Nocturnique

NOCTURNIQUE by Desiree Erotique

NOCTURNIQUE A Chippewa Publishing Publication, October 2005

Chippewa Publishing, LLC. 678 Dutchman Drive, Suite 3 Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin 54729 Available Formats: Adobe Acrobat Reader (PDF) Other available formats: Palm Doc (PDB), Rocket/REB1100 (RB), Pocket PC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB), hiebook (KML), iSilo (PDB), Mobipocket (PRC), OEBFF Format (IMP), Microsoft Reader (LIT)

NOCTURNIQUE Copyright © 2004 Desiree Erotique Edited by Ricki Marking-Camuto Cover Art by Marianne LaCroix Proofed by Brandy Overton

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole, or in part, by any means, without the written consent of the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination, or are fictitiously used. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

WARNING: The contents of this book are intended for mature audiences only. Language, violence, and sexual situations may apply.

Dedication This story is dedicated, with love, to my Samhain bridegroom, Robert Perry. My gratitude goes out to my editor, Ricki Marking-Camuto.

NOCTURNIQUE

Shawn would have liked to have watched the rest of the Animal Planet documentary, but Hillary had already ran the dishwasher, fed the dog, and locked the doors. She now returned to the den doorway dressed in an angel-print flannel nightgown. She’d just finished with her nightly shower and her short, brown hair was nearly dry. Glancing at her, Shawn sat up straight on the sofa and out of sheer habit, reached for the remote control, and pushed the power button. Before the television screen even dimmed, Hillary reached in and turned off the overhead switch on the wall. Shawn looked over at her again, and she offered a smile that looked affectionate and warm in the soft glow of light from the hallway behind her, which almost softened the pragmatic aura that made her look older than her twenty-four years. His heart pumped a little harder at the prospect that, just maybe, the smile was an indication she was receptive to some physical affection, too. “Come here and give me a kiss,” she said in the sunny voice he had not heard from her all day. Truth was she had done little besides complain about the movers since he had come home from work; the men had scuffed the frame of the front door when they delivered the items they had bought at the church fund-raising auction. Shawn had not noticed it when he had first stepped into the house but the moment he had found Hillary in the kitchen and tried to hug her, she had taken his hand and led him back to the door for a look. She was furious and vowed to call the movers in the morning to demand they come and polish the frame. At this announcement, Shawn had come close to making the mistake of telling her what he thought; that it was hardly noticeable, and besides, the volunteer movers had spared him from having to borrow the company truck. Just as these sentiments formed in his mouth, an all-too-familiar furrow started to press over his wife’s brow. From experience, Shawn knew that to say anything in the men’s defense would only deepen the furrow down to the bridge of her nose. After that, he might have to spend the rest of the evening listening to her pray on the phone with her minister—praying, of course, for the redemption of his soul. If

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things got too bad, it might through Hillary into another apoplectic fit. They had steadily grown worse over the years, and the last one had sent her to the hospital. Her recovery had tested what remaining patience and self-respect Shawn possessed. Hillary had told everyone that it had been his fault she had been so angry in the first place, which subsequently made him a pariah amongst the socialite congregation and a number of their neighbors. Wisely, Shawn bit off the grateful comment about the movers before it he spoke it. To complicate matters, the scuff came from the one thing that Shawn had bought at the auction for himself—the swivel office chair. Not that he was hurting for a new chair, but as long as he had been shoveling out the money—proceeds going for the youth minister’s new swimming pool, of all things—he had seen no reason to not go ahead and get it for his home office. Why it could not have been the antique dresser or walnut chest or even that ugly, chipped, claw-foot bathtub with the peeling mushroom slip-guard stickers all over the bottom…hell no, fate had deemed it proper that the cause of trouble had to be the chair. Plus, sooner or later, he knew, Hillary would be in the mood to remind him exactly which auction item had scuffed the precious doorway. At least her disposition had grown a little brighter since after dinner. He remembered that she was looking forward to the brunch tomorrow with her committee. Perhaps by now she realized something as trivial as the scuff was not worth such a headache. He rose from the sofa, kissed her cheek, and slowly, cautiously, drew her into a hug. For the first time in several weeks, she did not immediately back away. Instead, she rubbed her palms lightly up and down his back. “Shall we say our prayers together tonight, Shawn?” His hope sank a little, but as she was still in his arms, he lowered his face to her neck and hazarded to nuzzle it lightly with his mouth. He caught a stirring trace of her real smell, which the twice-daily showers and thickly applied deodorant could not completely sterilize. There had been a time not too many years ago when Hillary smelled like a flesh and blood young woman, when she still acted like the vibrant girl he had fallen in love with in high school. Life had been fun then, and Hillary’s easy affection had made him glad to be a man. All of that ended when those church people came knocking on their door one day. Whatever they had said had touched off some spark in Hillary, a spark that rapidly soared into a consuming blaze. Soon, everything they had once shared as a couple became a sputtering, damp wick beside religious rhetoric. Church activities and hobnobbing with that elitist Women’s Committee was Hillary’s life now. Shawn had often wondered what kind of friends these women

