Sweet Love, Survive

by Susan Johnson

  Rummaging through the packages that had been brought up by the servants, Apollo brought out a hand-carved rocking horse, left over from imperial times, that he had wrapped in a scrap of silk. Firez and Sons had used it as a display piece. Carved from clear, dark ebony, it was embellished with gold filigree on tack and rockers, the eyes two splendid sapphires, the mane and tail of flowing horsehair; overall it didn’t stand over a dozen inches. Carrying it over to the bed, he placed it beside the baby.

  “It’s lovely, Apollo,” Kitty said, taking in the elegant toy. “But he’s only three months old. He’s so small.…”

  “I know that, dear. That’s why it’s a very small rocking horse. Look, he likes it.” The Cub had caught hold of the flowing tail and was testing it for flavor. A father’s elation shone on Apollo’s face. “He’s going to be a true djighit.”

  “You mountaineers. All you think about is horses and weapons. I’m surprised you didn’t bring him home a gun.” Kitty’s tone was teasing, but the slightest edginess could be distinguished.

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “I should hope not.”

  “Of course not. It would break Pushka’s heart. He’s having one made for him. It’s almost finished.”

  “Apollo!”

  “It’s only a very tiny one, kitten. Just a toy.” Turning his warm, utterly disarming smile on Kitty’s stern face, Apollo said, “Have I turned out so wickedly, raised in these mountains?” He tipped her chin up and softly brushed his knuckles across her cheek.

  “Oh, Apollo, it isn’t that. …”

  “Afraid of all the killing?”

  Kitty nodded her head.

  “It’ll be different in France. Don’t worry. Just humor Pushka for now.”

  “Apollo, do you think we’ll ever get out?”

  “Of course. I promised, didn’t I?” Inwardly, he hoped he’d be able to keep that promise.

  Much later that evening, after the dirt of the trail had been washed off, dinner served, and the Cub fed and put to bed, Apollo carried several packages in from his dressing room and tossed them on the bed. Kitty, seated at her boudoir table brushing her hair, turned at the commotion.

  Apollo, lounging against the bedpost, indicated the objects with a quick gesture. “A few presents for you. Very few, I’m afraid, shopping being what it is now. Once we get to France, I guarantee an improvement.” His black silk robe, casually tied, set off his bronzed skin and pale shiny hair in the subdued light of the bedroom.

  Kitty’s hand flew to her mouth in delighted, delicate surprise. “Apollo… how did you dare? You could have been arrested at any time, walking into a shop!”

  “Not at one o’clock in the morning, love.”

  Setting down her brush, she half twirled to face him, her urchin eyebrows raised slightly.

  “Don’t go moral on me, dushka. It’s much too late,” he said in an amused tone. “Besides,” he continued, pushing his hands in the robe pockets, “these are all paid for very properly.”

  “With Soviet gold?”

  “Which used to be imperial gold, and a good share of Kuzan gold, as a matter of fact. Satisfied?”

  “Oh, I wasn’t questioning the morality of it. You’ve long since converted me to your more … unorthodox life-style.”

  “Because of my charming ways, no doubt.” A slow, lazy smile curled his lips.

  “That, of course, and one other thing,” Kitty facetiously replied, a very bewitching smirk touching her crimson mouth.

  Apollo settled his shoulders more comfortably against the carved post and the lazy smile crinkled his eyes. “Yes, I’ve always found the combination quite … well, effective.”

  Kitty made a pretty moue. “I don’t care to hear about the ‘alwayses,’ if you don’t mind.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Abominably.”

  “I suppose,” he said, his eyes guilelessly clear, “you’re going to go all wifely on me and expect me to be faithful.”

  “Not expect, dear man,” Kitty replied ominously. “Insist.”

  “Insist! Oh-ho, this sounds serious. Why don’t you try on the things I bought for you, and then I guarantee, darling, I’ll be entirely open to any reasonable discussion of my faithfulness.” He was grinning widely.

  Kitty, glaring mutinously, retorted tartly, “And if I feel the subject is not open to discussion?”

  Pushing himself away from the bedpost, Apollo untied the belt of his dressing gown and dropped the garment to the floor. He disposed his tall, lean body in a comfortable sprawl on the bed, then stretched, clasping his hands behind his head, his powerful shoulder muscles flexing and flowing in the light of the bedlamp. “Try on the gowns, pet,” he said hospitably, “then, er, ‘persuade’ me to drop the discussion. You know how amenable I am to your ‘persuasion.’” A slow, sensuous smile took possession of his mouth and his eyes grew sultry, flame gold, hungry. “And hurry, kitten,” he breathed softly. “Three days is a long time. …”

  It was a game, a delirious, exquisite game they both delighted in.

