ENRAPTURED © 2016 Colette Gale
All rights reserved.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Copyright Page
About This Book
Coming Soon from Colette Gale
Colette Gale
In the seventh episode in the continuing Jane in the Jungle series, the Amazon Queen continues her obsession with Jane…
But when the queen’s concubine arrives for an unexpected visit,
Zenovia has some serious competition.
The Jane in the Jungle stories are an ongoing serial, with each episode ending on a cliffhanger. The current titles are:
ENTWINED
ENTANGLED
ENTHRALLED
ENTICED
ENAMORED
ENSLAVED
ENRAPTURED
ENCHANTED (2017)
Dear Reader:
Welcome to the seventh volume of Miss Jane Clemons’s (now also known as Jane Berkeley, Lady Hampstead) erotic adventures in the jungle…and elsewhere.
If you have already read the first six volumes, you should move directly to the first chapter. No need to waste your time with this—get on with the story!
But for those who have not enjoyed the previous volumes, please read on below for an explanation of how I came to be the curator of these fascinating, intimate, and erotic journals.
During the late 19th century, the British indulged in much exploration of Africa, searching not only for gold and gemstones, but also for knowledge of this fascinating Dark Continent.
Professor Everett Clemons, the famous lepidopterist, and his daughter Jane were two of the most famous British citizens to embark on these travels, and although Jane published a book of her drawings and notations about the butterflies her father studied during these trips, there remained little information about her personal thoughts and adventures—until very recently.
Several years ago, I came upon an old trunk filled with Professor Clemons’s journals and butterfly specimens, and there, within, I also found the treasure of Lady Jane Clemons Berkeley’s personal (and shockingly intimate—at least for her time) diaries.
These writings detail her experiences in the jungle—being captured by natives, being abandoned by her fiancé Jonathan—as well as her passionate relationship with the wild man of Madagascar known as Zaren…who was later discovered to be none other than John Berkeley, Viscount Hampstead, and became her beloved husband.
Because there were so many volumes of Jane’s journals, I have chosen to publish a series of short segments over time in order to make them publicly available as quickly and efficiently as possible.
I pray you, Dear Reader, will indulge my decision to follow the popular form of literature from this era, for I chose to publish Jane’s diaries as a serialized collection. Not only does this enable me to be more efficient in releasing sections of her work (for it is quite an arduous task to pore over the very intimate and detailed descriptions of her experiences), but it also allows the reader to experience the story in segments rather than in one overwhelming gulp.
I must also warn you: I have kept with the tradition of the times, ending each serialized episode on a cliffhanger.
The most recent episode (entitled Enslaved) is an extremely provocative one, for Jane has become the obsession and private slave of an Amazonian chieftain-queen known as Zenovia. This takes place on a small island kingdom somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean (the location has never been identified, despite my continued attempts to do so). In Amazonia, women have no need of men other than for breeding and the most demanding and menial of physical labors.
When we last heard from Jane, she is in the throne room with her mistress Zenovia, wearing a jeweled collar. She is completely and utterly at the chieftain’s mercy when a contingent of men are admitted to the royal audience.
Among that contingent of men is not only Queen Zenovia’s male concubine Lord Akenov, but none other than Zaren (a.k.a. Lord Berkeley) himself.
I hope you find Jane’s experiences enlightening, exciting, and titillating as we follow her further adventures as a young woman, this time as we hope for her to be reunited once again with her beloved Zaren.
Colette Gale
March 2016
~*~
— I —
“May I present Lord Hampstead and his men,” said Lord Akenov.
It was all Jane could do to keep from reacting to the unexpected but wonderful sight of Zaren, standing so tall and dark and proud in the throne room. The last time she’d seen him, he’d just resurfaced in the ocean after being thrown overboard the ship of the man who’d brought Jane to Amazonia.
And then she’d been dragged away across the ship’s deck as the vessel sliced through the ocean…away from her beloved.
Now, Zaren appeared not only whole and healthy, but controlled and determined as he came forward to stand next to Lord Akenov. His eyes were sharp as they skimmed over Zenovia and then Jane, barely touching on his wife before they finished taking in the entire room.
Jane had managed to betray her shock and relief at Zaren’s presence by nothing more than a stifled intake of breath. And though Jane knelt in front of her, her head immediately next to the arm of her throne, Zenovia seemed not to notice.
“Lord Hampstead, is it? From England?” Zenovia’s voice was as cool and smooth as her moonbeam hair. Her strong fingers curled over the arms of her throne. “I bid you and your men welcome to my kingdom.”
Jane covertly feasted her eyes on the man she loved, drinking in his features over and over, as if to assure herself he was truly there. He was as tall as Lord Akenov, and both of them were built with the same broad shoulders and sleek, muscular figure.
Zaren was dressed as suited his station as a British peer: in a dark frock coat, trousers, cravat, and waistcoat—much more formal than the attire he’d worn on their ill-fated journey by ship. Then, he’d worn only breeches and boots, along with a crisp white shirt half unbuttoned in the heat.
