by Tina Donahue
The pouch.
He lowered his face and sucked air. Now, all he had to do was hide the thing on him…once he had access to his clothes and without Simone seeing what he did.
He slid the pouch beneath a bush, washed his hands in the rain, then sank next to her.
She stirred. “Did I sleep?”
“You did.” He kissed her ear. “You deserved rest as you obeyed me beautifully.”
She turned into him and cradled his cock. “Now I tend to you.”
Royce wanted nothing more, but needed to get the tubes back to his bedchamber and hide them. He had no idea where that might be or who would traipse in and out of the room during his absence. “We should get back to the mansion or the birthing room.” Perhaps he’d find a place to use in there or the library. “It’s dry.”
“I like being wet with you.” She rolled away and pushed to her elbows. Head down, she presented her buttocks, her skin a soft brown, cleft and anus deep pink.
Flesh should never be so plush or inviting, her beauty a bloody crime against a man as weak as him. If sin existed, what raged within Royce for Simone met the qualification, tempting him to take, use, love her.
He wouldn’t allow himself to do so.
She looked over. “My other passage is safe.”
“What?”
“The women here have always used their second opening when food was scarce so no infants would come. Mount me. We can have pleasure without worry.”
“I…” He didn’t know what to say. She offered more than any lady had given him or would have allowed. Only a doxy, paid to deliver whatever men required, had permitted unlimited pleasure.
Simone gave herself freely.
“Have I said something wrong?” She searched his face. “Could you never like this?”
“No. That is, I’m honored. You give too much.”
“Only what I want. For you, everything. Why do you wait?”
He couldn’t any longer, but feared harming her. “Can you relax so it doesn’t hurt?”
“I know what to do. The other women talk. I listen.”
Royce laughed. “Thank God for that.”
“Become a part of me. Make us one. Please.”
He should be the one begging her. With great care, he used the moisture on her folds to lubricate her opening.
She squeezed the ring. “I like how that feels.”
He worked his index finger inside, giving her a small taste of what would come. Her incredible heat stirred him, her muscles relaxing around his finger. What an apt pupil she’d become when it came to lovemaking. If she applied herself like this to languages, she’d soon speak and write better than he did. “Still feel good?”
“Oui.”
He prepared her as well as he could. For himself, he had to control his desire and not plow inside, rending her. “If this hurts, let me know and I’ll stop.”
“I trust you.”
She shouldn’t.
That didn’t stop him. He guided his crown into her opening. Her heat and tightness stole his breath.
Simone pushed against him. “More.”
“In time. We need to go slowly.”
“You do.”
They both did. From the start, their situation had veered out of control. Now they careened toward further disaster. Taking her like this wouldn’t satisfy him for long, his hunger to have her in every way destroying what restraint he managed.
Her sleek passage held him spellbound. Pleasure beckoned. His crown slipped completely inside. He couldn’t swallow or breathe. This was too fine. Spectacular warmth. Soft woman. “You all right?”
“I want more.”
He laughed weakly. “What am I to do with you?”
“Love me.”
He would and did. An utterly foolish reaction that went beyond the physical act. Simone was the soul he’d lost, what he’d been before everything turned to ashes. The future he’d once hoped for and would never have again.
Reality should have stopped him.
He tunneled slowly, as deeply as a man could go. Their bodies touched. Royce knew paradise yet would always require more with her. He leaned down and kissed her back. “Tell me if you’re in pain.”
“Only because you worry too much.”
Someone had to. She trusted too easily. His adoration for her deepened.
“Use me as you will.” She pushed her buttocks into him and squeezed her opening. “I promise not to break.”
He grinned, liking her playfulness. “When did you become so saucy?”
“Does that mean wanting you? I did the moment you grabbed my wrist on this beach.”
Seemed like a lifetime ago, nothing else existing now except this isle and these moments.
Indulgence prodded him, fueling his need to engage in an act as old as time. He pumped into her, carefully at first.
She made an impatient noise. “More. Faster. All you have to give.”
“For a slave, you’re most demanding.”
“Should I hold my tongue?”
“Would you?”
“As long as I could.”
He roared with laughter. “I wager that would be a minute, perhaps less. What say I distract you from speaking?” He stroked her nub and pumped.
She moaned indecently, captive to desire. Exactly what he wanted. His shaft’s slow slide pulled love sounds from her and brought him to another plane that belonged to them alone. Their thighs tapped merrily, his balls swung free. Her nub couldn’t have been harder, slit wetter.
Their mutual desire unmistakable and futile.
He’d recall these days till his last breath and would always yearn for a chance to do it again.
Saving the others and her had to be enough. The same as Simone’s carnal release and his. Possibly the last one they’d know together.
She came first and cried out. Her joy filled him with pride and melancholy. When relief arrived for him, he pressed his face to her back to keep from making a sound, not wanting to share what they had with anyone or anything, including the rain and wind.
