Soul Keeper
A Totally Bound Publication
Soul Keeper
ISBN #
978-1-78430-620-5
©Copyright Natalie Dae 2015
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright June 2015
Edited by Nicki Richards and Sarah Smeaton
Totally Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2015 by Totally Bound Publishing,
Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN
Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a
heat rating
of
Totally Burning
and a
Sexometer
of
3.
SOUL KEEPER
Natalie Dae
Meeting your man online can be the best thing you’ve ever done…
Carrie Marsh and Rob Edwards have been speaking to one another over the Internet for two years. The time has come to cement their love and meet. Carrie waits for Rob’s train, excitement spiraling through her, for she has planned a night to remember. Rob is shy, and Carrie intends to show him how to unleash his sexy side during a series of sexual encounters—the first one up against a tree where anyone could spot their antics…
Chapter One
The Oak Tree
Carrie Marsh sat on one of the many metal benches on the train platform in the small village of Branston, England, her cunt wet, her clit pulsing. With her finger, she toyed with a strand of her sand-colored hair that she’d left loose and flowing about her shoulders. She’d arrived early, eager to meet the man who filled her with passion just by reading his words. Near naked beneath her calf-length red coat, Carrie imagined his surprise when she took it off. Her black silk bra and thong set, bought especially for this occasion, were sensuously divine against her skin, and another rush of desire swept through her.
Fuck, I want him. Where is he?
She glanced at the tower on the opposite platform, at the large round clock face telling her she was still early. Only seven forty-five p.m. Time had seemed to slow since she’d arrived, anticipation for the coming evening raging through her with alarming force. How could she feel like this about someone she had never met? How could she have fallen in love with a man just from what he’d typed? From the picture he had sent? From his voice on the phone?
His face came to mind—those chiseled cheekbones, that strong, square jaw, and eyes such a dark brown they bordered on black. And his black hair, God, how she wanted to run her fingers through it, grip it in her fists and pull his head down so he could suck her breasts. Her nipples tingled, tautened, and she folded her arms across her chest and jiggled as though warming herself from the cold. The abrasion sent a spear of desire down to her cunt. She crossed her legs and squeezed her thighs together.
The icy air nipped at her nose and numbed her cheeks. A ghostly breeze soughed across her stocking-clad calves, snaking up to chill the back of her knees. Carrie shivered and goosebumps sprouted on her skin.
A low rumble sounded in the distance, and she sat more upright, gripping the seat edge. Glancing to her right, she was wide-eyed, hoping to spot the train that would bring him to her. Nothing to see but the track, tree silhouettes and a moonlit sky. Her attention back on her immediate surroundings, she eyed those around her, intent on seeking him out in case he, too, had shown up early and studied her from seclusion.
A woman and her child occupied the third bench from hers, their faces showing boredom and fatigue. An elderly gentleman stood leaning against the ticket office, reading a newspaper beneath a wall-mounted light. The only other stranger occupying the platform was a brunette, who paced with a cell phone clamped to her ear, her side of the conversation too low to hear.
Impatient, Carrie sighed and cocked her head. The rumble grew louder and her stomach contracted, butterflies batting, her heart thrumming too fast. She inhaled, excitement building in her chest. God, how she wanted to palm her breasts, cup herself and apply pressure to stave off the insistent throb of her clit.
Once again, she stared down the track.
Two swathes of white light cut into the darkness, and her stomach rolled so violently she thought she might be sick.
He’s coming. Oh, God
.
The train approached swiftly, and a rush of air blasted her as the express pulled into the station. The full carriages offered no sign of him as yet, and she stood, clutched her coat lapels and scanned the inhabitants. Women and men on their way home from work rose to collect their bags, and the carriage doors swooshed open, travelers spilling out onto the platform as though starving for freedom.
I can’t see him!
She turned to look farther down the platform. The same types of commuters alighted from other carriages, swarming off into the darkness to their destinations. Frantic, she flicked her gaze from one person to another, her body trembling, her mind infused with the thought of him not keeping their appointment. Her clit ached, tormenting her, and she shoved her hands into her pockets, balling them into fists.
What if he doesn’t come?
Their two years of talking via email sped through her mind. The warm friendship he’d given as her five-year marriage deteriorated, the advice, the hope that there
were
men out there who didn’t treat women badly. Their chats had blossomed when she’d filed for divorce, moved on to light flirting and, two years later, he’d admitted to falling for her. Wanting her in his life permanently, promising to cherish her forever.