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would have been to her if on that first day they had not fished out of her that Shawn had recently inherited his father’s furniture business. “What say we wait a little while for that, Hillary?” Her arms stiffened around him. “It’s late, dear,” she said softly, “and the committee will be here for brunch, remember?” “So? You already have the cold cuts and everything tucked away in the fridge. I can help you set up the dining table before going to work.” Hillary managed a sparing, amused sound, but her tone was sharp, as if scolding a child. “Oh, Shawn, we agreed: no more debauchery until we’re ready to conceive a baby.” “Well,” he murmured, “if not debauchery, how about just some old-fashioned good lov’n?” “Oh, you little devil!” At her tender laugh, Shawn’s hope soared. Then he realized she was not speaking to him, but Cranberry, her reddish-brown Chihuahua. The dog was standing on his hind legs at her foot and pawing anxiously at her leg. Hillary scooped Cranberry up and hugged his face fiercely against her cheek. Seeing the dog lick her mouth and chin, Shawn’s passion dampened like a just-lit match thrown into the toilet. “Yes, Cranberry,” Hillary cooed, “you know it’s bedtime! Daddy and I were just coming up.” She stood and gave Shawn a peck on the cheek. “We’ll have the blankets warm for you, Daddy!” Shawn concealed his impotent agitation with a fake yawn. “I’m going to check out that new chair and be right up.” “Oh, your office chair,” Her lips skewered up in her best-feigned smile. “You like that old thing, don’t you?” I’d better after all your bitching about the damned thing, he thought. Instead, he answered with forced cheer, “I ought to actually try it out for a few minutes, don’t you think?” “Well, OK, but don’t be too long, dear.” She turned and walked out into the foyer. Shawn watched as she carried the pooch up the staircase, kissing and making baby talk to it all the way to the bedroom. “Sleep well, Cranberry,” he mumbled sourly. For a few moments, he remained in the semi-darkness, listening to Hillary’s faint footsteps upstairs as she moved across the bedroom floor. Cranberry yipped a couple of times and the springs of the bed mattress creaked. Then he heard Hillary begin her nightly prayer. She was never quiet about doing it, but, of

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course, from what he knew about her church, it seemed humble, silent prayers were not part of their faith system. Then again, if Hillary could act a like more like Jezebel now and then instead of always the withered old nun, he might have been tempted to hoot out a few grateful prayers to the Almighty, too. Shawn sighed and tried to dismiss Hillary’s latest rejection as he stepped into the foyer. He padded past the staircase and to the door of his office. Opening it, the heat in the room surprised him. As he snapped the light on, he noticed at once the film of moisture that had formed on the window behind his desk. Odd, he thought. There had been no rain for weeks, and September nights in this part of North Carolina held little humidity. He closed and locked the door and forgot the window as well as the heat. Rubbing the stiffness at the nape of his neck, he regarded the new chair a moment. It was just a practical office chair, hardly worth the hundred bucks he had paid for it. Someday, he contemplated, he would have to get it reupholstered; the red velveteen that was on it now just was not manly. He paced a little about the room to relieve the stiffness in his legs. Looking about, he admired what he had done with the room that had once been just a huge storage closet. He had decided to convert it to an office soon after inheriting his father’s business. Even though he kept important business files on the computer and their tax receipts in the desk drawers, Shawn considered the room more of a haven than an office. Hillary had no interest in coming in except to read his emails and monitor his computer use. Three or four times a week, he managed to sneak in and read the news online without having to hear Hillary complain that every war, catastrophe, or murder spree was a warning of God’s displeasure. By the wall was the old couch he occasionally slept on to separate himself from Cranberry’s presence in the upstairs bed. Next to the couch, a crate contained old science fiction novels he re-read when he found the chance, though he had to content Hillary in the belief he kept them only as an investment. Behind some papers stowed away in the wall safe was even a bottle of whiskey. It was the whiskey he had come to the office for now. With the first real yawn of the evening, he stepped toward the safe and touched the dial. Before he could turn it, a low swish sounded behind him. Turning his head instinctively, he saw the office chair swiveling slowly on its base. He looked to the door, and saw that it remained closed and locked. Raising his eyes to the window, he saw that it, too, stayed securely shut. He took a wary breath and stepped around the spinning chair. He crouched but saw no one under the desk. Mildly baffled, he rose and placed a hand on the arm of the chair so that it stilled. I must have bumped the desk, he thought. 4

