There was a lead in the car. She double-checked it was there before strapping the old surf ski a friend had left behind onto the roof racks. Killer watched her every move from the backseat. “Right. Let’s go,” she muttered, as if she had to convince herself.
Ten past eight at the lake, and the lights around the concrete path were on and making little pools of yellow. Above, the moon was full and fat as a saucer of milk waiting for a thirsty cat. Its light shimmered on the lake, painting a silver road out across the water from the edge to the darkened island.
If she’d been deaf, it might have seemed a tranquil evening.
But on the far side of the lake, floodlights carved a bright niche out of the night. There was a concert on. Two or three hundred people sat, lay, screamed and jumped up and down on the grass before a temporary platform—heavy metal from the sound of it. A flotilla of groupie ducks cruised the waters over near the concert.
No one, drunk or sober, had yet ventured over to this side.
For a few minutes, she stared at the island. The moon barely touched the tops of the trees, and deeper down at ground level, the dark tangle of shrubs and saplings made it look impenetrable. Yet that was where she knew she had to go. And the only way to get there was across the water. Prickles of clammy fear marched up her arms, then fled down her spine. She could do this. She had to.
Surf ski on her shoulder, a short plank in one hand, Danii made her way to the water’s edge, sinking ankle-deep in the soft mud as she laid the ski onto the water.
Breathe one two three. Think of that thing new mothers did. Lamaze? Breathe and forget the water. Breathe. Her heart wasn’t just pounding; it had a battering ram going full-time inside her, and the butterflies in her stomach had morphed into circling sharks.
Then she looked back.
Killer? She hadn’t thought this through too well. At that, her fear diminished, shrinking down so that only her legs shook. Control. Calm. She had a dog to take care of. As long as she didn’t have to get in the water.
“Well, Killer, if you can balance on that, you can come.” She looked at him, eyebrows raised, doubting her own wisdom in bringing him. “Let’s try this.” Cocker spaniels were water dogs, weren’t they?
Yet no matter how hard she tried to coax him onto the front of the ski, Killer refused to obey. Wouldn’t even get his paws wet. At last, frustrated and disgusted with herself, she abandoned the idea. Sitting midway on the ski, she tucked her feet into the little hollows and pushed off. Thank God. It only wobbled a little.
“Stay! Stay there, boy. I’ll be back soon.” God, she felt like a fool. If he went missing, she’d never forgive herself.
When she was a few feet out, Killer launched himself into the water and paddled to her, scrabbling his paws on the fiberglass. Laughing with relief, she hauled him up. “Good boy!” He sat there on the prow, dripping wet, laughing back at her, tongue lolling out and perfectly at home.
“You little bastard,” she muttered, grinning all the same. If the dog could conquer his fears, she could also.
Without a proper paddle, the piece of timber had to make do. The water looked terribly black, and weeds caught at the makeshift paddle, slowing her progress and making the surf ski lurch alarmingly a few times. Gradually, the island grew nearer.
When the nose of the surf ski slid up onto the shore, Danii waited a while for her heartbeat to quiet. Why am I here? There didn’t seem a clear reason, just a lot of incoherent feelings and a vague memory of Heketoro telling her she should be here. A man—she frowned, massaging between her brows—a man who seemed in the middle of a god-awful mess inside her head. For once, shooting first and questioning later might be a prudent course of action.
A hiatus in the music and screaming let her hear the small creatures shifting in the undergrowth. Something fled as she pulled the ski farther up the bank. Cold mud squished up between her toes. Killer ran up the bank to plunge happily into the undergrowth chasing some imaginary prey.
From the shore the island had appeared clogged with a hazardous mess of tree, shrub, creeper, and their rotting remains. Up close, in the light from the moon and the flickers from the floodlights that broke through the gaps in the vegetation, she could see spaces where there was grass, and a narrow worn pathway leading inward, toward the center. Perhaps the gardeners who maintained the park sometimes came here.
