by Cerys du Lys
I’d heard that Hepburn had gone a little crazy since Elizabeth’s death; or at least, that he’d been fucked up enough by losing her that he’d been putting the screws to everybody he knew. I got the impression that the guy was hanging on by his fingertips. It made me edgy, but I could empathize. I’d been like that too, when I’d lost her.
“I need someone on the inside. But your cousin is shrewd, which is how he has stayed out of reach of the authorities for so many years. He trusts nobody who hasn’t been working with him for years.”
“However much he might distrust one of your guys, he distrusts me even more.”
“We can set you up with a cover story that will fool Nigel.”
“Nigel will never believe I’m involved in antiquities theft.”
“So maybe it’s not your true calling. Maybe you’re just helping your grandfather out while pursuing other goals.”
“What other goals?”
When he’d suggested the human trafficking angle, I’d wondered whether Hepburn and his intelligence agency friends had been spying on me. Probably. Not that I knew a damn thing about human trafficking. But I did know about master/slave relationships of the kinky, consensual type. Hell, I’d been a deviant for years.
Nigel was aware of this. We’d been boys reading porn together. Adolescents fantasizing about all the chicks we were going to fuck. Since I’d always been fond of a woman on her knees in the bedroom, preferably with her hands bound and her mouth ready to service me, it would be no great leap for Nigel to believe that I’d progressed to human trafficking, like a weed smoker to heroin or crack cocaine.
Not only would he believe it, he would be intrigued. And he’d probably want to get in on the action.
So the plan took root. My old friend Max, who had suffered at Nigel’s hands years ago in high school, had provided the funding. Max had started a software company and become a billionaire in his 20s. Voyager was Max’s own private yacht.
I was the fool on the ground. Taking point. Most likely to be screwed. Metin was my loyal Sancho Panza, the amateur whom I hoped wouldn’t get screwed. And Ellie? Who was Ellie? I wish I knew.
I remembered something Hepburn had said at the start: “Don’t even think about crossing me. I might put a man on you to make sure that you don’t.”
A man. Or a woman?
“What’s the matter?” Metin asked. He had been watching me, I guess, while I reminisced.
I put down my glass. “I think I’ll take your advice and go back to Voyager.”
“Good. I have some other advice for you, if you will listen.”
“Well?” I glared at him, wondering what he’d meant by “I’m older than I look.” The kid did look older than the twenty-one he’d admitted to when I’d hired him. It struck me that I didn’t really know much about Metin. He came from a family of fishermen in the town of Kusadasi, near Izmir; he had a better education than many of his friends and he was interested in antiquities. That was all I knew about his background. Metin was frank and friendly, but he didn’t talk much about himself.
“I think we should get Ellie and your grandfather out of here tomorrow. I know you said the fifteenth, and it’s a bit early, but things are getting out of hand.”
“I intend to get them out as soon as possible.”
“By force, if necessary.”
“You’re prepared to use force?”
“Of course,” Metin said with a shrug. “Why not? He is old and she is a woman. It is our responsibility as men to take what actions we must to preserve their lives.”
Life is simple in Turkey, I thought a few minutes later as I rowed back to the yacht. No confusion of values, of identity, of sex roles. Protect your woman. Use force if necessary.
I’d already used force against Ellie. Several times. Not rape, not yet. But, damn, I had never been so tempted to ravage a woman as I was when I was around her. Maybe it would never be rape with her, though. Every time I touched her, she was hot for me. I could scarcely believe it, but it seemed that fate had thrown a girl into my path who was not appalled by the things I wanted to do to her. She was strong and she fought me, but she had that gleam in her eye. And that wetness between her legs.
It made me hard just thinking about her. Part of me didn’t care who she was or how she had come into my hands. She made my blood boil every time I was near her. My heart was pounding now because the boat was right there and she was on it, and soon I would have her at my mercy again.
