Reckless: Shades of a Vampire (9 page)

"That was some kind of good," he says.

Emma smiles.

"I was thinking maybe we can do another kind of kiss or something," Josh says.

"No," Emma says. "A kiss. That's all. Remember?"

"No," Josh says. "Best I recall you first said you wanted to fuck. That's what got me down here. Then it was well, 'just a kiss.'

"Granted, it was a good kiss. But it certainly wasn't a fuck because look at this boner I've still got. I can't go home with that."

Josh crawls on hands and knees over to Emma. She has pulled her bra back into place and pulled her dress down. She's brushing the hay from her hair.

Josh moves to her mouth with his. She can smell her juice.

She likes it.

Emma opens her mouth as Josh closes in with his opened. They lock in a kiss, lashing tongues around like it is their first kiss. Her heart starts pounding. She feels blood flowing to her crotch, and to her breasts.

"Oh God," she thinks.

Emma moves her mouth to Josh’s neck as he moves harder and faster, and harder and faster against her body as she pulls him in closer, and closer. She licks his neck, and wraps her lips around a spot that she’s started to suck. Emma’s tongue pushes against his neck and her mouth pulls his skin away, into her mouth.

Josh reaches his right hand to the zipper on his jeans, pulling at it while still moving, thrusting into Emma’s groin and panties. Emma moves toward him, reaching with her body as he fumbles with the zipper. She hears the zipper partially open, and feels Josh moving his hand around his pants.

“I want to be inside you,” Josh says.

Emma doesn’t respond.

“I want to be inside you.”

“Don’t lust, Josh,” she whispers. “Don’t lust.”

"Take my cock," he says.

Emma slides her hand down toward his crotch.

"Ahhh," she sighs when her hand finds that his long shaft is free from his pants, pointing straight up at her.

She pulls back her hand.

"It's so big," she thinks.

"I want to be inside you," Josh says.

Emma straddles Josh, pulling her dress up to her waist and pushing her lace panties against his shaft. He lays back on the barn floor. She moves, and he can feel her warm juice oozing from the material. 

She pushes against him harder, and faster, while leaning her face down to his neck as if she were kissing him.

Harder and faster she slides against his cock.

Josh reaches a hand toward her panties, trying to move them so he can penetrate her.

Emma tightens her mouth around his neck as she keeps thrusting her hips up and down for friction.

“Unnnhhh,” Emma eagerly moans, the sound muffling against Josh’s neck.

As Josh fumbles with her panties, Emma closes her eyes, and clinches her teeth --flexing and clamping them into Josh’s neck.

Strike!

“Ahhhhhhh,” she sighs, clinching her teeth harder, and harder into his neck, as her jaw muscle contracts like a vice.

“God!” Josh mumbles. “GOD!”

Emma clinches her jaw tighter.

Warmth flows into Emma’s mouth as her incisors pierce into Josh’s neck the way a rattlesnake had pierced hers. She feels like warm chocolate is flowing through her veins, and she gulps it down eagerly.

“Ahhh!” Josh grunts.

But that’s the last sound he makes.

Emma drains his lifeblood into her mouth, gulp, gulp, gulp, keeping her lips sealed against his neck so that not a drop leaks out. Emma stops moving her lower body, directing all of her energy to her mouth, wrapped around Josh’s neck.

Josh is not moving, but his right hand still clutches near his pants zipper, and his left hand has fallen at her side. All of his weight s against Emma as she drinks the warmth from his body, swallowing audibly like a baby drinking from its mother’s breast, with her teeth firmly embedded into Josh’s neck.

Emma drinks Josh’s blood the way she drank lemonade on a hot summer afternoon.

With each swallow, she feels more refreshed.

With each swallow, Josh becomes more lifeless.

Her head feels light as she fills with his blood. Emma stops sucking, and swallowing. Her teeth are still clinched into Josh’s neck, but Emma’s eyes begin to blink, heavy in her fullness. She closes them, but only for a minute she thinks, resting her weight against the barn floor with the weight of Josh still on top of her.

