All characters in this story are above 18!
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The leaves shake, taunting Lia in the midnight breeze. Her eyes skim the surroundings; black road cast golden by the streetlights, houses shrouded by the fences around them, cars covered with dew from the dense fog around her. Dead leaves of vibrant reds and oranges pepper the ground. It looks like a hazy dream.
Unease prickles her skin. Her walk home isn't usually this creepy, but the fog and the silence cause her to stand on alert. Every step echoes along the trees, cars, asphalt, and houses. The crickets and toads aren't even making sounds tonight, Lia realizes. Cicada screams are quiet. No dogs bark. Lia squares her shoulders and quickens her steps.
Minutes of walking passes, and Lia is halfway home. She cuts through the cemetery, as always, though the fog gives her reason to hesitate. She shakes her head, admonishing herself for being silly- she'd never run across trouble before, so why should tonight be any different just because of a little fog?
Lia scans the tombstones as she passes them. Some had long lives, and others short. She makes silly scenarios in her head of what their lives would have been like. Happy, married, single, traveler, artist, chef, and so many more guesses delight her.
One tombstone in particular is covered by grey dried moss, tons of grime, and has a bat engraved in it. How had she never seen this one before? The dates read nineteen seventy-four to nineteen ninety-eight, and the name is Nicolas Fant. He was twenty-four when he died. About the same age as me.. thinks Lia. She wonders why he died as she begins walking again.
"Poor thing," she says, leaving the tombstone a few feet behind her.
As she nears the middle of the grounds, she spots a young man leaning against one of the mausoleums. She stops, glances around her to see more dense fog, and notes that she's only a few feet away from him. There's no way he hasn't spotted her. She keeps walking, nearing him with the intent to pass, and startles when he whistles to her. Two sharp and short whistles hang in the fog. She stops and turns to look at him. He jerks his head in the direction of the dark doorway and then disappears into it. Darkness slowly shrouds his figure until she sees him no longer.
Lia knows better than to follow him... and yet, her legs carry her over. The fog becomes thicker, and dampens her clothes and skin. She can't shake the feeling of familiarity that zings through her as she walks up the steps and hesitates at the doorway.
"Come in. I don't bite, ya know. Unless you want me to," the young man's voice is enticing as it bounces off the mausoleum walls. She can hear his smirk.
She blushes and feels goosebumps raise her skin, "Who are you?"
She steps into the dark room. Her eyes strain to adjust to the darkness, and before she can fully see, a candle in the back corner is suddenly lit. The man is completely visible now. He's got shoulder-length dark hair, sharp facial features, and pouty lips. Stubble lines his jaw and mouth. A leather jacket dons his torso, along with a dark grey shirt, and he's wearing black pants with combat boots. Rings adorn his fingers, and several clunky chains hang around his neck. Lia is sure he has earrings, too, because as he tilts his head to assess her the same way she does him, a shiny glint winks at her. Heat flushes her skin while she drinks his features in.
It's too warm to be wearing a jacket, much less a leather one, she thinks to herself, which is why she hadn't worn one. The first week of October is always temperamental. So she wore her hair up, though a few strands had become messy and fallen down by now. Her long brown dress has loose, flared long-sleeves that suit the weather. The waist of the dress fits her snuggly, and the young man takes great notice of it; Lia watches his eyes fill with appreciation as he scans her.
Several moments of silence have passed now, so she rephrases her question. "What is your name?" She tilts her head as she steps deeper into the stone building.
He purses his lips, "Does it really matter?"
"Mysterious handsome man leads me into a tomb, I always like to get a name," she runs her hand along the wall, feeling the coolness on her skin. She sighs at the sensation, relief beneath her palms. Upon entering here, she has become flushed and hot. She isn't sure why. It's as if his very presence is causing her to feel this way.
"Ah, do this often, do ya?" He teases. His footsteps echo as he takes a step, only one, closer to where she is headed.
Her eyes meet his, and when she sees the lust in his eyes, her groin tightens, "Wouldn't you like to know?" She raises a brow at him.
Lia reaches the slab of concrete in the back of the room, where the candle sits on a corner. Wax is already dripping down the candle and onto the floor. She touches the stone in an attempt to stifle her desire, focus on something other than the reactions she is having to his presence, but feels her nerves stand at attention as footsteps near her.
The young man is standing behind her. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that she can feel the warmth of his body radiate against her backside.
He breathes in deeply. "You smell like honeysuckle," he groans, admiration and sadness both present in his husky voice.
Lia whirls around to face him, and as soon as her eyes meet his, he closes the space between them, pushing her ass against the cold slab of stone. Her hands grasp the edge of it as she looks up at him. He towers over her, and she has to crane her neck back to look at him properly. His hard body presses against hers. Lia's breath catches in her throat, and the young man traces his fingertip along the cusp of her throat. He tilts his head to the left, his hair falling with the movement, and he leans his face into her neck. A groan escapes him as he inhales her scent deeply, his nose grazing against her skin.
She feels his warm lips lightly graze her neck. The breath she didn't realize she was holding expels from her lungs, and then his hands on her hips. Slowly, he trails his hands down to the back of her knees, his mouth grazing down her throat, past her collarbones, and to the middle of her chest where her dress dips in a v. He grabs her legs and hoists her up on the slab. The stone bites into her skin as he pulls her skirt up, stopping mid-thigh, and steps between her legs.
His lips make their way back up to her neck and then to her collarbone. When Lia thinks he is going to kiss her, she leans back. Her hands are planted behind her on the slab. His hands are gripping under her knees, firmly, and she lets him keep her legs there. The warmth of his body washes over her, sending tingles down to her core. His cold belt-buckle is pressed against her pussy, and the sensation makes her shiver slightly.
Desire flows through her body. Denial, too. Should she be doing this? She doesn't know this man but feels like a magnet is pulling her toward him and she can't stop it. Doesn't really want to. Reckless impulse continues to drive her to satisfy her want, her need.