They quieted but he didn’t pull out, unwilling to face the world without her. He needed a few additional moments, months, years, decades with Simone at his side. Selfishly, he took her again, this release more stunning than the last.
When they separated, she fell over onto sodden leaves, her back to him.
Remaining awake was a bloody effort, but he grabbed the pouch, tied its strings to the top button on his breeches, and hid it beneath his shirt.
He leaned over Simone. Her lids were down. “Are you asleep?”
“I may never wake.”
“Are you saying I did you in?”
“You made me happy. Lie down and hold me.”
A siren’s call, him the too willing mariner. However, he didn’t yield to her.
She reached for him blindly.
He kissed her palm, then laid her arm on her side. Her hand fell to the ground.
Royce backed away, washed in the rain, and dressed, the pouch against his belly, his shirt masking the faint bulge it made.
Lightning flashed. Seconds later, thunder rumbled some distance away.
She lifted her head. “What was that?”
“The storm’s grown dangerous. We must return to the mansion.”
“Not the birthing room?”
“Later.” He needed to find a hiding place in his chamber first. If none proved likely, he’d try the other spots. “Let me help you.”
Her cloth refused to unfurl easily. A stronger bolt lit the sky, the resultant boom coming faster and louder. He worked hurriedly on the knot. Though dressed, they were wet, mud on their clothing and legs, his hair a bloody mess, hers tangled.
He kissed her hard and rested his forehead against hers. “You’re beautiful.”
“You are too. Will we do this again?”
“Not today. We must run.”
He tugged her up the path
and tore through the forest to the mansion, then pulled her aside before she could enter the door. “Wait.”
Her nipples poked his chest. Their breaths caught. “Why?”
Royce tugged her to a spout on the roof, water streaming down. They bathed within the flow, washing away dirt and sand.
Simone looked at the silk clinging to her legs. “Should we go to the birthing room first to get dry before we see the others in the stone house?”
“You go. I’ll bring my towel to keep Gavra from complaining about your state. I know you don’t want her being cross with you.”
“She has no right. I thought she was my friend.”
He touched his nose to hers. “She is. That’s why she’s giving you so much trouble. She worries about you.”
“I do what I want.”
“Do as I ask, please.” He eased back. “Go to the birthing room. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
She clutched his arm. “It takes so long to get your towel?”
“One of the women might have taken mine to wash. I’ll have to find something else.”
“More towels are in the closet three doors from your chamber. Not far at all. I can wait here for you.”
“No. I should get books first to cover the towels. That way Gavra won’t see anything and fret about what we’ve been doing. Go on, please. I’ll meet you shortly.”
She screwed up her mouth. “I need to talk with Gavra as Tristan does to Peter. Come back to me soon.”
White streaks cut across the sky. A violent roar followed.
She pecked his cheek and dashed to the room.
He waited for her to get safely inside, then ran around the mansion to his bedchamber. Ordinarily, he would have had trouble finding the correct room, but Adamo hadn’t closed the shutter when he’d barged in, leading Royce straight to it. He pushed the covering tight against the window to keep out the wind and more rain. Large puddles had collected on the floor.
He rubbed his towel over his face and hair, mopped up the water, then scrubbed his feet.
Nothing in here served as a good hiding place. The women who tidied up might check beneath the sheets or pillows.
He dropped the chair cushion into its proper place, afraid to leave his pouch under it. Someone might discover the tubes while dusting the wood or brushing the silk…or whatever one did to fabric.
There weren’t any cabinets or drawers around. No hidden crevices. He felt beneath the mattress and slipped his pouch between it and a slat. Far enough from the side frame to go unnoticed should anyone grope about.
When he stood, the pouch wasn’t noticeable from any angle or distance. He dropped to the floor. Even prone, only a small bump gave him away. Perfect.
Unless Tristan ordered him to another room.
He had to get his message out the moment the rain stopped. Royce hoped the storm would clear by tonight or tomorrow, at the latest, so the bird would have clear weather for its journey.
After shaking water from his shirt and breeches, he washed at the basin, combed his hair, and got dressed.
Outside his door, he stopped abruptly and reared back before colliding with Peter. “What are you doing here?”
“Walking during my study break, if it’s any of your business. What happened to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re wet. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Adamo unhinged the shutter in my chamber when he came in. That was before we both ended up in the dining area with his gun at my back. You recall that, correct? I tried to fix the hinge from inside but it wouldn’t work. I went out the window next and managed from there.” He gestured to himself. “Thus my wet clothes.”
“You will never survive on this isle unless you use the brains God gave you.” Peter shook his head and ambled down the hall.
Royce found the closet Simone had mentioned and snatched two towels. Cautiously, he approached the library. The door was open, no sounds inside from Diana. She might be reading.
If she asked about his state, he’d tell her the broken shutter story and that the towels were to protect the books from getting wet. No reasonable person would argue with that explanation.
She wasn’t inside.
