Read Online Reckless: Shades of a Vampire by Emily Jackson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Emily Jackson
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Emma?” Judith says. “Why, I didn’t even get to visit with you, honey.”
“I’ve got to go,” Emma says, walking quickly away with her hands clasp across her buttocks to cover the wet spot on her dress.
“What was her problem?” Judith asks Josh when Emma is out of earshot.
Josh doesn’t respond. Instead, his eyes, and full attention, are fixated on Emma as she briskly walks away.
7.
Calling You Home
Anticipation is one of the great joys of life. And so goes the rest of the week after the Labor Day church picnic Emma. It passes quickly, as she thinks of meeting Josh at the barn while doing the dishes, weeding the garden, hanging the laundry – while spending most every waking moment. Emma wonders if Josh will show on Sunday, as she suggested. He didn’t tell her he was coming, but he didn’t say he wasn’t, either.
And Josh did rub her feet with his legs. He did ask her if she dated anyone. He did say he wasn’t afraid of her father. He did say he wanted to fuck her. He did look with his green eyes into hers when she said it, and, he must have seen her quiver when he responded.
Must have.
Emma wants Josh in the barn just like she had wanted Michael barn. No, she wanted Josh to be Michael. Not much she could do about it. The thoughts gripped her body, and mind. They wouldn’t go away.
Besides, she doesn’t have to handle snakes anymore, for a while at least, so there is no risk there in being bitten again, she figures.
Emma knows Josh is married, of course. That is a problem. But maybe she will just kiss him. She doesn't have to fuck him.
Yes, that’s all, she tells herself.
I’ll just kiss him if he shows up at the barn.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
If Josh shows, just one kiss is it -- nothing more.
Saturday evening, the day before she hopes to meet Josh, Emma thumbs through her closet to find the dress she will wear on Sunday when she hopes to meet him. All she has to choose from are essentially the same, except for the color. Her mother wouldn’t allow her to make styles other than what she approved, and what her mother approved of was the same dress, in different colors and different thickness of material for the appropriate season.
They are all pastels except for the black ones in summer weight and winter weight she wears to funeral services for church members. Emma once tried to wear a black one on a weekday in the winter, but her mother chided her to immediately change.
“Nobody died,” her mother said.
Emma’s most-worn colors are yellow, white and lavender, according to those revealing the most worn experience. But she picks out a white one to wear Sunday, and looks in her dresser to find her newest lace panties and bra to wear as well. She pulls them from the stack in her drawer and places them on top, so she can easily find them Sunday morning.
Touching the lace, Emma remembers Michael and quivers. She looks in the mirror next to her dresser, licks her lips, and opens her mouth every-so-slightly, closing her eyes to imagine Michael’s lips and tongue touching hers.
“Ahh,” she sighs.
Sunday’s are good days for Emma anyway since they are the only day of the week she doesn’t have chores waiting for her at the breakfast table. The Sabbath day is for rest, her father says.
Emma has noticed she doesn’t listen to her father’s sermons anymore, after the snakebite. She doesn’t much listen to him at the breakfast table, either. When he talks from the pulpit, she thinks the words sound like the cars passing up and down the highway -- one bumps along just like the other. At the breakfast, she mostly just mutters, “Yes, Sir” or “No, sir” paying little attention to what he actually says.
But she likes Sundays because there are no chores. And as for tomorrow, it promises to be especially good Sunday if Josh shows at the barn.
Emma starts the day as usual. She peers from her bedroom window upon opening her eyes to see the rising sun. She walks to
“I’ve got to go,” Emma says, walking quickly away with her hands clasp across her buttocks to cover the wet spot on her dress.
“What was her problem?” Judith asks Josh when Emma is out of earshot.
Josh doesn’t respond. Instead, his eyes, and full attention, are fixated on Emma as she briskly walks away.
7.
Calling You Home
Anticipation is one of the great joys of life. And so goes the rest of the week after the Labor Day church picnic Emma. It passes quickly, as she thinks of meeting Josh at the barn while doing the dishes, weeding the garden, hanging the laundry – while spending most every waking moment. Emma wonders if Josh will show on Sunday, as she suggested. He didn’t tell her he was coming, but he didn’t say he wasn’t, either.
And Josh did rub her feet with his legs. He did ask her if she dated anyone. He did say he wasn’t afraid of her father. He did say he wanted to fuck her. He did look with his green eyes into hers when she said it, and, he must have seen her quiver when he responded.
Must have.
Emma wants Josh in the barn just like she had wanted Michael barn. No, she wanted Josh to be Michael. Not much she could do about it. The thoughts gripped her body, and mind. They wouldn’t go away.
Besides, she doesn’t have to handle snakes anymore, for a while at least, so there is no risk there in being bitten again, she figures.
Emma knows Josh is married, of course. That is a problem. But maybe she will just kiss him. She doesn't have to fuck him.
Yes, that’s all, she tells herself.
I’ll just kiss him if he shows up at the barn.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
If Josh shows, just one kiss is it -- nothing more.
Saturday evening, the day before she hopes to meet Josh, Emma thumbs through her closet to find the dress she will wear on Sunday when she hopes to meet him. All she has to choose from are essentially the same, except for the color. Her mother wouldn’t allow her to make styles other than what she approved, and what her mother approved of was the same dress, in different colors and different thickness of material for the appropriate season.
They are all pastels except for the black ones in summer weight and winter weight she wears to funeral services for church members. Emma once tried to wear a black one on a weekday in the winter, but her mother chided her to immediately change.
“Nobody died,” her mother said.
Emma’s most-worn colors are yellow, white and lavender, according to those revealing the most worn experience. But she picks out a white one to wear Sunday, and looks in her dresser to find her newest lace panties and bra to wear as well. She pulls them from the stack in her drawer and places them on top, so she can easily find them Sunday morning.
Touching the lace, Emma remembers Michael and quivers. She looks in the mirror next to her dresser, licks her lips, and opens her mouth every-so-slightly, closing her eyes to imagine Michael’s lips and tongue touching hers.
“Ahh,” she sighs.
Sunday’s are good days for Emma anyway since they are the only day of the week she doesn’t have chores waiting for her at the breakfast table. The Sabbath day is for rest, her father says.
Emma has noticed she doesn’t listen to her father’s sermons anymore, after the snakebite. She doesn’t much listen to him at the breakfast table, either. When he talks from the pulpit, she thinks the words sound like the cars passing up and down the highway -- one bumps along just like the other. At the breakfast, she mostly just mutters, “Yes, Sir” or “No, sir” paying little attention to what he actually says.
But she likes Sundays because there are no chores. And as for tomorrow, it promises to be especially good Sunday if Josh shows at the barn.
Emma starts the day as usual. She peers from her bedroom window upon opening her eyes to see the rising sun. She walks to
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