by Colette Gale
“Jane, I’m…I’m sorry. I—”
“Be off with you,” ordered Cold Eyes in stilted yet surprisingly good English. So he had understood her all along. His gaze glittered as he turned to look at Jane, hot appreciation burning in his eyes. “She will injure herself. But she is right. You are a snake. And she is a most magnificent woman.”
“But…I can’t leave now. It’s night…and the jungle…” Jonathan stammered, his face suddenly glistening with perspiration.
“Go! You have what you came for. You are no longer welcome here.” Cold Eyes made a sharp gesture and two of his men stepped forward with crossed spears.
As Jane watched, a combination of horror, rage, and grief fought inside her. With Jonathan gone, there was no one else here from her world. She would be utterly alone.
But she couldn’t bear to set eyes on him—this man who’d betrayed her in so many ways.
Yet if he were sent into the jungle at night, surely it would be a death sentence.
“No!” she cried suddenly. “Let him stay. Send him away at dawn. At least then there will be no blood on my hands…or yours.”
Cold Eyes looked at her with consideration. “You dare to counter my command?”
Jane drew her aching body upright, ignoring the twinges and discomfort. It took great effort, but she managed to lift her chin into a haughty expression. “I am a goddess, am I not? You do not wish to anger me.”
The tribal leader’s expression blazed. “You are indeed some sort of goddess. And I shall soon find out just how much power you do have.” Jane’s insides wobbled unpleasantly at the unmistakable promise, but she held her head high as Cold Eyes turned back to his men. He spoke in their language, and the crossed spears fell away.
Jonathan surged toward her, but Cold Eyes stopped him. After he gave another short, sharp command to his men, Jonathan was led off and taken out of sight. As they took him off, he tried once more to look over his shoulder and call out to her, but she turned away, horribly disconcerted by Cold Eyes’s promise and the fact that she was now utterly alone.
“Now, goddess,” he said, taking her firmly by the arm. “Let us see whether I have made a good trade or no.”
Jane’s insides surged as he led her, not to her small hut, but to a larger structure. She stumbled, trying to slow his pace, trying to delay while she thought of a way to escape, but Cold Eyes merely gripped her harder and shoved her along roughly.
When they reached the building, which was about twice the size of her hut, Cold Eyes spoke sharply to the man who stood in front of the door. The guard hesitated, then reluctantly stepped aside as he opened the door.
Cold Eyes released Jane. “After you, goddess.”
She had a fleeting moment of insanity and almost bolted, but that would be futile, and could result in punishment or worse. Jane knew she must marshal all of her courage and intelligence if she were to find a way to escape. The niggling fact that she’d been able to pull apart the dried grasses that made up the door—and the walls—of her hut gave her hope. If left alone long for a while, she was certain she could make a hole large enough to slip through and escape.
Eventually.
But now…
Jane looked around at her new environment, and immediately recognized its purpose. It was not, as she’d supposed, the home or habitat of the tribal leader.
No. It was some sort of temple or worship space. For some reason, that realization made Jane even more nervous—especially when she noticed an altar with what looked like arm and leg restraints.
Her heart pounded so hard she thought she might vomit. Jane drew in a deep breath and realized the space was permeated with a musky, dull scent of spice and some other unidentifiable aroma. While it wasn’t exactly displeasing, nor was it particularly pleasant. Candles made from empty coconut shells lined the room, casting dancing yellow light on the grass walls.
“Goddess.” Cold Eyes had come in and closed the door behind him. As Jane watched, he placed a large, heavy wooden brace against it, ensuring no one would be able to enter.
What was he going to do to her?
Her heart in her throat, Jane edged away from him, nearly tripping over a stool, then bumping into a table as she staggered away. The crude jars and vessels on the table clunked into each other, and Cold Eyes pinned her with his dark, hot gaze.
“What an excellent idea. Pour yourself a drink from the tall jug. And one for me as well.”