It’s not unusual to hear dog barking in the distance when she sleeps with her windows open. But Josh wasn’t there. He’s there now, though. It is dark, but she can see the rafters in the barn from the faint moonlight seeping in, and she feels the hay and dirt beneath her when she sweeps a hand to find bearings. She is not in her room. She is not in a dream.

Emma pushes against Josh, but he doesn’t move.

“Josh,” she says, shaking him.

He doesn’t move.

Emma gasps.

“Josh!”

She rolls him off her, into the barn floor. He makes a soft thump. His right hand is covering his crotch. Emma sees a bruised bite mark on his neck. She remembers kissing him. Two piercings on the top. Two piercings on the bottom. Emma pauses, running her tongue across her incisors, trying to remember.

Josh’s eyes are rolled back, and his eyelids are open. His body is stiff.

“Ahhhh,” Emma cries out, before covering her mouth with her right hand.

She runs her fingers across her lips. They are moist. She remembers now. She remembers how she tingled and felt warm inside when she kissed Josh’s neck. She remembers closing her eyes to rest a moment when her head got light, and her stomach full.

Emma punches Josh with her right foot.

He doesn’t move.

She punches him harder with her foot, kicking him. He doesn’t move.

Emma leans over Josh, tucking her hair behind her ears, and placing her lips against his, gently, to feel with her cheek if he is breathing.

She holds her lips against his, and closes her eyes.

She remembers to see if he is breathing.

He is not.

“Oh!” Emma says, falling back on her hands and bottom to the floor. “Oh, Josh. You’re dead, Josh. Oh! My goodness, you are dead Josh!

“Oh!”

Emma clutches the post Josh was leaning on when she arrived, pulling herself to her feet. She walks to the barn door and looks across to the parsonage. She can barely see the house on the thin-moon, partly cloudy night. But lights are glowing from the kitchen at the parsonage.

Emma sees an image moving behind the curtain.

“Dear Goodness,” she says. “They’re home.”

She wonders what time it is. But it doesn’t matter. She’s got to get home. Fast. Emma looks at Josh, wondering if she should leave him there, or do something with him. She thinks about the old well, behind the barn. Nobody uses it. The water is tainted. Nobody even ever goes back there, not since Michael left.

Michael. Oh, Michael, Emma thinks.

But Josh. Right now, she must do something with Josh.

Emma looks to the left, and to the right, to make sure nobody is coming. The highway is quiet. She hears the dog barking in the distance and crickets chirping, and sees by the thin moon, riding high.

She walks to Josh, and bends down, placing her hands under his shoulder. Emma clasps her hands under Josh’s armpits, pulling him toward the barn door. His boots drag in the dusty barn floor, leaving two parallel lines, like the tracks of a small road.

“Goodness, Josh,” Emma says, digging her heels into the ground. “You are heavy.”

Emma stops, dropping Josh to the ground. His head plunks with a thud. She unfastens her sandals to gain better footing, tossing them near the barn door. She clutches Josh under his armpits, pulling toward the well with all the strength and traction she can muster.

Slowly, Emma inches Josh toward the well. She leans him against brick and mortar circular wall surrounding the well opening, wiping sweat dripping from her brow and into her eyes with the backs of her hands. Emma counts, “one, two, three…” and on that she bends her knees, keeping her back straight, and grabbing Josh under his armpits while facing him.

Emma pushes upwards with her thighs, raising Josh off the ground. When his waist clears the top of the well wall, she thrusts his torso backwards. Josh flings head first into the well, his feet flopping over and in from the gravity pull.

Again, she counts, “one, two, three…” and on that, she had hears a big splash.

“Goodbye, Josh,” Emma said.

Emma brushes off her dress. She wipes sweat from her brow. She picks up her sandals and fastens them to her feet. She starts walking away from the barn to the parsonage. Emma climbs over the barbed-wire fence by the road surrounding the Denton farm, walking across the road and parsonage grounds to her home.

When Emma opens the front door, her mother, waiting in the kitchen, greets her in an instant at the sound of the close.

