda like she was a child. "What happened to you, honey?" Shelly grabbed Belinda's arm and rolled it over. Outside, in the near twilight, the golden light enhanced the marks on her skin. Her wrist was swollen and the deep crimson and purple slashes and welts on her skin were disturbing. "Were you raped, honey?" Shelly whispered the word raped, offensive just to say the word. "Because something definitely happened."

If it looked like rape and it felt like rape, did that make it rape? Somewhere in the back of Belinda's mind, in another room that might as well be another dimension, she could almost hear herself beg for it. "Fuck me," she had begged him in that raspy, burning throat voice that sounded as if she were possessed of an evil spirit.

"Please, fuck me." It was gone. It was just an echo of Belinda's imagination, like the sound of heavy feet on stairs as the Boogie Man comes to visit your room at night.

"I wish," Belinda drew her arm back, out of sight and placed her hand in her lap, under the table. "Where does a girl have to go around here to get date raped?" she asked with a cackle.

"I'm being serious," Shelly chided her. The woman must be worried, she had grabbed a dinner roll and began to butter it.

"Seriously, I fell," Belinda lied and played with her straw instead of the second cigarette that she wanted. "I'm stupid and clumsy and I wasn't watching where I was going."

"And drinking too much," Shelly added before taking a big, buttery bite.

Belinda exhaled fully, yes, yes and drinking too much. Was that going to be what everyone remembered? She really needed to write something memorable as Belinda before she died because otherwise it was just going to be stories about her setting fires and falling down.

"I just don't want you to fall apart on me before we meet with the HBO people."

Shelly waded into the real reason that she had come knocking on Belinda's door. The HBO people; that sounded like television and residuals and red carpet events, all the things that made Belinda's skin crawl. This bullshit was Fantasia's domain and Belinda wondered why the bitch wouldn't just die already. As her agent chirped about her plan for world domination, Belinda looked to her left. There, across the street, on a bench, wasn't that Edgar?

Was he watching her intently with those gray, predatory eyes? It didn't make sense but it seemed that he was studying her every move. He could smell her from there. Edgar could smell her cigarette and bourbon scent. He could pinpoint the last traces of her vanilla bubble bath and her sweat. She was sure that the predator could smell the smell of her orgasm, his and hers mingled as they trickled down her thighs and soaked her blue jeans.