Never Rest

My whole body ached and I just lay there for a moment, pondering whether the hassle of hauling hot water up those stairs was worth the pleasure of getting to soak my muscles for awhile. I'd only been here three days, but those aching muscles were the result of quite a bit of work. Two months ago my great aunt Elizabeth had suddenly passed away, leaving her "favorite name sake" this ancient house in the middle of nowhere. At the time, the thought of leaving my life in the city for a rundown manor in a foreign country had been insane, all my friends repeatedly informed me of this. But with every word they said, my resolve strengthened.

After all, why not? I'd been really going nowhere for so long. Sure, I had a great career, my art was selling well and I was getting critical acclaim, I had a wonderful apartment that everyone envied, and I got to go to all the best parties lately, but inside of all that, there was nothing. I hadn't had a serious relationship in a long time, my "friends" were more business acquaintances than anything else, and my art was suffering as a result.

Decided, I began to boil water on the stove while preparing for my bath. I had running water, but no electricity. That meant that I had no hot water. Fortunately, there was an old wood stove in the kitchen as well as a more modern gas range, I could get hot water, it just took awhile. I'd spent my time since arrival cleaning and painting, there really wasn't much damage to the house itself, just the neglect from Elizabeth's stay in the nursing home. I could see why she loved it, though, even as I slowly hauled the water up the large stairs to the bathroom, it was a beautiful home, all stone outside, gorgeous wood inside. Now that I'd worked on it so hard, I almost felt like it was mine. There were times, though, when I got the distinct feeling that I was trespassing in some way, not entirely an unwelcome visitor, but as though someone was watching me.

I used the water from the tap to cool the water I'd brought up, wishing for the zillionth time that I had had someone come and look the place over before I got here. I was happiest with the bathroom lately, maybe because of the way the candles I was using made the beveled glass in the window panes sparkle, or the way the simple, elegant mirror I had found in the master bedroom seemed designed to make me look as good as possible. I wasn't ugly, I knew that, but I was a touch too heavy for most men in a super model world. No matter how hard I worked at it, I would always have a slightly rounded belly; not flabby or anything, but soft. My hips were full, but my legs were long and strong and I was tall. My breasts were one of my best features and I spent some time looking myself over in that mirror, enjoying the way the light of the candles made my skin seem so creamy and lush. I wished my lips were a tad fuller, but my eyes spit dark blue fire at me in my reflection, set off by dark brows that matched the rich mahogany of my hair. The steaming water beckoned and I gave myself a slight nod of approval, sometimes it's impossible to be a painter and not view yourself as how you would be painted.

I sank into the water slowly, feeling it rise across my body, the heat bringing a flush to my skin and a slight tingling between my legs. It had been a long time since I'd been with anyone and as I washed, I let the washcloth creep lower and lower, until I was rubbing myself, the roughness of the terrycloth wonderfully relieved by the soap and water. It didn't take long before I was shuddering in a small climax, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut. As I came back to myself, I instinctively glanced in the mirror, I'd always loved painting women in that post orgasmic glow. The steam had fogged the mirror up, but I could still make myself out and my brain filled in the gaps, the sweat and steam collecting in the hollows of my collarbones, the way my lips would look almost pouty from the rush of blood. As I stared, though, I thought, for the briefest moment, that someone was standing behind me, almost out of range of the mirror, hidden by the steam.

I jerked about, my hand going to cover my breasts, my mouth open to scream, but no one was there, just an empty doorway to the bedroom. I turned back around slowly, unable to lower my hands, modesty was one of my faults, but the mirror seemed normal. A trick of the candlelight and steam, I reassured myself, but the comfort of the bath was lost and I couldn't keep from turning to check the door. Finally, I crawled out, drying myself completely before wrapping myself in a robe and heading into the bedroom. It was the first time I'd bothered to cover myself up when upstairs, I just couldn't shake the feeling that I wasn't alone.