“How long have you known English?” Jane managed to say, her hand shaking as she poured. A dark, thick liquid splashed into their bamboo cups. “You speak it well.”
“I learnt it when I served as a groom for a regiment of your kinsmen’s army, when they came to fight the Berbers.” He took the cup and drank heavily, then gestured that she should do the same. “It will make things much more pleasant,” he said with a cool smile. “For both of us.”
The liquid tasted like bitter, fermented coffee, and was thicker than cream. There was a strange aftertaste that lingered on her tongue, and Jane realized it was likely some sort of hallucinogenic.
“You are in need of a drug to be with a goddess?” she taunted, then immediately regretted her bold words.
Cold Eyes’s smile thinned, and anger flashed in his gaze. “You are a brave one. Perhaps you are the one woman who can—” He stopped abruptly, and his expression changed to a determined one. “Take that off. I will see all of you.”
“You’ve already done so.” Jane made no move to follow his command. She didn’t know how or why, but something had emboldened her. Perhaps it was knowing she had no one on which to rely but herself now. Perhaps it was because she didn’t believe they meant to kill her, or even hurt her. Or perhaps she was merely foolhardy, and the drugged drink was making her act thusly.
All at once, the thought of Zaren popped in her mind. Zaren. Jane felt weak at the memory of him, and at the same time, she had a brief moment of happiness. With Jonathan exposed for the vile man he was, she no longer must be conflicted between loyalty and…lust? Desire? Love?
Whatever she felt for the wild jungle man Zaren, though she might never have the chance to act on it again, at least she no longer must feel guilt or confusion about him.
If I ever escape from these people, I’ll find Zaren. A warm, comforting quiver shuttled through her. Oh, yes. I’ll find him.
And that thought, that bright light of hope, filled her mind as Cold Eyes grabbed her by the front of her tunic and shoved her back, back, back…until she felt something behind her thighs.
The altar.
Jane held to the thought of Zaren—his gentle, tender touch, his powerful sleek body, his kind, hot eyes—as Cold Eyes forced her back onto the flat surface, holding her by the throat. Her windpipe thus muffled, she could hardly breathe. Lights and black spots danced before her eyes, and she had no strength with which to struggle as her captor forced one wrist, and then the corresponding ankle, into the buckle-like restraints.
He finished by attaching her other wrist to the bound one, crossing that arm over her eyes. Spreading her legs wide, he pulled her roughly into place so that her hips and arse were positioned at the very end of the raised table. She was restrained there, precariously at the edge with its sharp angle digging into her buttocks, ankles and knees spread, her tortured red quim open and ready. Even now, she felt a soft little pulse of awareness from her tight little pip.
There was a change in the room; she could hear him moving around, felt the change in the air, the shift of scent. He was moving around her, chanting softly to himself.
After a long moment in which she wondered if he meant to simply leave her like this, he spoke. “Now then.” Cold Eyes’s voice sounded strained and a little high. “It is time.”
Jane jolted as two hands closed over her breasts; she could see nothing, for her arm was crushed against her eyes. But she could hear his heavy, rasping breathing and feel the heat of his presence as he stood between her legs.
He toyed with her n
ipples, massaging them, rolling them between his fingers until they drew up tight and close. Little tugs of pleasure jolted down to her belly, and turned to a sharp pulse when he closed his warm, wet mouth over one of her breasts. Jane couldn’t hold back a gasp as he sucked hard, harder and longer, as if he meant to fit all of her into his hot mouth. She moaned when her pearl pulsed automatically in response.
Cold Eyes’s breath became raspier, and he turned to her other breast, pinching and sucking until Jane could stand it no more and arched, digging her buttocks more sharply into the edge of the altar, trying to find a way to launch herself from the sensation…or to find some pleasant ending.
“No…” she moaned. “Oh, please…”
“That’s it,” he muttered. “Beg.”
She felt him between her thighs, his hands gripping the tender skin there, and Jane held her breath, bracing herself to be filled. She tightened and panted, somewhere between apprehension and need.