“I do declare Emmaline Margaret Mays,” her mother shouts. “Where have you been? Tell me, where have you been child?”

“I’m not a child, mother.”

Emma keeps walking, toward her room. She can hear her mother’s footsteps, coming from the kitchen toward the hallway, in the same path she has walked. Her mother emerges in Emma’s room, standing before her.

“Emmaline!” her mother says, her hands on her hips. “I asked you a question. Where have you been child? You said you were going home from church. We come home. You are not here.

“So tell me: Where have you been child?”

“I was. I did. I’m here.”

“Don’t get smart with me, Emma. You have not been here, God is my witness.”

“I was walking home, and I just kept walking, thinking,” Emma says.

“You’ve never been home this late Emma,” her mother says.

“What time is it?”

“It’s quarter after ten. Your father has been asleep for half an hour. He told me to tell him when you got home.”

“It’s okay mother. I just went for a walk. That’s all.”

“Well then, come on into the kitchen,” her mother says. “You must be famished. You haven’t had a thing to eat since lunch.”

“No, mother, I’m okay. I’m full.”

“You’re full? How could you be full? I kept a plate out for you.”

“Just cover it mother,” Emma says. “I’ll have it tomorrow.”

“Well, okay Dear.”

Emma’s mother reaches out her right hand, brushing it softly against Emma’s cheek.

“Well, I guess I worried for nothing,” her mother says. “I know you are growing up. And it looks like you had a nice walk. Your cheek has a nice glow. You are radiating, dear.”

“Good night, mother,” Emma says, walking toward her closet.

“Good night, Emma,” her mother says. “I’ll tell your father everything was all right. But don’t you do that again, Emma, you hear?”

“Yes mother.”

“Don’t forget to say your prayers Emma,” her mother says. “Thank God for all your blessings.”

“Night mother.”

“Father?” she says.

“
Children, obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord
,” says her father, citing Colossians 3:20.

“Apparently you forgot about your scripture last night,” her father says.

“What? No, father.”

“You were out late last night without telling us why, or where. Your mother says it was almost ten when you came in.”

Emma sits up in the bed, clinging the bed sheet to her neck for covering her nightgown. She clears her throat.

“I just went for a walk, father. You’ve never told me I couldn’t do that.”

“Don’t get smart with me,” her father says. “I don’t have to tell you. You know I don’t approve. It is not proper for you to be out in the night, like the Whore of Babylon. You have disobeyed. Disobeying your father is a sin.

“Get out of the bed,” he says.

Emma hesitates.

“Get out. Now!”

Emma drops the sheet to her ankles, turns and drops her feet from the bed to the floor, standing before her father in her nightgown. She folds her arms across her breasts, and looks at her feet.

Her father steps to within inches of her, standing tall, and looking above her head, presumably out the window.

“Get on your hands and knees and ask for God’s forgiveness,” he father says.

Emma turns, faces the bed, and drops to her knees. She props her elbows on the mattress, clasping her hands.

She hesitates, and then speaks.

“Dear Heavenly Father,” she says, keeping her eyes open and peering out the window. “Forgive me for not understanding I could not go on a walk.”

“Emma,” her father says. “Don’t get smart.”

Her father unfastens his leather belt, pulling it through the loops of his pants. Emma turns, glancing back at him.

“Look the other way,” her father says. “And pull up your gown.”

“It’s up.”

“Higher,” he says.

Emma had been spanked many times over the years. Each time, her father had her pull up her gown, or dress, because he said striking bare skin leaves the lasting, memorable mark.

Nothing has changed now that she’s out of high school.

Emma doesn’t hesitate to follow his command, even though she knows the pain coming, because she understands there is no getting out of it. He will lash her, hard, until her skin bruises and whelps, and she might as well get it over with.

So Emma pulls up her gown to the top of her panties, exposing her thighs and allowing him one layer closer to her buttocks. She leans against the bed and braces for impact. She hears her father snap the belt together, getting it double-layered.