Read Online Because She Loves Me by Mark Edwards - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mark Edwards
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fence and skittered across the ice. The outcome was predictable: the ice cracked, the boy got trapped, the dog survived.
At night, the lake was silent and motionless, the black water cold and uninviting. The ducks were elsewhere.
‘Charlie?’ I said, not sure why I was whispering.
She was standing beyond the fence, next to the water. She appeared to be wearing a long black coat – but when I got closer I saw that it was more like a cloak, thin and rippling whenever the wind caught it. The breeze licked at it now, lifting it, revealing a bare glimpse of white leg.
‘Come over,’ she said. Her voice was low but clear.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked, climbing over the waist-high railing. I could see her clearly now. Only her face and hair were visible, the black cloak wrapped tightly around her.
I stepped towards her and into her embrace. She smiled at me and kissed me softly. This was surreal but exciting.
I tried to speak, to ask more questions, but she pressed her mouth against mine to hush me, and I understood that it was my role to stay quiet. She took my wrist and pulled my hand inside the robe, where it met naked flesh. I ran my palm over her ribcage, stroked her shoulder blade, then brought it back round to cup her breast, sliding my thumb over her erect nipple. I was aroused now, and I tried to press more firmly against her, but she stepped away.
She let the robe slip from her shoulders and to the ground. She was naked and part of me wanted to grab the robe, wrap her up and keep her warm. But before I could do anything, she stepped into the water.
‘Charlie!’
I couldn’t believe what she was doing. I watched, stunned, as she walked slowly into the lake until it covered her legs and then her hips. She turned to me and smiled. She looked like a water nymph, straight from that pre-Raphaelite painting. What was it? I looked it up later: Hylas and the Nymphs , John Waterhouse. A handsome youth, drawn to his presumed death by strange, beautiful women. Staring at Charlie now, pale and half-submerged, her skin catching the moonlight, I was torn between two urges: one, to get her out of there, out of the bitterly cold water, and take her home to the warmth of my flat; and two, to slip with her into the dangerous, icy depths, to abandon sense and, instead, embrace my senses.
She beckoned me and I hurriedly undressed, leaving my clothes and glasses in a pile, until I stood naked and aroused before her. I hesitated – this really was insane – and then stepped into the water. It’s hard to describe quite how cold it was. And even harder to describe why I kept going rather than leaping out.
It was Charlie. She magnetised me. But I also felt like she was daring me, testing me, that to stop would have made me less of a man. Plus I wanted her, was literally being led by my penis towards her. So I gritted my teeth and tried to ignore the burning cold as I stepped deeper into the water. The bed of the lake felt slippery against my soles and I feared what might be down there: broken bottles, old cans. For a second I had a flash of that boy who had drowned here, picturing his body lying beneath the water, small hands reaching out for me . . .
I reached Charlie and she wrapped her arms around me, pressed her body against mine, kissing me deeply, her tongue in my mouth. She folded her hand around my cock and moaned. She was shivering; we were both shivering. She stood on tiptoe and positioned the tip of my penis against her.
‘Lift me,’ she said into my ear, and I did. She was lighter than I expected, and she wrapped her strong legs and arms around me and we both gasped as my cock pushed into her.
I came within seconds. I don’t think I could have held her much longer than that. As I gently put her down, Charlie started giggling.
‘I’m cold,’ she said. ‘My teeth are actually chattering.’
I started laughing too. What the hell were we doing? We splashed our way out of the water and I wrapped
At night, the lake was silent and motionless, the black water cold and uninviting. The ducks were elsewhere.
‘Charlie?’ I said, not sure why I was whispering.
She was standing beyond the fence, next to the water. She appeared to be wearing a long black coat – but when I got closer I saw that it was more like a cloak, thin and rippling whenever the wind caught it. The breeze licked at it now, lifting it, revealing a bare glimpse of white leg.
‘Come over,’ she said. Her voice was low but clear.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked, climbing over the waist-high railing. I could see her clearly now. Only her face and hair were visible, the black cloak wrapped tightly around her.
I stepped towards her and into her embrace. She smiled at me and kissed me softly. This was surreal but exciting.
I tried to speak, to ask more questions, but she pressed her mouth against mine to hush me, and I understood that it was my role to stay quiet. She took my wrist and pulled my hand inside the robe, where it met naked flesh. I ran my palm over her ribcage, stroked her shoulder blade, then brought it back round to cup her breast, sliding my thumb over her erect nipple. I was aroused now, and I tried to press more firmly against her, but she stepped away.
She let the robe slip from her shoulders and to the ground. She was naked and part of me wanted to grab the robe, wrap her up and keep her warm. But before I could do anything, she stepped into the water.
‘Charlie!’
I couldn’t believe what she was doing. I watched, stunned, as she walked slowly into the lake until it covered her legs and then her hips. She turned to me and smiled. She looked like a water nymph, straight from that pre-Raphaelite painting. What was it? I looked it up later: Hylas and the Nymphs , John Waterhouse. A handsome youth, drawn to his presumed death by strange, beautiful women. Staring at Charlie now, pale and half-submerged, her skin catching the moonlight, I was torn between two urges: one, to get her out of there, out of the bitterly cold water, and take her home to the warmth of my flat; and two, to slip with her into the dangerous, icy depths, to abandon sense and, instead, embrace my senses.
She beckoned me and I hurriedly undressed, leaving my clothes and glasses in a pile, until I stood naked and aroused before her. I hesitated – this really was insane – and then stepped into the water. It’s hard to describe quite how cold it was. And even harder to describe why I kept going rather than leaping out.
It was Charlie. She magnetised me. But I also felt like she was daring me, testing me, that to stop would have made me less of a man. Plus I wanted her, was literally being led by my penis towards her. So I gritted my teeth and tried to ignore the burning cold as I stepped deeper into the water. The bed of the lake felt slippery against my soles and I feared what might be down there: broken bottles, old cans. For a second I had a flash of that boy who had drowned here, picturing his body lying beneath the water, small hands reaching out for me . . .
I reached Charlie and she wrapped her arms around me, pressed her body against mine, kissing me deeply, her tongue in my mouth. She folded her hand around my cock and moaned. She was shivering; we were both shivering. She stood on tiptoe and positioned the tip of my penis against her.
‘Lift me,’ she said into my ear, and I did. She was lighter than I expected, and she wrapped her strong legs and arms around me and we both gasped as my cock pushed into her.
I came within seconds. I don’t think I could have held her much longer than that. As I gently put her down, Charlie started giggling.
‘I’m cold,’ she said. ‘My teeth are actually chattering.’
I started laughing too. What the hell were we doing? We splashed our way out of the water and I wrapped
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