He pressed against her—she felt the heat, the roughness of hair…and softness. Soft, squishy something, pushing against her swollen, sensitive quim.
Jane’s eyes flew open beneath her arm as she realized what was happening. Cold Eyes smashed himself into her, pushing the head of his cock—a cock that felt as soft and useless as a worm—against her. He rubbed and manipulated, pressing into her wetness, sliding around and against her juices, trying to force it into place.
Jane couldn’t ignore the pressure, the erotic slip and slide, and even while she understood her tormentor’s predicament, she felt her own frustrated need rise as he massaged against her in an ineffective, tortuous tease.
He growled under his breath, something furious and tight, and she felt the tension in his fingers as he continued to hold her thighs in place. One hand released her leg and she felt him move against her, then the sharp motion as he attempted to jerk himself into an erection. She could hear the angry sounds of frustration, gasps of desperation, then suddenly he began to tear at the restraints on her ankles.
Jane’s legs jolted free, and the next thing she knew, he flipped her roughly onto her belly in a swirl of hair. Her arms were tangled, her curls caught painfully beneath her, and the bonds loosened the positioning of her wrists so she could see the dirt floor just below her, while the rest of her vision was obscured by the rest of her hair. Her breasts dangled just over the edge of the altar, swaying and bouncing with his forceful movements.
With rough hands, he shoved her into place, spreading her legs so that her quim rested snugly against the flat surface. She throbbed against it, somehow her arousal even more pronounced when smashed against the altar. His moans of frustration were mingled with gasps of air and curse words that could only have come from his days with the British Army.
Grasping her hips, he pushed and rubbed his flaccid cock against her, sliding it along the crack of her arse. Jane shifted, stifling a groan as she was pressed into the table, trying to grin her needy, swollen pip onto the surface. She could hardly breathe from behind the thick curtain of hair that fell over her face, tickling her skin.
Just then, a loud noise came from outside. Jane heard shouts, and the hut walls shook as someone slammed into them—or, more likely, the door. Hazy with confusion and arousal, Jane tried to look through her hair toward the entrance as Cold Eyes sprang away from her as if burned.
He shouted something in his native language, and Jane recognized apprehension and something akin to mortification in his tones. Then he added something angrier, stronger, and she felt the air swirl as he went to the door—which sounded as if it were shuddering and bowing in its place.
The door opened—whether by Cold Eyes or not, she couldn’t tell—and more men came in. They were angry, accusing, and the group of them descended into an argument. She couldn’t tell precisely what they were saying, but she got the impression that Cold Eyes, though he was tribal leader, had somehow overstepped his bounds—and he, in turn, was desperate for the others not to know of his deficiency.
For it had become clear to Jane why he, in particular, was in such need of a fertility—or in his case, sex—goddess.
Whatever they were arguing about seemed to be resolved quickly, for the voices settled into more civil tones. The air in the hut moved; she couldn’t see any of them, or tell what they were doing, but it seemed as if some or all of them were leaving. Leaving!
And there she was: belly-first on the altar, her full, needy quim rosy and bare, her full breasts dangling, her arms and legs trussed too tightly for her to move to a comfortable position. She couldn’t see anything but the floor directly below her, and although until now she’d been silent, Jane wasn’t certain if they meant to leave her like this…and whether she dared chance drawing attention back to herself.
But who could ignore the image she must make?
The door closed and the bit of fresh air that had been wafting in ceased. They’d left her!
Before she could decide whether to cry out or try to free herself, the door opened again. A pair of large, dark-skinned feet came into view beneath her face. Whoever he was, he didn’t speak. Instead, he moved to the side of the altar. An arm slid around her torso, gathering her breasts up into an embrace, mashing them back up against her chest. His hand cupped her far breast, gently sliding over the taut nipple there. He pinched gently, rolling the jutting tip between his fingers. Jane shifted, her breath quickening as he fondled her, and then abruptly, she felt something probing her slick, swollen quim.