The music resumed, belting out its loud, insistent beat, drowning all other sound. That prickling of her skin came again—it was what she called her seventh sense. More than once it had saved her from harm. But why here? Could Heketoro be a danger to her? She knew she had to be here, now, tonight. The call of this island had pulled at her all day.
She moved onto the path, treading softly, her hand on the gun. Was he here?
The pathway opened out into a clearing dominated by a grand dead tree. The ground bulged where its roots emerged from the earth. Surging upward from a broad trunk as wide as a man could stretch his arms, the tree split into four great, gnarled branches that writhed their way upward, themselves dividing again and again. To Danii, it looked as if the tree strived to anchor its fingers into the sky. From the nearest of the large branches, long vines hung almost to the ground.
* * *
From childhood, Heketoro had been taught how to be strong and impassive in the face of danger. He’d seen the terrible deaths of men and women in battle, the humiliation of those he loved come about as a result of a misjudgment or a misstep of fate, and he knew how to school himself to reveal nothing. Yet, when he saw Danii walking toward him like a female leopard stalking prey—eyes alert, claws unsheathed, beauty and deadliness combined in one package, he barely remembered to breathe.
She had come.
Despite all that strove against this moment, she had come.
He wanted to go to her and gather her into a rib-cracking embrace and never let her go. Patience, he told himself. Observe the ritual or we both may die. He made his breathing settle to a steady rhythm—though his pulse rebelled and persisted in pounding hard at his temples. He allowed himself a smile. Considering the ritual and what he would now get to do to her body, that was not surprising.
* * *
“You’re here.” The bass tone resonated in Danii’s flesh. As Heketoro spoke, the music dulled and became distant. She found her hand gripping the GLOCK even tighter as she strained to pick him out from the shadows at the base of the tree.
“You don’t need a weapon,” he said calmly. “What made you bring one?”
Ah yes, there he was, standing legs shoulder-width apart in the shadows, in the midst of a sprawling tangle of roots and just beyond the vines. Danii sauntered to him, her fingers loosening and her hand falling away from the pistol, excruciatingly aware of the swing of her hips and the heavy mounds of her breasts and the pure fecund power of her sex. Truly she didn’t need a gun.
Memories poured back into her, and she saw, in her mind, their last encounter, knew again the feelings, recalled the decision she’d made in full awareness of the consequences.
“I’m sorry,” she said, a tear spilling down her cheek. “I had forgotten.”
“It’s the curse. Humans forget and you have enough of their blood for it to affect you. I tried as hard as I could to let you keep your memories. I did tell you.”
“Ah…then I must have forgotten the warning.”
“Yes,” he agreed, and with a small gesture and a glance he indicated what he wished of her.
And so with each step she took, she shed clothing and weapons: her jacket, her belt, her black pants, unclipped the holster, her T-shirt, the wrist sheath and knife, the black bra. Freed from restraint, her breasts swayed with every movement, and her nipples tightened in the cold air. The black panties were next. This time she barely hesitated, pausing only to slip them down to her knees and let them fall to the ground. Already the lips of her cleft pouted, and she felt dampness on her thighs.
Having drawn closer, she saw he was naked also, his erection
standing out before him—a sight that made her step falter. His eyes shone faintly green. Behind him, standing straight up on a timber pole to almost as high as her waist was a carved oversize phallus.
She stopped a single stride short of reaching him. His mane of black hair hung free past his shoulders, the ends of it seeming to curl and twitch of their own accord like drowsy snakes. She spent an eon drinking in the dip and swell of his every muscle. Wherever light touched him, hard flesh gleamed. The black tattoos had spread farther and now sliced and swerved boldly across the right side of his face and broad chest, and they swooped down to his groin to embellish his phallus in an intricate pattern.
She lifted her gaze to discover the slightest look of puzzlement on his face. Following where he looked, she saw swinging from her left hand was the holster with the GLOCK inside it.
“I…didn’t want to lose it.” She turned and tossed it back toward her clothing, wondering herself why she’d still kept it.
