Page 62 of A Foster Fling
“This late in the afternoon?” Her brows crumple together, her mouth dips down. And that’s when I notice the fine crow’s feet along her eyes, the extra lines around her forehead. She’s here for my energy.
“Yes, I admit I’m bored.”
“Do you need new books? I could bring you a machine that plays music. Would you like that, Zelinda?”
“I would like to walk in the meadow,” I confess. “I would like to sing outside in the rain.”
“Those are dangerous things to want.” She walks past me as I close the door. “Do I have to worry, Zelinda?”
“No,” I tell her. “You don’t have to worry. As you can see, I’m sleeping rather than walking in the meadow.”
She hums as she walks up the stairs, and then she stops at the top, looking around. My heart is frantic, my mouth is dry, but then she carries on farther inside, and I let out my breath. I hurry up the stairs to find her setting up the basket and the pie tray on the table.
“You should open up a window,” she raises her brow. “It’s quite … stuffy in here.”
“Yes, well… I’ve been bored,” I reiterate. I can feel my cheeks coating with heat because she already can smell the evidence of arousal in my room. Now, I must play the part.
“Have you missed your mother?” she asks, a knowing grin tipping her mouth upward.
“You are the only one I see,” I tell her as she comes close and pulls the strap on my robe.
“I’ve been so tired, child,” she admits as she pushes the robe off my shoulders. Her fingertips pinch my nipples and force a moan from my mouth. “John has kept me busy, and I fear he’s beginning to suspect something.”
“Suspect what?” I groan as her fingers travel down over my stomach.
“He suspects I’m hiding something. I pick apples from the orchard, I bake pies he can’t eat, and then I disappear into the forest. I fear he will follow me one day.”
When her fingers meet the apex of my thighs, my eyes roll back in my head, and then I remember Abbe under my bed. A sharp gasp escapes me, and I look into Pearl’s eyes.
“Is something wrong, child?” she asks as her finger dips down through my folds. “You’re absolutely soaked.”
I am soaked, but not with my juices. Everything she’s touching belongs to Abbe. I begin to feel his cum slip down my thigh, and she gathers it up with her fingers, her nails scraping along my skin.
“So very wet, child,” she whispers. “I have never felt you like this.”
Her words send my heart frantically beating against my ribs, but I keep my face still as I look into her brown and blue eyes.
“So very bored, mother.”
She leans forward, taking a nipple into her mouth, her sharp teeth piercing the surface of the flesh. I hiss at the shot of pain. There’s more pain as her fingers slip up inside of me. Two, maybe three of them, and they pump in and out. The sound of Abbe’s cum filling the room around us. She works her fingers in and out of me, her thumb meeting my clit, and she rubs vicious circles into it. She walks me back to the bed, and I fall backward, her fingers still deep inside of me. Those claws scraping along my inner walls.
“Are you going to come for me, daughter?”
I swear I hear him gasp under the bed, so I moan loudly. I imagine those fingers are his big cock stretching me wide, filling me completely, and my back arches off the bed as I suck in a breath. Then I’m screaming through my release.
“Is it me you scream for, Zelinda?” Pearl asks as her fingers languidly thrust in and out of me, dragging my orgasm out a little further. “When you touch yourself, is it me you scream for?”
“Yes,” I pant. Ilie.
She sits up on the bed and looks down at me, slipping the three fingers into her mouth, and sucking every bit of fluid off of them. I watch her wide-eyed as she tastes what must be mine and Abbe’s releases. Her face doesn’t change, but that one blue eye flashes with something, I don’t know what.
“Let down your hair, Zelinda,” she says, her voice soft, melodic. “I can’t stay long today. I fear John will follow me, and if he finds you, his bad blood will surely desecrate you in here.”
Her words scare me when I sit up straight in the bed. If John comes here, he will violate me. Maybe I am cursed after all. Any man I meet is bound to violate me before they love me.
She grabs the brush from my bedside table and runs it through my golden tresses. She hums, something low and dark. The sound of it resonates inside of me, forcing me to move, to sway back and forth on the bed. As the bristles of the comb scrape along my scalp, her lips land on my bare shoulder, the humming vibrating along my skin.
“Do you love me, Zelinda?” she asks.