Except I didn’t. Because when I got on board and made my way down to the cabin where I’d left her, I was shocked to find her crouched on the floor in the darkness, whimpering and shaking all over. Holy fuck. I dropped to my knees beside her, terrified that she was ill or injured. Had I freaked her out with that little jerking off performance? That had been so fucking crude.
She flinched from the beam of my flashlight and covered her face with both her arms.
“Ellie? Good God, Ellie, what’s wrong?”
“You promised.” Her voice was so faint I could barely hear her. “You promised never to leave me alone in the dark.”
Understanding flashed through me. The lights left burning at night, the open curtains that let the moonlight enter, her absolute refusal to enter the cave. I also remembered the drunken promise to which I’d paid so little attention.
I understood, and felt once again the bitter guilt from which there was no hiding place.
I was one sick fuck, all right. Nigel had nothing on me.
Chapter 24
Ellie
He grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around me, then lifted me into his arms and carried me out on deck. Overhead the clouds were clearing and a light dusting of stars was visible. The moon was also rising low over the horizon, dissipating the blackness. And with it, my terror.
“Ellie?” He sank down on the bench seat in the stern and cradled me across his lap. “I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay.”
My limbs were vibrating fiercely, a reaction to the havoc wreaked upon my body by the panic. The shaking was annoying, but I didn’t try to fight it. I welcomed it, knowing from experience that it signaled the end of the attack. I pressed my face against his warm chest, absorbing his calm, his strength, his comfort. His arms were firm around me; his thighs beneath my own trembling legs supported me wholly, bearing my weight without stress or strain. He felt good. Strong. He would protect me.
“Ellie, I’m so sorry.” He bent his face down toward mine. Not to kiss or caress me, but to soothe me. “You’re claustrophobic? I should have realized.” He was stroking my hair gently. “I’m an idiot. Fuck me—I should have known.”
I was beginning to feel better already. Just being close to him helped so much. I don’t know what it was about him—it didn’t even make sense. But there was a part of me that trusted him. Even though he’d treated me roughly from the start, it had never seemed as if that was the whole story. Every now and then, a gleam of light would shine from him, like the flash from a distant lighthouse through the fog.
That gleam was there now. Steady, bright.
“How could you know? I was trying to hide it from you. I’m terrified of small rooms and of the dark.”
“I forgot about the power being out on the boat. Damn. I shouldn’t have left you alone for so long anyway.”
“It’s stupid. A weakness. It’s not even rational.”
“That’s why you refused to enter the cavern. I should have guessed—you’d given me enough hints.”
“I’m okay now that I’m out of there.” I reached up and feathered the gold hair around his ears. “If you hadn’t come back when you did, though, I think I might have died of fright right there on your floor.”
He caught my fingers in one hand and kissed them. Each finger separately, and then my thumb. I felt a tingle deep inside. I guess my hormones were getting back to normal.
“How long have you suffered from this? All your life?”
“Only for the past few years. I started h
aving anxiety attacks when I was in college.”
“Have you tried to figure out what they stem from?”
“I think I was in a cave-in when I was little. In a small pyramid with my Mom. It freaked me out. My memories are vague, but I have nightmares about it sometimes.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
I turned my face against his throat, breathing in the subtle, masculine scent of him. “It wasn’t your fault. I hate feeling like such a coward. It’s embarrassing to have an attack like that. There wasn’t even a good reason to panic. It’s not as if I haven’t spent a lot of time in that cabin. It’s not as if anything bad has ever happened to me there.”
He stiffened. Oops. Wrong thing to blurt out. I tried to cover it by plunging on: “How could you dream I might be an undercover agent? Nerves of steel are required for that profession. I clearly don’t have those.”
He laughed shortly, but I could feel his tension. “I’m sorry for everything I’ve done to you in that cabin. I just—there was a reason for it. Well, not for all of it. Some of it was just me being a fucking animal.” He shook his head. “I’d say I’m not really like that, but I’d be lying. There’s obviously a monster inside me that’s decided you’re its natural prey.”