That night my dreams were even stranger than normal. I kept seeing the house around me, like I was walking in my sleep. Candles and lanterns lit everything, the furniture was uncovered, richly polished to shimmer in the light. I kept getting caught up in details, but the whole time, it felt as though someone was watching me, moving just behind me, and I couldn't turn to look. When I woke, however, I was overwhelmed by this feeling of…horniness, though that wasn't quite the right word. It was though I'd been thoroughly made love to before falling asleep and now I was expecting even more.

I worked on the house everyday, not even bothering to get my paints out. I wanted to make it feel like my own, to get it all in order before I chose a room for my studio. Unconsciously at first, then more deliberately, I tried to make the rooms seem as they had in my dreams. When I got lost, I found myself having more dreams about the house, always with that feeling of being watched, always waking with that same feeling of raw sensuality. It didn't make sense, there was nothing sexual in the dreams, but as the days went by, I found myself masturbating more and more often, my orgasms more explosive. Usually orgasms I gave myself seemed slightly hollow, almost a let down, I wanted someone else there with me. These were nothing like that, the sensation of being watched adding to the excitement.

I felt like I was being watched more and more often, in the middle of painting or polishing, I would snap my head up and stare at…nothing. I made arraignments for someone to come in and look at the lights and the appliances, things I couldn't do on my own. The electrical system was fixable, but ancient, it would take some time. I had a bit of an inheritance and my art was doing well, so I scheduled them to come and do some work, figuring I would head out to see the country and take a break.

I was gone almost a week, with the contractor calling occasionally to let me know what going on. As the week went by, his tone started to change, he seemed almost…jumpy. I had changed as well, the irresistible urge to touch myself had vanished, but the dreams were more frequent, without the charge from before. I missed home, I realized, that house had truly become home. The next time he called, I asked him when I could return.

"Well, anytime you want, ma'am, we're almost done here."

I could hear that strangeness in his voice, almost able to see him looking around the house, checking for something, "Are you okay?" It was a difficult question to ask, but I had to know what he was thinking.

"Oh, fine, fine ma'am," he was trying to get his old tone back and my mind pictured him staring straight ahead, trying not to look behind him, "It's just, well, you might want to get an exterminator up here. We've been hearing noises, like maybe rats or something, just little rustles and the like. We haven't seen any signs, but you never know."

I could hear the lie in his voice, the noises weren't rats, or at least he didn't think they were. I didn't know what they were, but I could tell he felt like someone was watching him as well and it unnerved him more than it had me.

I returned the next day and they were packing up to leave. When the crew had arrived, just four older men who I'd been told were the best in the business, there had been a lot of joking and laughing, eyes trailing up and down my body, comments made under their breath. They were all business now, calling me ma'am and keeping their voices low. As the foreman walked me through, showing me the changes they'd had to make, I could see him relaxing a bit. We were in the bedroom, he was showing me how the lights in there were the type that mimic old gaslights, telling me how much it would cost to update them. I was only listening with half an ear, I didn't want to change them and I wanted a chance to rest. I didn't even notice him moving closer until his voice hitched slightly and his hand reached out to touch my hair.

I turned to him in shock, my eyes widening at the look he was giving me. He was going to try and kiss me, I could feel it, and I didn't want him to, but I was standing near a wall and his large body was blocking me in. He moved closer, his eyes almost feral, and there was an explosion behind us, the wind slamming open a door, the knob breaking the plaster. He jumped back and glanced around like he was guilty of something and when his eyes met mine, there was a touch of shame, he was coming back to himself.

He left soon after that and as they drove away, I watched them go from my front door, seeing how the dust from their cars barely moved before settling downwards. Strange, there wasn't any wind at all.

I settled back in to my life, finally breaking out my paints. My dreams were becoming more and more vivid, I could almost turn to see who was behind me. I was masturbating at an increased rate as well, my hands finding their way to my breasts and between my legs more and more frequently. At night, I would curl up with a book or read my mail, always conscious that something, somehow was watching me. It didn't take long before I started hearing things as well, though nothing like the sound of mice or rats. It seemed someone was walking about, just barely audible, always in the next room. Or, even more disconcerting, I would be masturbating in bed, in the tub, in the studio on my couch, and I would swear I could hear breathing, heavy and hard, or, just as I came in some of the most explosive orgasms of my life, there would be the sound of soft laughter, more of a chuckle really, masculine, deep.