A finger. Jane froze, holding her breath, as he slipped a finger around her opening…and when he slid it home, all the way in, she couldn’t control a gasp and a little pulse around him. Pleasure sang through her veins, centering and circling down to the full, wet center that hugged his finger. He slid it slowly out then back in again, and Jane quivered, shifting against the altar in an attempt to angle him deeper.
Tight with arousal, she clamped herself around the finger, and whimpered when he withdrew, aching for more…then gasped when two fingers slid in, and then three…
Tears ran from her eyes as he filled her with those three digits, sliding them in and out, faster and faster. Jane moaned and shifted, her quim dripping and swollen. The sounds of slick suction and the scent of musky juices filled the air, mixing with his rasping breathing and her own panting sighs.
“Oh…yes,” she whispered. “Oh, please…”
Her body tightened, swelled, and then suddenly exploded. Jane cried out in relief as the hard-fought orgasm surged through her. His fingers continued to move, slipping wildly in and out of her tight sheath as she shuddered and trembled against the table, coming in one long, undulating ride of pleasure.
At last, he withdrew completely and released her breasts. Jane sagged, gasping, her body still pulsing in slow, dull waves. Her pip was big and full, pressed against the firm surface, still throbbing weakly as those large feet came back into view.
With quick movements, he loosened her ties, flipping Jane onto her back slightly more gently than Cold Eyes had done. She was still bound, but loosely, and her legs remained spread as he faced her. Her breath caught, for she was sure he meant to fuck her now. Her body drew up in anticipation once again.
Panting, Jane looked up to see Devilish Grin, gazing down at her with an expression filled with heat and something like mischief. His erection made a huge bulge beneath his loincloth, and when her eyes went there, he flipped the fabric aside. His rod sprang free. It was the largest, darkest, thickest cock she’d ever seen.
“Oh!” Jane snatched in her breath, her quim surging hot and wet in expectation. But Devilish Grin merely raised his glistening hand—the one that had slid up inside her—and, eyeing her with a hot, heavy expression, he eased one finger into his mouth. She shivered as he sucked on it, watching as his cock quivered, a drop glistening on the end of its massive length. Jane could hardly swallow. She suddenly wanted nothing more than that huge cock inside her.
He finished the first finger, then slid in the second one betwee
n his full, red lips, sucking on it, swirling his thick, red tongue around it as Jane watched, lightheaded and needy once again. She panted in short little breaths, damp and hot everywhere, as he licked all of her juices from each finger while that tempting cock teased her…just out of reach.
And then, his expression filling with bold promise, Devilish Grin bent forward to press his face into her quim. Jane nearly shot off the altar at the light, teasing touch of tongue…just at the tip of her little bud.
Shockwaves jolted through her, and her sensitive little pip pulsed with erotic pain…and then he stepped back…stepped away…and left her alone.
Hot, wet, and swollen.
— V—
Zaren lifted his face and sniffed the air again.
Yes, that was it—the scent he recognized. A surge of hope leapt in him as he quickly climbed lower to the ground, disturbing a group of palm-sized orange birds as he descended the thick trunk of a tree.
For a day, he’d been following the trail—the scent, the footprints, the movements—from the nest where Jane and her friends lived, but then it was gone. A small river cut through the jungle near the area he lost the trail, and Zaren knew she must have gone somewhere in a boat. What disturbed him the most, however, was the clear signs of struggle that were left in the area. At least six men had been there, and Jane and her mate as well.
Gad and Darling were right: something bad had happened to Jane.
After losing the trail late before sundown, Zaren searched frantically through the night, taking only an hour of rest on two different occasions. He traced the jungle along the length of the river in search of some sign, some lingering smell that would tell him where she’d been taken. And finally, just now, he’d at last found something: a familiar smell.
Not the one he’d hoped for, but at least he had found something.