“What do you mean, there was a reason for it?”
He hesitated. “I still can’t tell you that. Anyway, it’s not as though there’s a bad guy on one side and a good guy on the other. It’s a fucking snake pit you tumbled into that morning.”
“But you’re not going to sell me?”
“No. God no. I’m kinky as fuck, but I agree with you that human trafficking is a despicable crime, worse than antiquities smuggling, worse than just about anything. I’m capable of a lot of nasty things, but I’m not capable of that.”
“But I thought—”
“I’m not involved in that. It’s a lie, a trap for my cousin. I wanted him to believe it because, well, it’s the sort of thing he would believe. But I could never... I don’t blame you for doubting me, but sex trafficking—that’s not something I could ever do.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay?”
“I believe you. Even though you told Nigel you were going to get more money for me because of my anal virginity.”
He groaned. “Shit. You understood that.”
“You nearly exceeded my Turkish vocabulary with that one, but yeah, I figured it out. Although where you were coming from on that, I can’t imagine. How do you even know?”
He began to laugh. It was so unusual to see him laugh, that I started laughing too. “For all you know,” I continued, a little punchy now, “I could be a regular virgin. Just think how much I’d be worth then.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re a regular virgin or I’m going to feel even more perverted that I already do.”
“Relax. I haven’t been a regular virgin since the night of my senior prom.”
He shook his head. “Why aren’t you mad at me?”
“It comes and goes,” I admitted. In the light of the rising moon, I could make out the bemused expression in his eyes. The shaking had stopped. I felt warm and safe. As we looked at each other, communicating with our eyes, something changed in the mood between us, and I felt a new and different kind of tension in my throat, in my breasts, my sex.
I hadn’t died of fright. I was brimful with life.
I wanted to celebrate life with the man who, like Apollo, had brought light into my darkness. Here on Homer’s wine-dark sea it seemed as if I could feel the breath of the god.
“Nick.”
“Ellie.” He bent his head and kissed my mouth. Sweet, sweet. Cuddling closer, I opened my lips to the invasive questing of his tongue, and then advanced my own. When our tongues touched, fire ran through me. I reached up and touched his cheek, which was rough with golden whiskers. I rubbed my palm there and imagined that roughness against my breasts, belly, and thighs.
I kissed him more aggressively, licking, biting, giving myself up to pleasure.
“You must be feeling better.”
“Much.”
I felt his hand on my body, molding my breasts. His fingers plucked my nipples through the cotton of my shirt. They hardened. My breasts seemed to swell; there was congestion in my belly, a liquid, fiery ache. He bared my breasts and plucked again and again. His hands were magical. He stroked my nipples with the pad of his thumb until they felt like berries about to burst.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered. “Silky and firm and just the right size. I bet not even the original Helen of Troy had prettier breasts, hayatim.”
“So I’m Helen now, am I? The most beautiful woman in the world?”
“The face that launched a thousand ships,” he said solemnly.
“I need someone to compare you with—some hero of old, some glorious, golden-haired youth. Let’s see—how about Achilles, the great invincible hero, the champion of the Greeks?”
“You’ll have to do better than that. Achilles wasn’t fond of women.”
“Hector, then? He was noble and heroic. I always preferred him to Achilles, actually.”
“Yeah, me, too. But I can’t get that image out of my mind of his poor broken body being dragged around the walls of Troy.” He rolled over, pressing me down beneath him. “Don’t make me dead, please.” He moved his hips against me. “I’m feeling very much alive.”
I was finding it hard to continue this discussion, but I made a valiant effort nonetheless. “If I can’t make you a hero, how about a god?” I reached up and stroked his burnished hair. “Apollo, the sun god. He liked women, at least some of the time, which is about as much as you can expect from the ancient Greeks. And he was the healer, the god of light, the patron of poetry and song.”
“I’m not a god. A demon, maybe. Fucking black-hearted and dangerous to know.”