Today, his thick, slightly too-long nut-brown hair was pulled back in a neat tail. He didn’t have much facial hair to speak of, so he appeared clean-shaven even after a week without shaving. He looked neither weary nor concerned about the situation they were in.
“I am honored to be here, your excellency,” Zaren said in his most formal English tones. He gave a smooth bow: one that was the perfect combination of respect and self-confidence.
Jane knew that Zenovia would never allow her to leave—even if confronted by a diplomatic contingent from the most powerful nation in the world, such as that standing before her. It was thus imperative for Zaren to give no sign he recognized Jane, for the chieftain would do anything to keep her enslaved—including, Jane was certain, imprisoning or even killing him outright. The very thought made her stomach pitch and her head go light.
Though she wanted nothing more than to leap up and run to him—and would be stopped by the collar around her throat—she curled her fingers into her palms. Keeping her head downturned, she focused her eyes on the mesmerizing blue and white mosaic tiles that swept in an intricate design down the steps of the dais and spilled onto the throne room floor.
Don’t acknowledge me, she thought over and over, sending the urgent thought to her husband. Don’t even look at me.
Having been raised in the jungle and educated by the animals that lived there, Zaren possessed incredible intuition and a superhuman instinct. He read body language better than Jane read a book, and she felt confident he would understand the message she’d telegraphed to him during the heartbeat in which their eyes had met, and the way she now positioned herself.
And he also, Jane realized with a shameful start, discerned and catalogued scents and odors as well as any wild creature. Which meant that he could certainly smell th
e lingering scent of musky coitus that clung to both Jane and Zenovia. She could only imagine how it must fill his nostrils and penetrate his consciousness.
Please understand, Zaren.
Jane’s belly quivered with shame and regret for the last day and night with Zenovia. Yes, she had tried to resist the woman, tried to keep from responding to the expert, insistent touch with which the chieftain had seduced her…but there was no denying the pleasure she’d received. And given.
And there was no ignoring that there had been, during those frenzied, hazy red moments of lust, some desperate desire and want of her own. Acquiescence. And even, shamefully, a bit of aggression on her part.
Zaren, please forgive me.
“And what brings you here to my kingdom, visiting my humble fortress, Lord Hampstead?” Zenovia purred. “With all of your men and your arrogance?”
The woman clearly hated the male species, and her own concubine, Lord Akenov, seemed to be no exception. She’d been utterly uninterested and even irritated with his arrival, and clearly that now spilled onto her reaction to Zaren.
As she spoke, the chieftain reached over to settle on Jane’s hair, and she couldn’t control a flinch beneath the touch. The woman’s fingers flexed sharply into the top of her skull as if in warning. Then that hand stroked languidly over the top of her head and down over the disheveled mass of braids and curls that had once been a complicated coiffure.
“Your consort Lord Akenov is the trading partner of a shipping company I own,” Zaren replied. “He told me about your beautiful kingdom.”
“That still does not explain why you are here,” Zenovia said, no longer adopting a conciliatory tone. She was petting and stroking Jane’s bare neck and shoulders, sending light and shivery sensations over her skin that caused her breasts to tighten and her nipples to bud up beneath the loose toga. It was as if she meant to draw Zaren’s attention to her.
And at that realization, Jane’s heart stopped then bolted into a hard double time that seemed to thud through her entire body like a rushing death knell. Zenovia knew her name was Lady Hampstead, for Jane had told her from the very beginning that she was a British peer and wanted to return to her home.
And that she had a husband whom she loved and to whom she wanted to return.
Zenovia knew.
Now Jane felt lightheaded and faint as she knelt there, succumbing to the taunting, yet sensual stroking from her mistress’s hand. She understood now why Zenovia was making such a point of her ownership over her. And she understood just how much Zaren and she were in the woman’s power.
“I merely accompany Lord Akenov as he makes a visit, your excellency,” Zaren replied in the same firm but easy tone he’d used before. Jane dared not raise her eyes, but she felt his attention settle briefly on her, as if he touched her with his very fingers.
Warmth blossomed through her and her head steadied. It didn’t matter whether Zenovia knew. Zaren was smarter and stronger and more resourceful than the queenly chieftain—and Jane was damned intelligent and determined herself. Surely he hadn’t come here unprepared.
They had escaped from more desperate and dangerous situations in the past. Of course they would do so again.
For true love and the deep connection of their souls would win out over power, lust, and arrogance any day.
And at that, Jane lifted her face and looked directly at Zaren for the first time.
“Hello, my darling beloved,” she said, rising swiftly to her feet, chains clinking. Zenovia’s sudden intake of breath next to her dissuaded her not at all. Her heart swelled with joy and determination. “I am so glad you’ve come to take me home, Zaren.”
Jane felt Zenovia tense at her boldness, but to her surprise, the woman said nothing as Zaren looked at Jane.
His eyes widened with a flicker of surprise as his gaze skimmed impersonally over her. “Jane.” His voice was cool and remote. “So it is you. And apparently, you’ve settled in quite nicely. Consort to the queen, is it?” He sounded so…distant and icy. So unlike his warm, loving self.
