by Leela Ash
She spread her legs further and let him explore her body. He ripped at the pelt to expose her breasts and grunted as he pulled away his own clothing. When he stood naked in front of her, Melissa couldn’t help but smile. He was such a fine example of a man, so perfect. Even with all their differences, even with the fact they were from thousands of years apart, their pure human instincts of lust and passion pulled them together with an incredible force.
Saber took hold of her and lifted her high into the air. He carried her over to the fire and lay her down on the fur pelt in front of it. She didn’t even notice the cold as she looked down at his huge throbbing cock and ached to have it inside of her. He knelt in front of her and parted her legs with his knees. As he climbed between them and rubbed his cock up and down her slit, Melissa writhed against him in ecstasy. She was begging for him to put it in her. She needed to feel him. She bit her lip as he stopped at her opening and with one powerful thrust entered her and opened her wider than she had ever been before.
“Ohh,” Melissa whimpered as he began to thrust in and out of her with such force she was on the edge of an orgasm within seconds. She gripped onto his thick shoulders and screamed with pleasure as he fucked her hard and slow. She gripped him tight with her walls, and as they contracted around him, he began to thrust harder, faster and deeper. His cock was so powerful and strong. He was the most incredible lover she had ever had. As he grunted and emptied his thick, hot seed up inside of her, Melissa came again and trembled beneath him. Saber gripped onto her throat and thrust into her once more, as the last bursts of his release flowed from him and he was hot and damp with sweat.
As the pair collapsed on the floor of the cave in front of the fire, Melissa turned up to look at him. She couldn’t believe what had just happened, but she had never felt more free and excited. She had just been made love to by a prehistoric man… a piece of history was now a part of her. For her, it was the ultimate prize and the ultimate experience.
Saber wrapped his arms tightly around her and pulled her into his side. It wasn’t long before he was asleep and they dozed by the fire, cuddled underneath the fur pelts as the sounds of howling creatures roamed the icy lands outside.
Even though Melissa knew there were probably countless creatures out there that could kill her, she had never felt safer in his arms.
8.
The embers burned low on the fire, and when Melissa woke, Saber was already up, stoking it and adding more wood.
She approached him from behind, wrapped her arms around him and kissed his neck. She had never felt more like a woman around him. She had never felt sexier.
“A kiss,” she whispered as he turned to her and her lips met his. He ran his hand through her hair and slipped his tongue against hers.
It was all so perfect. She wished it never had to end.
But she knew she couldn’t stay there.
When they broke apart, his eyes looked sad, as if he knew it was all over, too.
“I need to go,” she said. “Can you take me back to the cave?”
Saber looked out at the fire and ignored her for a moment. She could tell he didn’t want her to leave.
Her heart ached as she was torn between her decision and the man in front of her… Could she leave him now they had met? Their connection was so pure and fierce. Could she walk away from him?
Tears stung her eyes and she wiped them away. Saber shook his head and held onto her chin. He looked at her deep in the eyes and said, “No.”
Melissa smiled and nodded.
“Come with me?” she said as a stroke of genius flooded through her. “You don’t have to stay here… Come back with me?”
She knew it was a crazy concept, but she also knew it was the only answer. She didn’t want to leave him; there was no life for him there. But she didn’t think he would let her go. If she managed to get him back to the cave and they found a way to reopen the vortex, maybe they could be back in 2015 and live happily ever after.
Saber was looking at her as if he didn’t understand anything she was saying. It was the first time he had looked confused since he found her. Melissa took his hand and smiled.
“Trust me,” she said.
He smiled back and nodded.
***
The journey back to the Neanderthals’ cave was short and frightening. Saber threw her up over his shoulder and ran with her back down the incline, past the rocks and cliff face and over a small rise. The opening was there and Saber sniffed the air. He nodded and moved forward, happy that the coast was clear.
Inside the cave, the carcass of the tiger was lying limply on the floor and the Neanderthals had already removed its tusks. Melissa shivered as she opened her mind to suggestion and hoped the rocks would call to her again.
Saber watched her as she held onto his hand and looked around. Her heart was pounding and she was about to panic when suddenly a light shone on the corner of the room and two points from two rocks, one above and one below, were almost touching.
“That’s it,” she smiled as she led him over to them.
Saber held her hand and with their other hands, they both took hold of the rock points. Just as before, Melissa felt a surge of power run through her and Saber roared like a lion as the pain hit them and the earth began to move.
The world went black, but she could still feel his hand.
And then… nothing.
***
A big arm cradled her, and as she opened her eyes, they met his.
“Melissa,” he said with a smile as he brushed the hair out of her face and kissed her gently on the lips.
She sat up and looked around in panic.
Were they back? Had she brought him back to the present?
They were in the cave and it looked similar to when she had been there with Quattro, but there was still something different.
She looked down and they were both still wearing the fur pelts and their skin was dirty.