  He tossed a peridot chiffon gown at her and said, “Why don’t you dress by the fire; it’s warmer,” then sank back against the pillows like an elegant young prince.

  Kitty felt the small shivers start even before she slipped out of her blue angora robe. Even the heat from the fire, playing over her body like waves of summer, couldn’t allay the tiny chills spiraling up her spine. Apollo looked so magnificently virile in his negligent sprawl, his bold eyes already taking possession of her body. She cast a sidelong look at his broad, muscled shoulders; his taut torso, whip lean and hard; his slim hips, that rode horseflesh or females with equal power and skill; his long, athletic legs, their bronzed surface dusted with golden hair, now lying casually spread to welcome her. His arousal was instant and flagrant.

  “Come here if you need help dressing. I’m very good with buttons … and hooks …” His voice was rough-soft, curling around her like licking fingers of velvet.

  Kitty picked up the beaded gown and stepped into it, one shapely leg after the other. She wiggled it over her hips, the silk lining like whispers of invitation against her naked skin. Lifting the beaded bodice, shimmering in draped rivers of silver and pearl, Kitty slid the weighted fabric up and over the heavy fullness of her breasts. The pressure of the intricately massed beads, however light, lay on her sensitized flesh like the brush of a hundred kisses. As she slipped the glistening scraps over her shoulders, her creamy breasts moved against the silk-lined weight of the bodice; her nipples, already peaked, rubbed across minute undulations of chiffon and beads and a searing torrent trembled downward.

  Apollo saw the flush beginning, saw the tiny quiver of her bands and offered in a voice already husky with passion, “Come here, love. I’ll help.” When she came, be turned her around, his bands firm on her hips, and deftly he fastened the myriad hooks up the back. Taking her hand in his, be pulled Kitty to face him and, half rising from the bed, adjusted the narrow straps on her shoulders. “Lovely. …” he said in a low voice, his band running up the pale smoothness of her bare arm. “I like the color … the fit …”

  “I like what you’re wearing better,” Kitty whispered, bending forward to reach his lips. Every slowly kindling nerve in her body wanted him, but when their lips met, he drew back, his large hands gently pushing her away. Looking up into green eyes already dark with desire, he murmured in a coaxing, sensual rasp, “Try on one more. …”

  “I don’t want to,” Kitty softly breathed, premonitions of ecstasy already shivering down her thighs. “Later, Apollo, I’ll try them on later. Don’t make me wait—”

  One bronzed hand released her waist and, in a graceful movement, slid over her hip, under the peridot chiffon skirt, and up the silkiness of her inner thigh. His fingers touched a pulsing beat, heavy with readiness, shamelessly wet.

  The exploring contact scorched through Kitty like an electric jolt. Primordial feelings surged through her heated blood and her hips moved imp
atiently against the strong, invading hand.

  “One more dress,” Apollo cajoled gently, his long artist’s fingers, equally at home with violence or seduction, moving inside the inner softness with superlative skill. “Only one more, kitten.” His voice was delicately redolent, hushed with anticipatory pleasure. He enjoyed exercising a quixotic, sensual power over her; giving her more than she felt she could support; taking her past reason, words, and hearing until nothing was left but desire and need. With his free hand gripping her chin between thumb and forefinger, he pulled her face down to his and kissed her. She kissed him back, hungrily, opening her mouth, sucking his lips, moaning in little breathless sighs.

  While she trembled, he slipped the green dress off swiftly, unhooking, unfastening, his fingers hasty but sure.

  Kitty’s hands moved down boldly, in her aching need, to Apollo’s manhood, pressed hard against his belly, but he evaded her, his hands brushing hers aside. Gently, those hands, dark as mahogany, pushed her upright, then stroked her soothingly as a trainer might calm a high-strung thoroughbred. “Try this one on,” he said in a voice like liquid silver, pulling over a flimsy wisp of a gown. “Lift your arms.” Almost mesmerized, in a trance born of surging passion and blind instinct, Kitty obeyed.

  The diaphanous material fell over her head and shoulders and Apollo carefully settled the midnight-blue charmeuse over her thrusting breasts. She felt his touch like heated honey on her flesh, and the resulting shock waves surged through every aching nerve. She lifted her heavy lashes, and her sea-green eyes met yellow flames that pierced to her burning core. “Apollo …” she implored breathlessly.