I couldn't stand it anymore, this was my house, my home and someone, something was spying on me. One night, as I read by a fire that was holding of the damp cold of the early fall, I felt the gaze even stronger than ever and I threw my book down, standing to stare about the room with a furious gaze in my eyes.

"Who the hell is out there?"

Silence greeted me, my eyes tracking everywhere. I caught my own gaze in a mirror and for a moment, I stared at myself, fascinated. The anger in my eyes made them seem like sapphires, my hair pulled up off my neck in a loose bun, sending curls over my shoulder. I was so aware of my breasts underneath my silk robe, the way my panties seemed suddenly too tight, too…damp? I was angry as hell and here I was, hornier than ever. Something tickled my nose as I watched myself and I took a deep sniff, recognizing it even as I did; it was deep, rich, spicy and ultimately male. The hair on the back of my neck raised slightly and I whirled about, looking to the door.

For the briefest of moments, so brief as to almost be nothing, I thought I saw someone. Black hair caught through with the light, dark eyes meeting mine from the shadows, a touch of white shirt, a hint of dark pants. Then I heard that same chuckle, so familiar at that point even though it was never truly heard, and the image was gone.

I ran upstairs to my studio, ripping open the door, throwing my robe aside to paint in the nude, ignoring the chill in the air. As I worked, my mind filling in the gaps the fleeting nature of the vision had left behind, I built myself into a fury, applying the paint with a speed and carelessness so contrary to my normal manner. A strong face, full of planes and topped with darkly arching eyebrows; a mouth that gave the slightest hint of a sneer; eyes that met mine so confidently; a body strong and yet capable of amazing gentleness, covered with a loose white shirt, legs tightly held in leather pants. I could almost feel him there behind me, the draft through the old windows carrying that intoxicating scent to my nose as I threw myself into my work, my skin slick with sweat, paint dotting me here and there.

When the storm broke outside, I finally stepped back from my work, part of me gasping with the effect. I hadn't painted this well in years; it was a Renaissance portrait, a lush mixture of light and dark. A shiver ran up my spine and I glanced down at myself, seeing for the first time how much paint had landed on my skin rather than on the canvas. I felt drained, weak, all I wanted was a bath, my mind numbed slightly by the fury of my inspiration.

I crawled into the tub and let my eyes drift closed, leaning back against the porcelain of the old claw foot, wondering dimly what was happening to me. Still, I was too tired to care, though I recognized that in the morning, I would most likely be terrified. Slowly, I eased myself from the tub, wrapping myself in my towel, heading for bed. I didn't even bother with the covers, just laid myself down there, using the towel to keep warm. Without another thought, I fell into sleep.

I was almost right, for a brief moment in the morning, I was terrified. As much as I tried to deny it, I was being haunted. Stronger than that, however was a feeling of curiosity. I hadn't been happy when I felt as though I was spied on, this was my home, I should be safe here. But all in all, nothing bad had happened to me, I had these urges, but really, they weren't anything too horrible. I laid there for awhile, snuggled under the covers, pondering. Who was this man? Why was he here? What did he want? I was thinking the last answer to that was probably more obvious than I cared to admit when it suddenly hit me that I was under the covers. I could have crawled under while asleep, I supposed, but as I sat up, I saw my robe, laid out over the foot of the bed, waiting for me.

I tried to act as nonchalant as possible throughout the day, but I avoided my studio, working in the garden instead, bringing in the things that had survived the storm. It wasn't until after dinner that I headed upstairs, opening the door with trembling hands. I stood there, just inside the room and stared at the painting. It was magnificent, the man everything from my dreams, both before and after I had arrived. As I stared, I could smell him again, I could feel him behind me, in the hall.

It took forever to turn around, my hand still tight on the doorknob. When I did, I…I saw him. He was standing in the doorway to a spare bedroom, leaning against the doorframe, hands clasped behind his back. He watched me for a moment, looking me over from head to toe, then his hands came around to the front and he waved at me, the slightest of motion, his eyes full of a hunger I'd never seen before, tinged with a strange sort of remorse.