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He started toward the safe again, but a moan, whisper soft and carnally husky, paralyzed his legs. His heart pounded sharply as he turned, and his arms prickled with goose bumps as he saw the chair spinning again. A frigid sweat broke over his entire body, a sweat that singed against the heightening heat in the room. The base of the chair began to squeak with its accelerating rotations. Shawn’s lungs tightened. He glanced to the door, almost hopefully, and grappled for a steady voice. “Hillary?” The only sound that answered was the squeak of the chair. Shawn closed his eyes and drew a long breath. The sound did not fade, and when his eyes opened again, the chair was still turning. “Take me!” The whisper drained the strength from his legs. As he made his way to the door, a husky moan trailed after him. He turned the lock and threw the door open so heedlessly that it banged his temple. Swarming black dots filled his vision. The moan turned into a rueful sigh. His ears noted the sudden stop of the chair, and the office floor creaked behind him as if under the weight of advancing footfalls. His heart slammed against his chest. Stumbling into the foyer, Shawn pulled the door shut. Except for his anxious breathing, the house was as quiet as an empty chapel. **** When Shawn awakened sometime later, sweat filmed him despite the coolness of the bedroom. At once, he was aware of the hard-on he had developed. He got out of bed and walked into the bathroom without even turning on the light. After he had relieved his bladder, he returned to bed and pulled the heap of blankets about his neck. Sliding toward Hillary, he inadvertently elbowed Cranberry who was lying snug against her back. The dog let out a half-conscious, covetous growl. Shawn grumbled and rolled back over to his portion of the bed. The only thing he was aware of as sleep descended again was the heavy tick tock of the grandfather clock. Just as this comforting sound started to detach him from consciousness, the cozy covers curtly peeled off him. “Dammit, Hill!” He reached down for a corner of the bedspread when the mattress weighed down beside him. His eyes snapped open. Just as his brain registered the nothing his eyes beheld, something clasped his scrotum; it was fingertips, as soft and feminine as he remembered a woman’s fingertips to be. 5

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Shawn’s heart lurched. The bed crushed beneath the invisible weight, and unseen hands glided up his thighs. A lithe burden moved over him; rounded, silken flesh scaled his legs and straddled his hips. A fragrance, vacant of all perfume except for a lush and primordial femininity, filled his senses. “Take me!” The voice sent a bolt of terror up his spine, inspired and fomented a desire deep in his loins. His rationality scattered and stupidly, he looked to his sleeping wife and her mutt as if they might know the words that could banish this hallucination. “Take me, Shawn. Fuck me!” With his heartbeat thundering in his head, Shawn reached out and felt the soft flesh that had saddled him with its seeming weight and tantalizing odor. His trembling hands caressed the ample hips above his pelvis and slowly moved until he found himself cupping firm buttocks. The unseen thing lowered so that its hardened nipples nudged his face. His hands slid up the hips and cupped the smooth waist. The skin of its belly was smooth, burning hot. Timidly, he clutched the breasts and traced the nipples with his fingertips. The hips undulated over his crotch, and a pussy, searing wet, moved up and down his swelling dick. With a little moan, it sat straight up on him. Shawn felt the invisible seducer’s head toss back. The feel of hair tickled his balls and the thighs beneath his hands tilted forward. The unseen body leaned over him and a mouth tasting of ambrosia musk kissed him. Shawn’s hands moved down between the thighs. He touched a moistened pelt, and beneath this, nether lips wet and heated. As a tongue penetrated his mouth, he probed a finger into the warm orifice. The muscles squeezed him, and the lips over his mouth released an anxious moan. Shawn turned his face and glanced at Hillary again. She was sound asleep, but Cranberry had awakened and crawled over her to the other side of the mattress. His dark, marble eyes stared at Shawn nervously. With a frail yip, he lowered to hide behind his mistress altogether. Shawn forgot the two of them and smiled as the lips kissed his ear. “Fuck me, Shawn, fuck me!” The wanton request whetted Shawn’s desire to a tormented need. He lifted the unseen hips and brought the hungry pussy down roughly over his engorged, hard dick. He entered a taut sheath inflamed and pulsing with juices. The body began to fuck him with fast, eager strides. Almost agonizing was Shawn’s pleasure at the pure and unabashed debauchery. His climax was intense, encompassing. The entity’s strides ascended to a rutting pitch, and moments later, he felt the nether muscles clamp around his dick. A rapturous moan spilt from the unseen lips and echoed against the bedroom walls. 6