  “Look at me,” he said, and she knew what he meant. “Soon, kitten,” he whispered, adoration in his eyes, “very soon.”

  She moved restlessly, her eyes on his pulsing arousal.

  His hand swept over the sheer pleated tulle falling from her hips in a blue waterfall. Without an underskirt, the silhouette of long slim legs, lush thighs and hips beckoned invitingly.

  “Now, Apollo, now—” Kitty quietly insisted, her breathing quick and shallow, her eyes drawn by the evidence of his desire.

  Ignoring her, he swung his long legs over the side of the bed, casually unabashed by his upthrusting desire. Businesslike, he pulled Kitty between his legs, took the triangular scrap of blue silk that served as half the chemise top between his fingers, and, with the other hand, lifted the soft weight of one of Kitty’s breasts until the small piece of fabric cupped the bottom curve. He gently repeated the procedure with the other side of the bodice. The minute top revealed more than it concealed, and Kitty’s ivory-white, peaked breasts flared out like large globes around the tiny blue triangle of material. Satisfied, like some serious if erotic couturier, Apollo ran his hands over the pale roundness pulled extravagantly high by the dark, taut chemise straps and traced her breasts as if they were resplendent ornaments for his pleasure. “Very nice,” he said in a low, smoky voice, his knuckles trailing softly over the peaked nipples outlined by dark silk. “Are you mine, little kitten?” A hoarse triumph wound through his deep, raspy murmur, like a khan mastering a new houri, as he now idly rubbed the sharply pointed crests of Kitty’s breasts between stroking thumb and forefinger.

  A white heat raced downward from the languidly fondling touch, and, moaning, Kitty laced her fingers into the pale shiny hair, pulling Apollo’s head fiercely to her breast. Silken handfuls of hair filled her hands, slid through her fingers like silver mercury, as she held the strong hard planes of his face against her yielding softness. Apollo twisted his head out of her hands and she gasped, then cried out, a low animal sound of a carnal pleasure, frenzied, out of control. Apollo’s white teeth, gently holding a damply wet, silk-encased, taut nipple, eased open enough to say, “Tell me you’re mine.”

  It came out in a faraway whisper, the pitch of witless longing past the point of reason. “Yes, yes, I’m yours. …”

  His mouth closed and she shuddered, then groaned, her fists closing convulsively over his thick, satiny hair. Apollo’s hands roamed lower, while his teeth and lips and tongue tantalized each breast; he could feel Kitty’s body quivering beneath his touch. His hands flowed over flaring hip, the dip of her stomach, the gentle rise where crisp hair prickled through filmy blue tulle, and then, deftly, with one finger, he drew a line burying the silk tulle into the moistness between her thighs. “Silk on silk,” he breathed around the crested peak his tongue was caressing, his long, dark fingers still stroking her slick, sleek wetness with the pleasure of a connoisseur.

  Kitty almost swooned at the intensity of feeling. She cried and sobbed, grinding herself against the teasing mouth and stroking hand. Breathlessly she gasped, “Apollo—” Pleadingly, “You’re cruel, inhuman. …”

  “Walk to the fireplace and back first. I want to see you. Then—”

  “No!” Her tone was pouting, sulky.

  “It’s just a few steps, pet. Please?” he coaxed in nectar-sweet tones. Then his expert hands found the delicate touchstone, wrapped in filmy diaphanous tulle, and when he said, “Please?” very gently one more time, Kitty nodded her head.

  Carefully spinning her around, he gave her a light push on her shapely bottom. With a dreamy, long-legged stride, Kitty slowly moved toward the fireplace, looking, Apollo thought, utterly tantalizing, like a nymph, a primavera: her long golden hair tossed about her shoulders, young, beautiful, slimly lush, and as opulent as a lifetime of May days. “Can you feel the silk when you walk?” he asked, his tone as caressing as the tulle rubbing the secret, throbbing places between her legs.

  She was past answering but turned to face him and he saw. The pleated blue tulle, billowing around her rounded hips, divided in a sharp, deep, tautly stretched juncture, and the rising mound—pale blond hair visible through the sheer blue fabric—glistened wet with pearls of moisture.

  He watched her walk back; he watched her eyes and he could almost feel the rubbing silk himself.

  When he touched her she thought she would die, but he undressed her slowly and she didn’t die. Then, laying her on the bed, he softly asked, “Do you want me inside you?”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” she sobbed, her eyes closed tight against the dizziness of passion burning deep inside her.

