I was at the end of my rope. My job had taken over my nights and days until my personal life was nonexistent. The stress was beginning to take its toll. For weeks, I’d been plagued by bouts of insomnia followed by a parade of vague, disturbing nightmares, which left me wondering if I would ever get a good night’s sleep again. So, when my cousin Bette invited me down to visit our family’s ancestral home in Virginia, I leapt at the opportunity.
On my first night there, we spent a pleasant evening catching up on old times and new gossip, but my exhaustion must have been evident, because by 9:30, Bette packed me upstairs and off to bed.
I got out of my clothes, put on a nightgown, then sat down by the antique vanity and began brushing out my hair. As I gazed into the mirror, the soft lights and repetitive strokes of the brush were so soothing that I must have nodded off for a moment.
All at once, I blinked awake, and he was there–tall, broad-shouldered, impossibly handsome….
“Jame, is anything wrong?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.
I could not find words to answer him. H came up behind me, racing the line of my neck from ear to shoulder with his hands. I was filled with a shock of recognition. “I know this man,” I thought. “I…know…him, but how?”
“Darling,” he sighed, his breath hot and close to my ear. His hands moved to the front of my gown and unfastened the closure. He began to massage my breasts in such a way that I thought I would faint with pleasure. A current of raw passion shot from my nipples directly to the core of my sex. Suddenly, I was awash with desire, melting in ecstasy. By then, I had no use for words.
He swept me up into his arms and carried me off o a steaming bath. Our clothes fell away and we stepped ino the hypnotic water. His hands traveled everywhere, calling each of my nerves to life, filling me with a wanton hunger that could only be satisfied by having him inside me. “Whoever he is,” I realized, “he’s no stranger”….
I fell into his embrace, kissing him with a passion that went beyond time or place. One tear–a tear of pure joy and homecoming–escaped my eye and ran along my cheek.
“Jane, is everything…” he began, but I would not let him finish.
“Take me, my love,” I pleaded.
A strange light danced in his eyes. “If only you knew how long I’ve waited to hear those words,” he said.
Tenderly, he took my hand and led me back to the bedroom. We settled into the cozy four-poster, melding ourselves to each other’s flesh. Our lust became a furnace, growing hotter and hotter as our slick, wet bodies met again and again. His probing stiffness mined my womanly core more deeply and surely than any other I had ever known. Finally, the inferno of our mergin reached its crest. We cried out in the throes of pure, unadulterated satisfaction, and a moment later were asleep in each other’s arms.
The next morning I woke refreshed …and quite alone. “Now, that’s the kind of dream worth having!” I said to myself. I got dressed and met Bette in the dining room where she was already engaged in breakfast. As she poured out my coffee, my eyes were transfixed by a portrait that hung over the fireplace. It was -him-.
“Colonel Jack Montague did cut quite a dashing figure,” remarked Bette, following my gaze up to the painting. “Such a sad story. His wife Jane died of a fever soon after their wedding. He was heartbroken. Some even say the poor soul walks these halls to this day, searching for her….”
Copy Right, Desolation – 2003
No portions of Shadow Oaks may be used without expressed, written permission.