L E T I T B U R N Patrick Hockstetter fanfic

T I M E O F T H E S E A S O N

Shrugging to herself, she trudged forwards carefully, trying not to fall again and navigate her way back home, which at that point was only two blocks away. Issabel blinked as some water from her soaked copper curls managed to run down into her eyes, pausing to rub them with the driest bit of her sleeve she could find which was scarce.

She jumped slightly when she heard a rustling in the hedge row, just to the right of where she was stood, soaked through in the rain. The rustling continued, drawing her attention further as she felt her curiosity piqued. Squinting her eyes to try and adjust her poor vision so she might just find the source of the noise. It sounded like an animal was stuck. That was when she heard someone crying on the other side of the street, where if she could recall, was where Old man Walter had been painting his Canoe in the pitch black garage which was left open.

"Issabel,"

Her head whipped around and her chest began rising up and down, feeling a sense of fear run through her. The street was so deserted you'd think she was the only soul on the planet. Everyone else had retired indoors due to the weather. She suddenly felt like maybe she should keep moving as her blurry vision burned into the dark space across the street from her. As if it read her mind, the crying suddenly stopped and instead, a deep, otherworldly laugh echoed within the black abyss. A shrill scream choked out of her, fight and flight kicking in as a hand shot out of the hedge and grabbed a hold of her arm tightly.

She stared in horror down at the hand that was half decayed, maggots wriggling and slipping out of open rotten flesh with the rain water. Its unearthly claws bit into the bare skin of her wrist, droplets of blood running pink. Tears filled her eyes as she hiccupped out screams, pulling herself away and into the road. She turned to see a chalky white painted face emerge from the darkness of the open garage, bulging eyes burning amber as it grinned at her with sharp, shark like teeth. She let out a scream as it lunged out of its hiding place like a predator, claws outstretched and ready to rip her to shreds. That was when she saw the lights coming towards her.

"Patrick,"

The rain thudded against the glass which was cold to touch but steamed up from the pure heat that was being generated from within.

The vinyl had long since finished spinning on the record player, scratching to a halt as Patrick Hockstetter had instructed Olivia Johnson to undress and reveal herself to him as he leaned against her wardrobe finishing off his cigarette. She lay spread for his cold green gaze to feast upon as her chest heaved up and down, face flushed pink. He had touched her in every way but physical and yet he could see her slick and ready for him, still he didn't make a move to go to her. He just stood and stared at her, admiring how ethereal she seemed there on the bed, completely bare and showing her entire self to him.

His eyes dragged over her repeatedly, from her flustered face which begged him to touch her, to her small, round breasts which heaved up and down, small mocha nipples hard and desperate for stimulation, down her smooth navel to her pussy lips which barely hid the pink inner folds that shimmered with wet under the dim glow of the fairy lights adorning the plain white walls. Patrick thought that next time, he would bring a camera to take a picture. But for now, all he could do was just admire her from where he stood.

Olive stared at the tall, slender boy in the corner of her room who just stood and stared at her body. The way his eyes ran over her made her feel like she was the only thing in this world that was important. It felt like a life time until he finally pushed off the wall and was at the end of the bed, running his palm up her legs slowly, his eyes following the invisible trail his hand left before they flickered up to meet hers. Olive had to try and think of a time when he'd looked this serious, but nothing came to mind. She broke eye contact to whimper in pleasure when she felt those slender, ringed fingers brush between her folds and over her clitoris.