A lump expanded in her throat and she swallowed, fighting the urge to sob.
Please don’t let him be another of those men who promises the world and fails
.
Tears stung her eyes and she blinked in an effort to see the passengers. What if she missed him? What if he’d looked at the crowd and thought
she
hadn’t turned up? Carrie brought a hand out of her pocket and dabbed the tears away with her fingers, took in a deep breath and spun in the opposite direction. Air whooshed out of her and she clapped her hand over her mouth, her smile so wide it hurt.
There he stood, leaning against a lamppost, hands in black trouser pockets, suit jacket covering a white shirt. The dark blue tie he’d said he’d wear rested over his chest, and a lazy grin tweaked his mouth. Her knees buckled and she lowered her hand, suddenly unsure of what to do next. He held out his arm and she ran toward him, pushing through the thinning crowd, her whole body needing his touch, his arms about her.
She stopped inches in front of him and looked at his beautiful face, itching to cup his cheeks and press her mouth to his. His smile widened, and he took his hand from his pocket and brought his arm up to match the other. Carrie stepped into them, molding her chest to his, and ran her hands up and down his back. Lifting her face, she lost herself in his gaze, and a sense of belonging stole over her. Of rightness. Of undeniable love.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he said.
Carrie almost choked on the emotion swelling in her throat, but he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers, a light, wonderful brush that upped her heart rate. Hungry for him, desperate to show him how much she loved him, she clutched him closer and slipped her tongue between his lips. A kiss that started so sweetly changed into one of breathless lust. Nothing mattered—not the passengers, the impropriety, nor the whole damn world.
Rob Edwards was here, in her arms, and anything else paled to insignificance.
His strangled groan filled her mouth, and her emotional whimper joined it. She cupped his shoulder blades, kneaded them, then pulled her mouth away to look at him, making sure he was really there. Rob trailed his fingertips down her cheek, thumbed away her tears, his other hand on the small of her back, the pressure of it possessive.
“It’s like I’ve always known you,” he said, his eyes moist.
Carrie nodded, unable to speak, unable to believe their union was so perfect, how she’d dreamed it would be. She laughed, the sound more like a sob, and touched her forehead to his. He rubbed his nose against hers, and she wished they were away from this place, somewhere more private.
“Did you book the room?” he asked, his mint-scented breath warm as it fanned her mouth.
She nodded, smiled, and a surge of love swirled from her toes, snatching her breath and stopping her heart for two beats.
“I could stare at you forever,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful.”
Carrie blushed, unused to such words being spoken out loud. Oh, he’d said them many times in emails and on IM, rendering her to mush, but to actually hear them? She wanted to cry so much it hurt her throat. Instinct guided her to rest her cheek against his chest, hug him to her in case this was another one of her dreams. How could she be this lucky? This…secure?
His heartbeat pounded in her ear, the steady, rapid thud indicating he felt the same as her. He embraced her, his hold so precious, so wonderful she scrunched her eyes closed to stop the tears falling. The scent of him assailed her, a woodsy, sharp tang laced with natural masculinity. She’d never tire of that smell. Never tire of his arms around her. Never tire of him.
Rob caressed her hair, the heat of his palm soothing, and she wanted to run with him, take refuge in their hotel room so he could drag his fingers through it at leisure. She lifted her head from his chest and ghosted her thumb across his lips. Her nipples perked and her cunt clenched. She needed him inside her, his hands all over her, their sweat-soaked skin sliding, breaths stuttered. With her other hand on his chest, she continued stroking his lips. He dashed his tongue out and licked her thumb pad, and a jolt of lust lanced her. He sucked her thumb tip, swirled his tongue around it, and her knees jolted. Gazes locked, weakness racing to her extremities, Carrie let out a soft moan and pressed herself to him. His hard cock nestled against her pelvic bone, and she smiled.
“Shall we go?” she whispered.
Rob kissed her thumb and nodded. Carrie moved her hand to cup the back of his neck, the hair there so soft, and kissed his lower lip. He opened his mouth, inviting her tongue inside, and she glided hers around his, tasting him, loving him. Breathless, she broke contact and blew out a jagged breath.