The moment coalesced about them as if something waited for them to begin.
“You are ready?” he asked. “You must remember to obey me absolutely during the ritual. You cannot refuse me.”
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Yes.”
He beckoned with his finger. “On your knees. Use your tongue. Anoint me. Everywhere.”
She went to her knees. Her skin slid and bumped over small roots as she went to him. Though she wanted to grasp his cock and begin there, he pointed to his feet. She kissed and licked her way up each leg, his back, his neck, allowed to caress him only with her tongue and lips, everywhere except where she wished to, until the last.
His thighs tensed as she took each ball in her mouth, and he groaned as she worked her way up the shaft and slid on the warm trail of saliva to the tip. Just as her mouth settled over him, he hissed.
“Stop. No more.”
Reluctantly she sat back on her heels and looked up at him, slipping her tongue across her lips. The pungent tang of him tempted her. Wetness from her cunt trailed across her ankle, and she blinked slowly, needing so badly to feel his cock push into her.
Again he signaled her direction with his finger. Her gaze followed where it aimed—the vines, dangling like ropes from the tree. Here, she hesitated, and at that the air thickened, pressing in on her, warning her. She must not hesitate.
The vines swung a little, glinting moon silver, shadowed in black, the ends fraying into tendrils. Shakily she rose to her feet and went to them. He followed her, twigs and leaves crackling beneath the weight of his body.
“Raise your arms,” he commanded.
She did so, feeling her breasts lift and her body tremble, but not in fear this time. The vines were a little farther apart than her shoulders. He took each wrist and secured them, the tendrils coiling gently yet firmly about her wrists, pulling her arms upward at an angle until she was almost on tiptoe.
And then he came around to the front of her, that confident smile on his face. “This ritual I could do every day of my life.”
Hanging there, a shudder of arousal flowed through her from her bare toes to the tips of her outstretched fingers. “Don’t taunt me. Whatever it is you have to do, do it. Please.”
His eyes crinkled. “In my own time. I find this is far more pleasing than I thought it would be.”
“Liar. You knew you’d like this.”
“Perhaps. Now…I get to anoint you. But first, the other vines.” To her surprise he found two more, dragging them across from where they were attached to tree roots, attaching them to her ankles and pulling her legs apart.
Now her toes were barely able to reach the ground. He’d held her down before, tied her, but never as thoroughly as this—where she could do nothing. She flexed her fingers, tottering on the balls of her feet, and knew, above and beyond the little whisper of fear, being bound excited her more.
“The next part of the ritual,” he whispered. He strode away, back to where he’d stood and yanked the timber phallus from the ground, brought it to her, carrying it like a spear.
“Perhaps that’s not a good idea,” she blurted. She must not say the word no. Yet her cunt pulsed as if already the phallus probed at her entrance. She eyed the thing, fascinated and repelled all at once by the solid width of it, and the carved veins running serpentine down its length.
He said nothing, only screwing the base into the ground below her. Then he leaned in, his mouth next to her ear. “This will take your weight. Be grateful.” He went round to where she couldn’t see him, grasped her at the hips and lifted her body. The vines about her ankles creaked.
As the cold timber phallus pressed against her slit, she closed her eyes, savoring the subtle slip, the wide stretch of her lips. When Heketoro lowered her fully onto it, sliding her down, she groaned, hanging her head, panting, feeling as if her entire body was centered on her cunt.
When the phallus contacted the egg within her, there came the hard tap of timber on timber.
“You see…” he said, growling. “It was worth it.” He moved behind her again and gently kissed her ears and her neck.
As she had done to him, he planned to cover her body with kisses and licks. Once the throbbing below subsided, his touch came to the fore, and she was torn between each new assault on her body. Her ears, her lips—and there she tried to capture his mouth with hers, but failed—her breasts and nipples, her clit…the slurp of his tongue circling where the phallus sank into her. By the end of it, when he reached her feet, she no longer remembered where she was.
“Do you want me inside you, Danii?”
