Read His Cemetery Doll for Free Online Page A

welcoming his hardness inside of her.
    Conall threw back his head with a breathless moan, as they began to move. Dichotomous sensation suffused his whole body: her figure, firm in his grip and yet astounding in its unreal character; the deep heat and sensuality of her sex, an invigorating contrast to the wintry pleasure of her skin; her legs, squeezing him tightly as her hands rested, hardly there at all, over his shoulders. A spirit, fleeting and ephemeral; a woman, welcome and familiar, riding with him in throes of ardent need. They surged, arching to one another, and Conall's heart beat with rapid excitement.
    He needed to feel her ecstasy. He curled one arm around her hips and rested his other hand over her left breast.
    "Look at me," he gasped. "Please. I want to see it on your face, in your eyes."
    She did look at him, but of course, all he saw was the expressionless doll's mask. It pierced him. He reached for the blindfold and, as before, she ducked his hand.
    There had been a change in those fixed features, though. A single, argentine tear traced down from under the ribbons, sliding down one perfect cheek.
    He touched his finger to it and found it wet, exactly like a real woman's tears. Moving closer, deeper, he pressed his lips to hers again, and their motions quickened. Her hands closed around the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair.
    He gripped her hard and pulled her into heavier rhythm, needing to plunge deeper. Her slick inner sex welcomed him, so tight, so sweet around him, eager and yielding for him. The head of his cock swelled with desperate want, his thighs and buttocks flexing to give her all of him, every vigorous stroke. The rush of impending climax gathered, tightening in his loins, and he shivered as her cool breasts met his heated chest, her pert nipples like snowflakes alighting on his skin. The thrill pulsed through him, to the core, and his cock throbbed inside her.
    She tightened. Her pussy quivered around him and her fingertips dug into his flesh. At the first quake of her climax, his cock jumped as he came to his peak, his pleasure cresting and crashing into orgasm. The first jet of hot cum burst from him, spilling into her, and he pulled her down on him hard, holding her as he pumped stream after stream of slick heat inside her body.
    He still kissed her, holding her with unshakeable strength, claiming her. She made no sound, but he could feel her sex tightening around him, clenching and releasing in hungry, nearly painful desperation. When their lips parted he could swear he felt her icy, heavy breath against his mouth.
    He held her there on his lap, unmoving for long moments after their climaxes subsided. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the slender slope of her beautiful neck, inhaling the clean, enticing scent of her.
    "This..." he panted, "...is madness. This is...utter madness."
    The doll leaned her brow to his, saying nothing.

Chapter Eight
    I t must have been a dream.
    He woke alone, with late afternoon sunlight streaming in his window, golden dust motes floating lazily through it. His sheets were drenched with sweat, but no one lay with him. No woman, doll or otherwise.
    Conall sighed, resting his arm on his brow.
    He rarely troubled over women. The war had changed him, as it did so very, very many men. Injuries and horrific sights scarred and crippled them. Conall came back a hardened man, and far too battered to be companionable to anyone.
    So why did his mind take him to this impossible doll, now?
    Why imagine her coming to him...to make love?
    He sighed again, and rolled on his side. It didn't sound as if Shyla had come home yet. Still alone in the house, he imagined he could use a little more sleep. It must have been hours, and still he remained unrested. Perhaps he'd contracted a bug, and he grumbled to himself over it.
    Then his eyes fell upon Shyla's stuffed dog, tenderly placed at the foot of the bed.
    A trail of small, bare footprints, outlined in white