“I kinda like the kinky,” I confessed as he took one of my nipples between his thumb and forefinger, then bent his head and licked it. I gasped, then cried out when he tried his teeth against the areola—not too hard, just enough to drive me over the line into super-lust. “I mean, I’m not as horrified by that deviant stuff as you seem to think.”
“Yeah?”
“In case the crashing orgasm I had last night didn’t make that clear.”
“You were pretty drunk.”
“Not so drunk that I didn’t know what I was doing. It’s sort of embarrassing to admit this, but when you’re rough and, you know, with the orders and stuff, it gets me hot.”
“Ah, Ellie, what am I going to do with you? Here I was making all these good resolutions about how I was never going to touch you again, and you’re telling me it’s okay?”
Thought, protest, denial—all melted away. I wanted him, all of him, his all-too-human weight upon me, the thrust of his cock inside me. “Yes. It’s okay.” I cupped his face between my palms. “I want you.”
“Are you sure? Because if we start up again, this time I’m not going to stop. I’ve been longing to fuck you ever since the moment I first saw you.”
“So what are we waiting for?”
He kissed me long, hard, and slow. When he raised his head, we were both gasping. His eyes, I noted, had gone all predatory and dark. “Come on, then.” He stood up, taking my hand in his. My own legs felt so weak I could hardly walk.
“Where are we going?”
“Back to the cabin. To my bed.”
“I don’t think I can go back in there—”
“Yes, you can.” His voice was firm, authoritative. “The moon is rising and the curtain will be open. There are candles in the galley that I can commandeer. You’re not going to panic.”
Hand in hand, we descended below-decks, guided by the beam of his flashlight. He found the candles and some matches. At the threshold of the master cabin, he lifted me into his arms. He carried me inside, slammed the door behind us and bore me over to his bed, where he laid me down. Then he lit the candles and opened the curtain to let moonlight
pour into the room.
In the flickering candlelight, I smiled up at him. He smiled back, a big genuine smile that made him look so different from the cold bastard he often pretended to be. Holding my gaze, he began stripping off his clothes.
Staring at his lean, hard body, I thought him the most beautiful man on earth. The flat belly, muscled flanks, the tight curve of his buttocks were all I had imagined and more. I gazed happily at his cock, springing out of a golden mesh of hair.
“I’ve got condoms.” He crossed to the top drawer to get some. Returning, he stretched out beside me, caressing me gently from shoulder to thigh. He lifted me enough to pull off my top, and then his hands drifted over me.
I laughed, then sighed as he grazed the tips of my breasts. He found the snap of my jeans and opened it. The zipper made a soft sound as he moved its tab down. “Raise your hips for a second,” he ordered, stripping both jeans and panties off me as I obeyed. He tossed them on the floor, and then slid his hands along the insides of my thighs.
His hands and his mouth gave me such pleasure. Kneeling over me, he caressed my ankles and pressed kisses to my knees. He was gentle, giving. Yet he was subtle, too, for he knew ways to excite me, and he ruthlessly exploited them.
He moved higher, skirting my mound. Devil. He knew that was where I most wanted his touch. I lifted my hips in search of his hands, but he moved on to my belly and breasts. He suckled me, tenderly at first, then harder. I cried out as his teeth bore down. It was good pain, and he knew how to control it. The tension in my lower body deepened to an ache. His tongue soothed my breasts, but it was not enough.
Just when I thought I couldn’t stand it anymore, he caressed my sex. His fingers, his thumb, the heel of his hand, pressing, invading, revolving in the most deliciously intimate way.
I moved against him, lost in sunshine, swimming in luminous realms of light. My body gathered itself and reached for its pleasure, but he drew it out, advancing and retreating as he teased and tormented my clit. He slid a finger deep into my pussy and found a spot on the inner wall that positively glowed with pleasure when he stroked it. He had me gasping and moaning; any second I’d be begging. He finger-fucked me, harder and harder, and just as I neared the peak, he tongued my clit.