Jane’s pulse faltered and a wave of confusion took her by surprise. “I—no,” she stammered. “Not by choice,” she said more firmly.
But Zaren’s expression reflected something like distaste, and his sensual lips twisted unpleasantly. “Indeed? Not by choice? That is not how it appears to me.” He lifted his face slightly and appeared to sniff the air, then his eyes returned to hers. This time, his gaze was flat and derisive. “I’m afraid you’re very much mistaken, Jane. I’m not here to take you home. I’m here to release you permanently—to Her Excellency, Lady Zenovia.”
— II —
Jane hardly remembered the moments after Zaren renounced her, for everything became a blur and then her vision faltered black, then white, and then everything went blank…
She must have fainted or otherwise collapsed, for the next thing she knew, Jane woke to find herself lying in the center of a large bed. She was naked. Even the cunning little quim-cupping device—the palm-sized shield that kept her from being able to receive pleasure—that had been fastened around her waist by gold chains was missing.
Groggy and stunned, Jane took several moments to pull herself back to reality and try to remember what had happened. She’d fainted—a shocking realization, but perhaps not too surprising considering her lack of sleep and food over the last two days, along with the fact that Zenovia had dragged every last bit of pleasure from her body without consideration. All that, combined with the necessity of remaining physically upright on her knees without relief, was certainly justification for such a weakness.
But it had been the degrading words from Zaren that were the most powerful of blows. Even now, the back of her throat burned with emotion as she recalled his bitter words.
He couldn’t mean it. Surely he couldn’t mean it.
But he’d been so cold. So angry and cold—and he must have smelled the musky scents of her juices mingling with that of Zenovia’s. He would immediately know what had happened.
He would know how she’d betrayed him.
And now, here she was, somewhere in a chamber she didn’t recognize. Natural light streamed from somewhere, telling her it was midday. The high-ceilinged room seemed smaller than Zenovia’s private apartment, and from what Jane could tell, it was dominated by the large bed on which she sprawled. Tall silken draperies hung from above, brushing the floor and partitioning off the space. Candles flickered on tall stands in the corners, and there was a table laden with food and drink.
She heard the quiet sound of water rushing and realized there was a small tub set in the floor over in the corner. The very thought of a pool reminded her of Zenovia’s demanding hands and mouth, lashing her into a frenzy of heat and wet and a red haze as she lay sprawled on the cold tile at the edge of the pool.
Jane shivered, a streak of unwanted lust shooting downward and settling in a sharp, hard pulse between her legs. No longer shielded by the brass cup, her nether lips and the tiny little pearl that seemed to cause her so much pain—and pleasure—were unencumbered. She was naked to any questing fingers. Including her own.
Before she could think about it—wonder whether anyone was watching, or would care—her hand slid down between her legs and found the plump, swollen folds of her quim. The barest touch, the lightest brush of finger pads, sent a shock of lust ratcheting through her, and she couldn’t stop herself from finding the hard little kernel tucked up inside the folds of her quim. She moaned in the back of her throat when she first touched herself, and then before she knew it she was sliding through her juices, jiggling and jolting the center of her pleasure. Her eyes closed, rolling quietly up into her head as she allowed the sensations to build.
Her breasts tightened, her body flushed hot, and she closed her eyes as pent-up pleasure undulated through her, blossoming sharply from where her finger danced purposely over her tiny pip. The orgasm, when it came, was rough and hard, and yet she teased herself as long as possible, drawing it o
ut into one long, hot roll of pleasure that involved no one other than herself—no shame, no demand, no fear. Just pleasure. Hot and strong and wet. Release. Satiation.
When she opened her eyes sometime later, Jane came abruptly back to the moment she’d tried to forget. The realization, the memory of the horrible, wrenching events in the throne room.
Zaren had given her away. Sold her.
Enslaved her.
He couldn’t have meant it. Surely he’d been lying. Acting. She summoned up a memory of his face, the soft, loving one she saw every morning when she awoke next to him in bed. Surely that love hadn’t evaporated just like that. Surely after all they’d been through—both of them—he knew she loved him, and only him. Surely he knew how her body had a mind of its own but that her heart, her emotion and soul, were his.
She bit her lip, focusing on the memory of Zaren’s face…but the familiar, loving one dissolved and all she could remember was his expression earlier today. His face had been etched in granite.
Except for the eyes.
She might not have believed his dismissive words—she might have clung to the hope that he’d been acting, playing some role, if it hadn’t been for the look in his eyes. The emptiness and disgust therein had been a cold slice to her heart.
I must find a way to talk to him. I will.
Jane closed her own eyes as hopeless tears burned them, and that was when she became aware of voices entering the chamber. The tall sea-blue and white draperies that swathed the room shifted and shimmied with movement from the other side.
“Never have you dared visit unannounced.” That was Zenovia, and her voice was arrogant and cold. “What makes you believe I will welcome you to my bed when it is not a scheduled visit?”
“Because I have brought you what you desire the most,” replied a deep male voice. That was Lord Akenov, Jane was certain.
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