  “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

  Her long, dark lashes fluttered open, and as he entered her, Apollo whispered, “I want you to look at me when you come. …”

  Sometime later, he mockingly chastised into the riot of her honey-peach hair spilling over his shoulder, “You haven’t even looked at the jewelry and baubles I brought for you from Derbent.”

  “It’s your own fault,” Kitty murmured, her tongue licking soft patterns in the perspiration on Apollo’s chest. “You distract me.”

  “Who distracts whom?” His fine white teeth flashed; his drawl was sardonic.

  “An arguable point, I concede.” Kitty’s tongue went back to tracing the line of Apollo’s fourth rib.

  A suntanned finger appeared directly across the route of her tongue and blocked its passage. “Do you want to see them?”

  “Of course,” she amiably replied and sat up, her full breast rubbing across Apollo’s jaw. The drive he thought had been sated was immediately resurrected.

  Rolling over on one elbow, he reached for a brown leather drawstring pouch, then loosened the leather thong that held it closed and rummaged through its contents until he found several rings. On an open palm he offered them to Kitty. “For my lady princess. Rings for her fingers, and—paraphrasing slightly—rings for her toes. You’d rather wait on the music,” he said, watching Kitty’s small hand select a sapphire-and-diamond ring, “if you heard me sing.”

  Kitty smiled, admiring the glittering bauble on one of her shapely fingers. Looking up, she remarked, “Come to think of it, I never have heard you sing.”

  “A deliberate act of mercy on my part, sweet. Consider yourself lucky. Do you like them? Here, take another. I’ll do the toes.” He began putting an enorm
ous ruby on her little toe.

  “Apollo, you’re being silly. …” She glanced down at the large stone incongruously perched on a very small toe.

  “I can be silly if I want. I’m a prince and a Kuzan, and if that’s not reason enough, my mother also spoiled me rotten. Is the ruby too large, do you think? Let’s try a smaller one for the other toe. It wouldn’t do to be accused of bourgeois ostentation. Never let it be said that a Kuzan can’t be discreet. I’ll cover your remaining toes with very small gems.” Which he proceeded to do, amidst kisses, giggles from Kitty, and much teasing laughter.

  “And now,” he said much later, his eyes scanning Kitty’s nude body, her fingers and toes ornamented with twinkling jewels, “that about does it for rings. …” His pale eyes narrowed for a moment; then he continued in a soft voice, “Almost.” Gently pushing Kitty down on her back, he reached for two more rings, said, “Don’t move,” and very carefully arranged two diamond rings, one on each nipple, stones hanging down. Bending his head he softly sucked, then teased with tongue and teeth until each crest peaked stiffly hard. “There,” he murmured, his eyes intent on the jeweled nipples, “now the rings will stay on.” His glance drifted up to Kitty’s face, rosily flushed from the exquisite ministrations only recently applied to her sensitive nipples. “Do you like your rings?” His long bronzed fingers closed on the diamonds circling the painted peaks and slowly twisted the rings around and around. Unable to speak with the stabbing pleasure curling inside her abdomen, Kitty ran her tongue over her moist lower lip and languidly nodded. “I thought you would,” he said, the faintest of smiles playing across his fine mouth.

  Sliding his hand under her neck, he lifted Kitty a fraction of an inch and clasped a collar of lapis and gold around her neck. It was heavy, a hybrid cross between Celtic and Egyptian design, and it lay with a cool weight halfway down the curving roundness of her white breasts. Apollo’s hand smoothed the dark surface of blue and gold lightly, pressing the precious metal and gems into the plump, full softness. Kitty responded to his touch as she always did, desire leaping like a live creature within her, an irresistible need freshly sparked by the contact. Her hands came up to draw him close, but he took them between his own and kissed each finger before placing them back at her sides saying, “Wait, love, there’s more.” She felt the cool weight of a massive, three-strand necklace of pearls fall into place around her waist; heard the click of the snap clasp; tensed at the tactile sensation of Apollo’s hand on her stomach. It lay dark-skinned and startling across the paleness of her flesh, like a watermark imprinted on the finest, most delicate parchment. He stroked her smooth, silky skin, then straightened the three strands of enormous matched pearls, which drifted down the firm hollow of her abdomen. That adjustment of the long pearl chains brought the large emerald cabochon pendant at the middle of the pearl ellipse to a most intriguing point. One of Apollo’s bronzed fingers slipped down over the pendant and, testing, pressed lightly. Kitty’s momentum of building passion soared in an instant; she uttered a muted sound low in her throat and, quite involuntarily, her toes curled as the shock waves reached her hidden place.