“Dr. Quattro?” she called out, but her voice echoed around the cave. She knew there was no one there.
“If this were 2015, this cave would be crawling with archaeologists after yesterday,” she said. “Something’s changed.”
She could see the shaft they needed to climb in order to get back to the surface, and Saber led the way. He put her on his back and climbed it with his bare hands and feet with such incredible strength Melissa couldn’t believe he was actually capable of doing it.
He had lived a long time in a savage land with only himself to rely on, but now he had found her and he wanted to protect her. When he reached the top of the small cave opening, he heaved himself up and out with Melissa still clinging to him. As they rolled back onto the grass in the French field, Melissa looked around and was surprised that there was still no one there.
“Looks like we’ll have to walk,” she said.
Saber put her over his shoulder again and headed east.
They reached a road after about two hours and the first car that pulled over held an old couple who looked intrigued and confused by what they were seeing. Saber’s eyes were like saucers as he watched the car as if it were a predator. Melissa assured him it was all fine, and as they made their way back to Bordeaux, she asked the couple in basic French what the date was.
“April 10th, 1973,” the woman said as she turned to smile at her.
Melissa’s heart pounded and she didn’t know where to look. Saber wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close.
She wasn’t even born until 1990… She couldn’t help but laugh.
She thought back to her life in 2015 and of all she was lacking. She may have had a great career, but she could still do that in 1973. Her family were long gone and she didn’t have a boyfriend or husband to speak of. The explorer in her wanted to stay where she was, to never tell anyone what had happened to her and to integrate Saber into society without anyone being any wiser.
She looked at him, and when he looked back at her with his beautiful and innocent eyes, sh
e knew they could make it work. They could stay in France and build a life. Now that they had each other, anything was possible.
Neither of them were from that time and that made it all the more real. It made it so much more exciting for them to be experiencing the journey together.
“Let’s do this,” she smiled and she squeezed Saber’s hand.
The archaeologist had her very own caveman, and they were about to embark on the wildest ride either of them would ever have thought possible.
“Time doesn’t exist when you’ve got love,” she whispered to him. And even though he was still learning, she was pretty sure he understood.
THE END
Into The Duke’s Arms
Katie Maddox
Copyright ©2016 by Katie Maddox. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic of mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter One
Florida, 2016
“If I see one more piece of friggin’ lace, I am simply going to hurl. And hurl good.”
Standing at the center of a lavish Victorian style sitting room, Jasmin Lawrence did have to take a moment and admire her surroundings; her bespectacled gaze perusing the room’s shining wallpaper of scarlet brocade, plush ivory carpeting, and central tables doused in reams of pure white lace and topped by a lavish setting of floral print china. Overseen by the glow of brass chandeliers and the spectacle of a hand painted mural that depicted angels in flight across a gem blue sky, the room did boast a lovely, resplendent décor was meant to promote a certain air of serenity and grace.
At this moment, however, Jasmin felt about as graceful and serene as….
Well, something that’s not very graceful or serene at all, she mused in silence with a sigh, rolling her eyes heavenward. I am in no mood to be witty or clever. I just want to clear out of here and grab a Big Mac.
At this point, however, the only edibles in her future took the form of those Victorian era delicacies that she would not be eating herself, but instead, would be serving to patrons at Chez Victoria, the elegant Florida area tea room where she had sought gainful employment for the past year.
Each day, she pushed a silver cast food cart that came complete with piping hot scones topped by clotted cream and jam, finger sandwiches, decorative iced fancy cakes, and, of course, tea.
Lots and lots of tea.
Didn’t those pesky Victorians ever drink anything else? she queried silently, continuing her tortured but nonetheless cathartic internal monologue before adding, as she winced in acute discomfort, And didn’t they ever lower themselves to the wearing of clothes that were remotely—I don’t know—wearable? Or at least comfortable?
Again, she did have to admit that her work uniform—a true to life, cream colored reproduction of a classic Victorian gown—absolutely stunned with its fitted, lace-bordered floral print bodice with a matching flowing skirt and puffed, lace-lined sleeves. The soft cotton gown served to flatter and accentuate her rubenesque curves. And when she adorned her long mane of lustrous dark hair with a smooth floral print ribbon, she did indeed feel every inch a prim and proper Victorian lady.
Cha! Got them fooled! She smirked now, rolling her eyes heavenward. I full well realize that this gown is infinitely preferable to my last work uniform, worn during my college days while toiling away as a head bun dresser at Cal’s Coney Heaven. Sorry, but it seems rather odd to wear a polyester Coney dog costume while one actually serves Coney dogs to perplexed looking customers. It seems almost fatalistic, to a point.
Yet, no more fatalistic, she presumed, than the everyday wearing of hoop skirts, pantaloons, not to mention those ancient mummification devices known as corsets.
Sheesh, no wonder those ladies were always ‘swooning,’ she reasoned as she felt her rib cage protract. Again. Who can breathe and function worth a darn while wearing a blasted corset?