The charts were, rolled up and out of the way.
Knowing Tristan’s intelligence, Royce suspected those maps were as accurate as ones could be, despite longitudinal problems, and surely showed the island in relation to Mozambique.
To view them would give him enough information to guide Bishop here or send him on a chase with no reward at the end. Mariners frequently shipwrecked and died due to errors in navigation.
Bishop could be one, delightfully dead at last, his money unreachable. That would leave Royce’s family no better off than when he began this scheme.
He ached to look at the maps, but didn’t dare with people up and about. Perhaps some evening while everyone slept…
Not knowing how Tristan had organized his volumes, Royce rushed through countless titles, finally determined the system, and selected medical tomes in French and Latin. Tristan’s Arabic-to-English alphabet lay on the table along with quills, ink bottles, and paper. Some sheets were as fine as those Royce had once used in London. The others crudely constructed, possibly made here.
He slipped several within the top book and gathered everything else, anxious to leave.
Diana watched him from the doorway.
He couldn’t guess how long she’d been there. Hopefully, he hadn’t looked guilty while staring at the charts or collecting the items. “I hope you don’t mind me taking the towels. I wanted to cover the books so they won’t get wet on my way to the birthing room.”
She glanced away from his damp shirt and breeches. “Peter told me about your problem with the shutter.”
“I fixed it as well as I could.”
“I’ll send an islander in there to see to it.”
“No, please. No need to bother them with such an insignificant problem. I’m sure they have more important work to do.”
“Not in the rain. Nothing in Tristan’s and my home is insignificant. I’m not speaking of its beauty. Though wonderful, I could easily live without it as long as I have my husband, brother, and the fine people here beside me. I worry about safety from storms and outsiders.”
“Yes, of course. I didn’t mean… I believe I fixed it properly.” He didn’t want anyone roaming the chamber. “No rain or wind is coming in. Would you care to see? It will only take a moment.”
She led the way and examined the thing. “It seems the same as the others.”
“I promise not to disturb anything. I’m grateful for your hospitality and saving my life.”
“Take care with Simone.”
He gripped the books. “I intend to.”
“The islanders are precious to Tristan and me. They’re our friends as we are to them. They’ve been through too much already.”
“I know. Simone told me about her family. She’s a remarkable young woman.”
Diana crossed her arms. “She needs to be with a man who can give her his all till death separates them.”
“I agree. She and I are merely friends. Forgive me for being indelicate, but she will never be with child from me. I’m fully aware of my circumstances here and hers.”
“What if the situation changes and you have to stay?”
His heart soared. Reality and despair rushed in quickly, spoiling the moment. “That can never be. If I must, I’ll leave with the islanders Tristan trades with, and will eventually work my way back to where I belong without his kind help. I give you my word never to tell anyone, ever, about who he is or this island’s location. I owe you too much to ever betray you.”
Chapter 8
Simone wished she could chase the storms from the isle and bring back the sun. Each gloomy day added to Royce’s sadness. He stared at the sky. White light streaked it. Thunder rumbled. He troubled over Edward’s pe
ts, especially the birds, even though the one he’d pointed out hadn’t died.
She offered him the choicest food Gavra and the other women prepared, serving it in his bedchamber. The few times he’d joined her and the islanders in the kitchen had proved uncomfortable. No matter where he dined, he ate little. She asked James if Royce had his fill during the evening meals with him and Tristan.
James smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry. He’ll eat when he’s hungry.”
Perhaps for food. She worried Royce’s craving might have returned for his home, away from this muddy isle, but didn’t want to ask.
Today, rain pounded on the birthing room. Gusts slammed the walls. An oil lamp lit his side of the floor, another near her, the healing materials, papers, and books spread around them.
Intense light flickered behind the shutter. A horrific boom followed.
He stopped reading a passage aloud and looked over. “Does it ever bloody end?”
“In time.” She wished she knew how to make things better. “It always does.”
“When?”
“Each year is different. Some worse than others.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Please have more bacon. I brought you the best Gavra made.” Simone pushed the plate closer.
“I’m not hungry. It’s so blasted stifling in here.” He stood and opened the door. Rain and wind burst inside. Papers flew.
Simone tried to catch them.
He pushed the door closed and sagged against it. “Sorry, that was idiotic.”
“What does that mean?”
“Foolish. Thoughtless.”
“You were warm and wanted air. I do too.”
“I messed everything up.” He swiped papers from the walls they’d blown against and pulled several from beneath the bed. “I’ve made a bloody wreck of everything.”
“The papers blew away. You did nothing to hurt them. What you wrote is still there.”
He dropped the stack on the books and paced, going nowhere. No different from his birds in their cages, trapped here as they were.
Simone didn’t want to face the truth, but she couldn’t ignore how he suffered. “Is something making you sad besides the storms? Do you long for home?”
He rested his fist against the door, head lowered. “I yearn for an end to trouble.”