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Shawn’s eyes searched the darkness before him. A musky aroma had filled the air, so real it made his mouth water. Although he could feel the sweat-gilded flesh, he saw nothing but the ceiling, walls, and outlines of the familiar furniture. The body crumpled over him, embracing him with its soft, desirous arms. He kissed the mouth offered, savoring the earthy, sensual taste. Then, the mattress creaked again as the body unsaddled him. He watched for the door to open, but it did not. After a time, when his heartbeat settled to a steady pace again and all he smelled was the Downy on the sheets, he knew that whatever it was he had just made love to, it had departed the room but not the house. Even as he started drifting back to sleep, he felt its presence beyond the bedroom walls. In a language that transcended the spoken word, it whispered amorous promises that teased his lust and reassured his manhood. Cranberry hurdled back over Hillary’s shoulder. The dog turned twice then rooted down on the mattress between them. Shawn smiled and for the first time in years, petted the cringing little blockade. With a laugh, Shawn turned over and left the dog to monopolize its mistress’s warmth. **** Shawn left early for work the next day, happy to let Hillary have her way in preparing the house for her brunch. She was on the phone to the poor movers when he set out, and he rather pitied whatever it was they were about to face, but he forgot them as soon as he pulled the van out of the driveway. There was only one thing on his mind that morning: the anticipation of the coming night. His frustrated desire made the hours lengthen, but nothing distressed him: not his foreman’s report that a bid had been reneged; not the news that the dental coverage for his employees would be dropped unless he forked over a substantial rate increase. Even his hypochondriac secretary’s complaining of her latest aches, pains, and suspicious moles was only white noise to his ears. When five-thirty hit, he left work behind. On the way home, he ventured into the next city and picked up a bottle of wine. It had been four years since he had bought any, since before Hillary’s conversion to her all-consuming religion. He stowed and locked it away in the glove compartment—paper bag, receipt, and all—while he drove home. On pulling into the driveway, Shawn noticed fresh tire tracks on the front lawn. Upon the front stone porch of the house, Hillary stood behind the screen door with Cranberry in one arm. On the outside of the door was one of her church buddies—he thought her name was Michele, though he could not be sure. As he 7

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got out of the van and started toward the door, the woman looked his way and offered a wane, polite smile. Hillary, dressed in her new Kathy Lee teal print chiffon dress, was talking so heatedly from the other side of the screen door that she did not even acknowledge his presence until the other woman said “hello” to him. “You would be late when I really needed you home,” she snapped at him finally. She opened the door and stepped out to give her friend and not him a hug. “Thank you, Michele. I just don’t know how I would have handled this without the support of my friends.” Shawn nodded as Michelle passed by on her way to the sidewalk. “What was that about, Hill?” She let out an exasperated sigh. “I am sorry, Shawn; I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. There was no way for you to know what was going on.” He looked at her with an effort of interest. “What was going on? Nobody is in the hospital or anything, are they? I wondered when I saw those.” At his gesture to the tread marks she said, “Oh, no! No one is hurt. Come on in and I’ll tell you.” She opened the door, and he followed her down the foyer and into the living room. There, she plopped onto the sofa with Cranberry in her lap. Her eyes widened as she looked up at Shawn, and her smile was baffling for its mixture of amusement and disquiet. “What is it?” he asked, sitting down beside her. Cranberry made a croak of a growl, then made two circles on Hillary’s lap and laid down. “Today during the brunch, Wynona asked me what all I bought at the auction. She didn’t get to go, you recall, because of her niece’s wedding.” Shawn did not recall, actually, but he nodded anyway. “Well, after we ate and had our meeting, I offered to show the girls what we’d bought. They were all highly impressed, indeed, as I expected. But when I showed them your chair, Brenda almost fainted right then and there on your office floor!” This Brenda, Shawn knew, was the busybody head of their Women’s Committee. He had never liked the woman and certainly did not care for her prying around in his office, but he sensed whatever Hillary was leading to took precedence at the moment. “Come to find out, Brenda had told the volunteers that the chair was not to be put up for bid at our auction! Neither the chair, nor anything from the estate it came from.” Shawn frowned. “Why is that?”