She opened her eyes and saw he was inches away, his eyes dark with lust.
“Yes,” she said, almost choking on the word. The vines swung, tugging at her wrists and ankles and making her body rotate. The phallus made small circling movements inside her.
Of course, she’d given no thought to the only way he could be inside her. The phallus occupied her cunt. But it didn’t matter to her at all. She welcomed the feel of his cock and the warmth of his body as he molded himself against her back. His cock glided like a thick snake along her crease, to one side, between inner thigh and the timber phallus, and then along the other side. He withdrew, and probed farther back. Gradually her other hole opened to let the tip of him in. So much moisture down there, it slid as if oiled. An inch in, burning a little at first, then more, until the entire length of him filled her.
“You must not come,” he grunted. “Until I do. Do not. Hear me?”
She couldn’t speak, so much sensation flooded her. She nodded, gulping as he began to move inside her. She could do nothing to stop him and didn’t want to. Ah, the universe could vanish, and she wouldn’t care. Her clit and nipples stuck out, engorged, and she pushed out her butt as much as she could with the phallus in place, welcoming his penetration.
The heavy metal music came back to her, blasting out loud enough to wake the dead. Heketoro thrust in time to its beat. Over and over and over, pounding into her. Sweat rolled down her body.
The constraint of the vines, the fullness of her cunt and anus, the press of thumb on clit; she couldn’t center her feelings, and suddenly the blissful fire of the egg burst outward. She moaned, head arching back, teetering on the edge.
His tongue and lips fastened on her. “Now.”
“Ahhh!” She spasmed. The world became nothing more than a spear of ecstasy, impaling her on the point of a never-ending moment in time, escalating more with each second, to almost-pain. The fire reverberated from her center, and she jerked her arms on the vines, juddering, screaming in joy, every movement setting off further vibrations inside her that ricocheted from clit to core to anus and back again. She might hang there forever—mind in tatters, torn apart by pleasure, shuddering. Nothing else mattered, nothing at all.
Though her eyes were shut, on the last fiery pass through, she knew the fire spread past the boundary of her flesh, becoming a ruby shockwave echoing outward, breaking apart and reforming everything it hit�
�Heketoro, the ground at their feet, the great tree and the vines.
When again she was aware, she found herself in Heketoro’s arms, her body quieting with only the tiniest of tremors teasing her, reminding her of what had been. His head nestled across her neck. A painful spot on the side of her neck told her where his teeth had been. A last shudder ran through her.
“Thank you, princess,” he whispered. “And now to remove the egg.”
“Be careful doing that, or I might fall into a million pieces.” She was only half joking. Her body felt so completely used up, she wasn’t sure if she could stand again.
The phallus came out of her with a liquid sound, and she whimpered.
Heketoro kissed her inner thigh. “Are you still there? In one piece?”
She paused to catch her breath. “Of course.”
“I have to remove the egg. It’s the source of power, the way back to my world.”
“Ah. I see. Release my hands and I’ll do it.”
“You can’t. It’s impossible for you to move it. It is fused to your flesh by magic. Don’t be concerned. I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt.” But she heard the smile in his voice. He strode away from her, and she twisted her head to see what he did. From one of the piles of clothing, he picked up the knife sheath and the GLOCK holster, slipped the holster over his shoulder, then pulled out the knife.
She cringed inside at the sight of the drawn blade but he only went to the vines above her and sliced through them, freeing her hands. “My legs?”
He kissed her shoulder, and said, his voice rumbling low, “You’ll need your legs apart for this, I think.”
He resheathed the knife and tossed it aside, then knelt before her.
She bit her lower lip, sinking both hands into his thick hair. Ready. This seemed likely to be more grueling than the last time he removed the egg.
Something moved quietly in the darkness at the side of the tree. Lithe and shimmering pale. A woman, naked, her fair hair twisting slowly about her head—long-limbed, muscles curving into a perfect waist and heavy, rounded breasts.
Three Days of Dominance Page 16
