The Making of a Ghoul Ch. 1

Amber lay on her bed as August moved over her. His hands and cock bringing her effortlessly to orgasm. So effortlessly she wondered sometimes if she might not even be there. If she could ask him to phone it in. Except for that one minute at the end after she had finished crying out, when he held her head tightly in his hands, his face buried in her hair, his fluids rushing into her body and the trace of his lips on her neck.

He was heavy on her chest in the cool wet afterwards. Never moving until she began to stir. Then getting out of her way as she swung herself out of bed, gathered her kimono to her and went into the bathroom. The blast of the shower always drowned out the sound of the door as he left.

He had tried to doll up their sex at first. Little jokes, compliments, gentle kisses-- so gentle they melted this heart she'd taken such care to harden. But she'd pushed him away, sneered at his attempts enough times that he never tried anymore.

She never went to his house. Had never slept in his bed.

The shower was far too hot, burning against her skin. She let it scald her for a second then turned it off leaning her head against the wet tile. Anything to keep from returning to that empty bed. She knew what she was doing. This was a deal, wasn't it? One he had scrupulously kept. No heart, no soul. No love. Her heart beat like it would break.

She dried herself carefully and went back to the devastated bed. Entering it from the opposite side from the one she had left. To avoid the cold wet spot. His smell was everywhere. She changed the sheets and lit a stick of incense. It did no good. His smell was everywhere. She could smell him in her hair.

The clock by her bed was glowing green--- midnight. Two hours since he'd left her side. She knew she wouldn't sleep. The darkness of the night ached in her. It was as if she'd never come at all. The phone beeped, that little peep that means the company is testing the lines. Robyn's heart lurched in her chest, her breath tearing at her lungs. It could have been him. Asking her what was wrong. Asking her if she wanted him to make it right. Her hands were on the phone, touching the numbers before she realized who she was calling.

"Yes."

His voice was low, calm. He had answered the phone immediately. She thought about hanging up.

"You called me. You must have had a reason."

"Yes." She breathed.

"What's wrong?"

"I. . .need. . ."

"What do you need, Amber?"

"I don't know." She closed her eyes, My God, why had she let this get this far. "I'm not. . .I'm not Amber."

"All Right." She could hear his breath in the silence. She could hear him thinking. "You are not Amber, that's a place to start. You don't know what you need but you called me to get what you need. Am I correct?"

"I think so."

"Let's start with what you don't want."

"I don't want love." Her voice was frail and pleading, she almost hung up the phone when she heard herself. "And I don't want tonight to happen ever again." That last sentence was spit out, like a poison she was trying to get out of her mouth.

"It's after midnight. The darkest part of the night. And that's appropriate. I know what you need. My house, tomorrow night, after midnight." He hung up.