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Hillary took a long breath and shook. “Oh, Shawn, that chair turns out to have belonged to that Van Diers woman!” Shawn had to search his memory several moments before recognizing the name. “Violet Van Diers? The writer that used to live up on Lacey Hill?” “Yes! The one who wrote all those dirty books back in the seventies.” A heavy foreboding crawled up Shawn’s spine. “Died under mysterious circumstances, didn’t she? And our pious police department dismissed it as suicide?” “Who cares how she died? It was a mercy for the town’s reputation, if you ask me.” Shawn smiled nervously. “OK…so it came from her estate, huh?” “Her cousin held it in trust until his death earlier in the year. His wife was trying to get rid of all that gaudy stuff the woman had left him. Can’t blame her, but still, it was completely inappropriate for a church auction.” Shawn felt the need to make an excuse to leave the room, to run to his office, but he forced himself to wait for her to get to the point. “Well,” Hillary continued, “when I learned this, of course, I just couldn’t keep that thing here.” Her words sent a bolt of ice through Shawn’s gut. “What? You got rid of the chair?” Hillary took a very audible inhale, and patted his knee. “I’ve already ordered you a replacement off of eBay. It is much better than that old rickety thing anyway; A good, blue seat fabric, too, instead of that tawdry red.” Panic sped Shawn’s heartbeat. He shook his head, his every pore pooling with cold sweat. His limbs began to shake and his voice rose for the first time in years. “You had no right, Hillary! No right at all!” “You’re being overly sensitive. Besides, you bought it for charity.” Fury dimmed his vision. “How can you be so callous! God-freaking-damn woman! I didn’t buy all that other shit for charity—I bought it to make you happy!” Her eyes widened and her regard was cold, contemptuous. “Nothing I own ever came from some Jezebel! Of course I got rid of it; it was the only decent thing to do!” Shawn envisioned himself grabbing his wife’s throat and choking every bit of life out of her pious body. “Where is it, Hillary? What did you do with it?” “You are unbelievable, Shawn!” He sighed, looked down, and saw that Cranberry had turned in Hillary’s lap and was now licking his canine balls. As Shawn stared at the dog, it seemed he could feel the last vestige of his virility sinking away with every drooly swipe of 9

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the dog’s tongue. Hillary sighed and gave his knee another pat. This gesture was irritably condescending to him, her rational smile unforgivably sanctimonious. His every sinew tightened and he turned his face from her. “If you must know,” she conceded, “I called John Taylor and his son to come get it.” Shawn’s throat parched hotly. “John Taylor of Taylor’s Scrap Metal?” “Who else? I figured they might as well have it.” Shawn’s mind clicked off whatever it was she said next. Without a word, he shoved her hand away, stalked out of the room, and went into the kitchen where the telephone hung on the wall next to the back door. He picked up the phone book from the little table beneath it and flipped through the pages until he found the number for Taylor’s Scrap Metal. By the end of the conversation with Taylor, numbness fell over Shawn. It blotted the anxious sweat on his flesh as he hung up the receiver and quietly flamed the wrath in the core of his stomach to a low flame. He was aware when Hillary walked in moments later, but whatever she said might as well have been static on a radio. He watched as Cranberry ran past him and stood up on his hind legs at the back door. The dog danced with a disquieted whine, but Shawn could not care less if the little beast pissed on the floor or just dropped dead there. Hillary laughed and walking over, wrapped her arms around Shawn’s waist. “Who would have thought you’d grown so fond of some silly old chair,” she cooed. It was a bubbly, girlish coo which before would have turned him on instantly. “You can still surprise me, Shawn Murphy!” Shawn heard himself speak, his tone sounding even and practical to his ears, “John’s already dismantled it and had the pieces crushed. Seems his wife fancied the cushion fabric enough to use it as a flag on a property marker.” Her smile broadened and she kissed his cheek. “Now see? You’ve done your good deed for the day!” He felt his mouth form a smile. “I suppose so. Guess I should be happy that Mrs. Taylor found some use for it…and that you ordered me a good replacement.” She beamed with approval. He knew by her nod that she was finished with the conversation and expected the same from him. She gave him a peck on the cheek and turned to get a drink of water from the sink faucet. She related the gossip from the committee meeting and the updates on their revamped winter agenda. As her babble gushed on, Shawn smelled something close by. He thought he felt the walls sigh, and then something moved close to him. Its presence filtered the shock from his system, pushing the numbness to a distant plane. It brushed by him, moaning softly, and imparting an intense and all consuming relief. As the 10

