Читать книгу The Tree Within - Stephen Campana - Страница 18

Clad in a T-shirt and a pair of short sweat pants, Kanye sat at the foot of the bed, remote in hand, trying to find something to watch before turning in for the night. This would be his last night at the motel. His last night at any motel, chasing Jack Horn around, tracking his movements, planning to kill him. He had made up his mind. He was leaving tomorrow morning. Leaving the town of Silverton, leaving this mission, and leaving the church he had served for twenty years. He would have left tonight, but he had a slight headache and he preferred driving during the day.

There was a knock at the door—a soft, almost apologetic tapping, as if the person really didn’t want to bother him. That was good; he didn’t want to be bothered. He walked over to the door and opened it. Standing before him was a beautiful young woman in a sliver robe, cinched at the waist, holding a bottle of wine. She had a purse slung around her shoulder. She was black, like him, with a gorgeous mane of white hair that flowed gently down her shoulders and neck. She had sparkling turquoise eyes, full lips, and skin like glass. On her feet were diamond encrusted slippers that matched the color of her robe, and in her hair, a few inches above her left ear, a solitary short stemmed flower.

For a moment Kanye could not breath; he just stood there, mouth agape, staring at this heavenly vision. She smiled at him, revealing pearly white teeth that glistened marvelously against the backdrop of her black skin. “Got a little something for you,” she said, holding up the bottle of wine. “I heard it was your favorite.” It was a red Merlot. It was his favorite. “Yes,” he said in a shaky voice, “It is. How did you know?”

“Oh, I know things,” she said, running a finger down his arm as she stepped into the room. She strolled over to the bed and placed her purse on the night stand. Then she got into the bed, resting her back against the headboard, and patted the mattress, saying, “Well, aren’t you gonna join me?”

Kanye did not know how to respond. For thirty years, he had kept his vows of celibacy. And now, on the eve of his intended departure from the church, comes this temptation. As if reading his mind, the woman said, “One drink isn’t going to hurt, is it?”

“Well . . . I suppose not,” Kanye said, approaching the bed. He got on it next to her. “That’s better,” the woman said, smiling, then retrieved two wine glasses and a cork screw from her purse. “Would you like to do the honors?” she asked, handing him the bottle and the cork screw. He took them from her, his hands quivering slightly. He steadied himself and dug the cork screw into the cork, wrestled with it for a bit, then popped it. A little spilled onto the mattress.

She took the bottle from him and poured some into one glass, which she handed to him, and some into another, which she kept for herself. She held her glass up and said, “To pleasure” and took a big sip. He did the same. Then she opened up her robe a little, revealing the inner outline of her breasts. She took another sip and moved closer to him. “Do you like it?” she asked, smiling coyly. He didn’t know if she meant the wine or her, although he suspected that she had both things in mind. “Yes,” he said weakly, feeling very much like a teenager during his first sexual tryst. “Good,” she said, sliding her free hand behind his head and pulling it toward her lips. Just inches before they touched she whispered, “I want you to enjoy yourself.”

As he sat there frozen by a mixture of indecision and pleasure, she took his glass in her fingertips and placed it on the nightstand, along with her own. Then she pulled her robe off. She was naked underneath. Her breasts were like two perfectly round melons and her legs long and shapely. Looking at him and smiling, she licked two fingers and slid them slowly down her torso, beginning at her breasts, moving to her navel, and finally between her legs, where she began slowly rubbing, as a series of soft, sensual murmurs of pleasure escaped her full, moist lips. The whole time she kept her eyes locked on Kanye’s—a kind of warm, invisible embrace that he could feel almost as intensely as an actual physical touch.

“Well,” she asked, “Aren’t you going to join me?” Quivering, he undressed and fell into her arms. Her embrace was like nothing he had ever experienced, or even imagined, before. Her lips, pressed against his, sent ripples of ecstasy shooting through him. Her breath, so soft against his skin, tickling his ears, making him shiver from head to toe. And her voice, when she did speak, was like the gentle strumming of a violin, lulling him into a dreamlike state of almost unbearable peace. For several hours, she took him to new and unimaginable heights of bliss, each one more incredible than the last.

When it was over, she lay there beside him on the bed, her head propped up against his chest, and said “The pleasure you feel now; you can have it every day; would you like that?”

He nodded helplessly. “Good,” she said, “then all you have to do is stay here and kill the boy. Do you think you can do that for me?” His exhilaration quickly turned to dread. He did want this woman, wanted her more than anything, but not at such a cost. “I can’t do that,” he said.

“Oh, come on, now,” she said, running a finger through the hairs on his chest, “I’m sure you could.” Her finger was hot, like a coal. Plumes of smoke rose up from his chest as she pressed harder. “In fact,” she said, “I’m sure you will.”

The pain was intense. He tried to move but couldn’t. “Please . . . let me go,” he pleaded in a barely audible voice.

“First, you have to promise,” she said, placing her palm flat against his chest. It felt like an iron was searing his flesh. Smoke wafted up in thick plumes now, and he could smell his flesh burning. “Promise or you will feel this way all the time,” she said. He cried out in agony, but still he resisted giving his assent to her awful demand. She began moving her hand in circles, searing him deeper and deeper, until the pain became unbearable, and he cried out “Okay, okay; I will do it!”

“Good boy,” she said, and removed her hand from his chest. The smoke subsided and, except for a slight residual burning sensation, he felt nothing. The woman put her robe back on and headed for the door. “Enjoy the wine,” she said, blowing him a kiss as she left the motel room.