"Who…who are you?" I didn't realize I was going to speak until I heard my voice, trembling and almost husky.

He chuckled slightly, that laugh again, sending chills up my spine. Then he faded away, becoming less and less solid. I was left with his voice in my mind, deep and rich, heavily accented. Daniel.

It was hard to go to bed that night, I spent forever downstairs, doing nothing, rearranging things that didn't need to be changed. When I did go upstairs, it took even longer for me to crawl into my bed, my eyes refusing to close, my heart beating harder.

I woke up in the middle of the night, a distant storm sending shivers and flashes of light through the room. For a moment, I forgot everything that had happened. Then, I felt a hand touch my side lightly and my head snapped around on the pillow, eyes wide, afraid that I would see…nothing? Or him?

He was there, inches away, his smell filling my nose, his eyes gentle. I opened my mouth to speak and I could hear…or feel…him shush me lightly, though nothing met my ears. His hand glided up my side on top of the covers, lighting a trail of fire through my body. I moaned against my will, my eyes drifting almost closed, and he was there, his mouth gentle and firm on mine. I kissed him back without thinking and the kiss became fiercer, nipping at each others lips, his hands wrapping about me to pull me closer to him, pressing my breasts tight to his chest.

The storm came closer, the lightening brighter, the thunder faster, and the covers seemed so confining. He agreed somewhere and pushing me away for a moment, he ripped them aside, tossing them to the floor, staring at me as I lay on my back, my white nightgown pushed up my legs, nearly exposing me. I could feel his hunger, his want, the way I pleased his eyes, his nose, his mouth. He slid up onto his knees, reaching up to tear his shirt over his head, his long hair disheveled about his shoulders. Still staring into my eyes, he reached down and slid his hands up and over my legs, touching every inch, a moan sounding in my mind as he felt their smoothness, memorizing every curve and bend. I was willing in his hands, letting him part my legs slightly as he moved between them, still staring at my face, his smile sending tremors through me just as his hands did. Then, his eyes fell from mine, gliding over my body as he delicately took the edge of my nightgown and lifted it higher and higher, pulling it over my head, my arms moving up to allow him to remove it completely, tossing it to join the blankets on the floor. He stared at me even harder, I could feel his gaze on my skin, his hands slowly wending through my hair, down to my shoulders, over my breasts, lightly teasing the nipples; then lower and lower, caressing the softness of my belly in gentle circles, lower, touching the edge of the tangle of hair, skirting my sex, heading to my inner thighs, causing me to suck in a breath as he taunted me by not touching where I so desperately wanted him to touch.

Lightening struck again, nearly blinding me in the darkness, and he moved like the storm, his mouth suddenly landing on my clit, his tongue reaching out to encircle it. I moaned loudly in time with the thunder, my hands tentatively moving down to dance into his hair, almost surprised that I could touch him. He sucked gently on me, then moved down to slip his tongue deep inside, tasting every inch of me he could reach. I clutched him tightly, my hips grinding up against his face, my head thrashing from side to side, moans coming more and more frequently, until, with another crash of thunder, I came with an intensity that almost caused me to pass out. His tongue reached inside me again, licking harder and harder, extending my orgasm until dark spots began to flash in front of my eyes, my back aching as I arched higher and higher, unable to even moan anymore.

His hands slid under me to lower me to the bed, his mouth moving to tease, bringing me down from my peak just as slowly as he returned me to the bed. He moved away from me, staring at me, and his hands went to his pants, working on the lacings, sliding them over his hips and finally off his legs. I sat up slightly, shocking him I think as my hands went straight to his cock. It was beautiful and long, so hard to the touch. His head fell back as my fingers glided over his skin, teasing him as he had me. The unreality of the situation made me more daring, and I reached out and lightly flicked the head with my tongue, feeling him jump above me. I slid him into my mouth slowly, my tongue dancing around, searching for the spots that would make him moan inside my head. His fingers found my hair, holding it out of my face with one hand, his other caressing my cheek lightly. I glanced up at him and saw him watching me again, the smile gone, a look of infinite tenderness deep in his beautiful eyes.