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temperature in the room silently rose and the air grew humid and heady with sweet, decadent musk, Shawn’s eyes focused on the movement in the foyer. He caught a glint of translucent black hair and silken flesh. As the contours and hues misted into the air again, he felt it move toward him. It caressed his face and released a sigh, breezy as satin, which sent a tremor just as soft throughout the foundations of the house. “I hope you don’t mind,” Hillary apologized, “but I thought for dinner we could clean out the fridge of what the ladies left behind.” Before he could say anything, she suddenly realized Cranberry was begging to get out. With an apologetic moan, she rushed to open the door. As the dog flitted out, her eyes raised fretfully to the sky. Heavy, threatening clouds were rolling over the neighborhood from the east. “You hurry, now, baby! Looks like a storm’s a-coming.” Shawn did not even need to look twice to know she was right. He felt the change in his very sinews. It made the blood course through his veins like a young boy standing on the threshold of manhood and coaxed him out of the kitchen and down the foyer. The door of the office stood ajar, and as he pushed it open, the ripe musk engulfed him. He shut the door and looked around the dim, motionless room. A moment later, he heard her lusty sigh and felt her whirl about him. Freed of the shackles that had confined her to the possessed chair, she danced now in liberation. Her naked thigh grazed his hip as she spun, her soft hair whipping his arms. A silvery laugh filled the room, and he watched as she sent the neat piles of papers and the cup of pencils flying across the top of his desk. The air grew sweltering and thick with her scent. Shawn felt his breath pull forcibly out of his lungs. Just before he lost consciousness, the door flew back on its hinges. She lit out of the room, slamming the door behind her. He could hear the foyer floor sigh beneath her passing, the walls pop and shudder as if evening had set upon the house for the very first time. Shawn could think of nothing except how wholly satisfying she had felt and tasted the night before. He could not wait until the succulent lips he had kissed would explore the rest of him. A moment later, he heard Hillary’s surprised cry from the kitchen followed by a heavy thud on the floor. She tried to cry out to him, but her voice was halting, weak, bubbling with horror now instead of patented cheer. When the sound finally died away and the walls began to settle again, the office door swung open. A gust of wind passed through the foyer from the kitchen. He broached it without effort and as he entered the kitchen, saw that the back door was wide open, held by the crumpled mass of livid flesh and teal print chiffon that lay across the threshold. 11

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A small, round head popped up and made a plaintive whine. Cranberry sniffed his mistress’s body then looked up at Shawn who almost felt sorry for the little beast. He crouched down and held out his hand to try to coax the dog back inside. Cranberry bristled and backed away and as the rain released beneath the rumbling clouds, he disappeared in the downpour. Shawn did not see where the dog ran off to nor did he wonder about it later as he called the ambulance to report his wife’s fatal apoplectic fit. The medics arrived just as the clouds parted. They offered Shawn their heartfelt sympathies and asked to call his minister or any family members he wished. He declined their kind offers. The sweet musk that wafted like incense through the house was all the condolence he needed. The End

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About the Author Desiree Erotique Desiree Erotique is the pen name of a bestselling author of adult fiction. In addition to literary fiction, she is also an author of award-winning poetry and commentary, and has written for television (Science Fiction). A former model for mens magazines, Desiree is happily married to the man of her dreams, and credits her husband for her erotica inspirations. You can find out more about Desiree at her website here: http://www.romanticsurrender.com

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