Soul Keeper by Natalie Dae

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