As she continued to use her tortured inner thoughts as a surefire distraction from the painful—or, at the very least, irritable—truth of her everyday life, Jasmin struggled to remember the time when she loved and lost herself in Victorian lore; those blissful teen-aged years when she lost herself in the novels of Jane Austen, also in the numerous filmed adaptations of her timeless books.
I was bound and determined to marry Mr. Darcy, totally ignoring the three major obstacles standing in our way, she recalled now. Number one: Mr. Darcy is a total and complete fictional character, no joke. Number two: If he was not indeed a total and complete fictional character, he would be long dead by now. Number three: Mr. Darcy is already married. And Elizabeth Bennet is just tough enough to kick my heiny—though, I am certain that, with her velvet tongue, she would come up with a far more proper term for my defeated posterior than ‘heiny’.
It was, in fact, her great love for Victorian literature that had inspired her to pursue a degree in English literature at Clearview State University, the premiere—okay, so the only—collegiate institution located in her Florida hometown.
After working her way through school via a food service job, she graduated cum laude and immediately, scored a job—in food service.
So now I know the true and full meaning of the term ‘literary irony’, she mused, heaving a deep sigh as she wheeled her cart, with sluggish slippered steps, between endless rows of lace afflicted tables. Now instead of asking, ‘Would you like fries with that?’ I ask customers, ‘Would you like clotted cream and chutney with that?’
Her troubled meditation was disrupted by the sudden entrance of her supervisor; a tall, slender woman with distinguished silver hair and a flowing day dress of pure blue satin, adorned with lace and sleek ruffles.
Although Jessymyn O’Reilly generally had the tendency to float into a room, she, on this day, seemed to trudge a bit as she dragged a large and rather unwieldy portrait into the main dining room of Chez Victoria.
“Can I help you with that, Jessymyn?” Jasmin queried, rushing forward to grab up the right edge of the brass bordered frame that enclosed the mysterious portrait; righting the painting as she did to take a closer look at its surface.
She froze then, and gaped outright, as she beheld the image of the most beautiful man she ever had seen.
His tall muscular frame was dressed resplendent, in a long jacket of azure jacquard, a white satin shirt with a stately high collar, and tight fitting taupe pantaloons adorned with brass buttons. The subject of this portrait boasted a chiseled face featuring carved cheekbones, a cleft chin, and eyes that shone as bright and azure as the image of the bluest sky.
This face came framed with a shoulder length mane of thick ebony hair that fell free across muscled shoulders, and came adorned with a soft, subtle upturn of his full moist lips.
“Who’s the beb?” she asked Jessymyn, all the while never tearing her gaze from the captivating man captured in the frames of the ebullient oil painting.
Jessymyn let loose with an undignified snort, rolling her eyes heavenward as she considered her most unique turn of phrase.
“The beb, for your information, is Lord Nathaniel Barrett; the man who originally made his home in this very building—or, at the very least, a reasonable facsimile,” she informed her employee. Adding with a proud smile, “A local historian is writing a book about this area and he interviewed the lovely elderly couple that owns this fine establishment. And, as it turns out, the structure of this tea room is based on the floor plan of a manor house they visited while on a trip to London. They had seen the home of a stately nobleman named Nathaniel Barrett, a widower who lived the gist of his days alone and miserable in his big old house. They thought that it would be a fitting tribute to build a house, much like his, then fill it with laughter, good food, and lots of company for his lonely spirit.”
I’d be more than pleased to provide him tons of company for his lonely spirit, Jasmin mused in
silence, saying aloud, “Well that sounds like a really nice story, Jessymyn; one that we will have to share with our customers. In the meantime, let me help you hang that portrait—maybe right over the fireplace, where everyone can see it? Me, especially?”
Soon, Jasmin found herself back at work on the floor at Chez Victoria, rushing from table to table as an endless line of customers made demands on her services.
“Could we have more tea over here?”
“Could we have more scones over here?”
“Could we have more raspberry jam over here?”
Could I have a life over here? Jasmin felt like barking in kind return—especially at the man who apparently considered it his mission in life to get just a little bit more of that blasted raspberry jam.
“Coming, Sir.” She smiled through gritted teeth at the balding old man who visited the tearoom at least once a week; and always on the days that she was on shift. Lucky her. And to make things worse, today, he seemed unwilling to await her apparently less than timely arrival at the side of his table.
“I’m a goin’ to that front counter myself and get my own raspberry jam,” he told his rather depressed looking wife, who looked as though she would rather be anywhere else, with anyone else, at this point in time.
Swinging his feet out from under his table, he stuck his leg out in front of Jasmin’s food cart, tripping up the cart’s motion and sending several pieces of priceless floral print china flying forward off the crystalline tray that lined its top.
The server’s eyes flew wide as she lunged forward in an impulsive attempt to catch the flying flatware; her feet leaving the floor as her body soared like a rocket across the surface of the cart.
