Whispers in Time

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  When Vic drew away, he didn’t go far. He kept one arm around Cami’s shoulder while his other hand toyed with the lace at the bodice of her green silk gown. Cami leaned toward him, enjoying the feel of the fabric tightening over her breasts as Vic tugged at it.

  “I’m sorry things didn’t work out with your sheik,” he whispered.

  She shrugged again. “It’s probably just as well.”

  “Why?”

  She giggled and twitched her nose. “He had this enormous, black mustache. I’m sure it would have scraped me raw. Besides, I hadn’t that much imagination. I could never have done justice to what went on in his tent.”

  “And could you now?”

  Cami sighed wistfully. “Probably not.”

  Vic rose suddenly, his dark eyes gleaming. “Stay here. I’ll be back shortly.”

  When he left, Cami refilled her wine glass once more. Suddenly the storm didn’t seem so terrible any longer. She still had a restless feeling, but now it was a different sort. She paced the room, wondering where Vic had gone and how long before he would return. She wanted something, she wasn’t sure what. Most of all, she wanted Vic back beside her, playing with the lace of her bodice, kissing her with his velvety tongue. And, yes, she was forced to admit to herself at last, she wanted him to force her to surrender to her own needs—to make her his lover. More than anything, she longed to lie quivering in Black Vic’s arms, learning the long-kept secret of this mystery called love.

  Even as she admitted her desires to herself, Cami saw the door to the salon swing wide. Before her stood a sheik of sorts, garbed in an old bal masqué costume. Vic wore a bejeweled satin turban and a cloth-of-gold cape draped over his broad shoulders.

  “What on earth?” Cami cried through a wine-flavored giggle.

  “Silence, maiden!” Vic snarled, pointing a commanding finger her way. “Sheik Navar will choose no hysterical, sharp-tongued female for his pleasure. His lover must be as silent as she is passionate. Let me see now…” He roamed about the room as if trying to make his selection, gazing first at a lovely figurine of Venus, then at a portrait of a dark-haired woman over the fireplace, and finally at a naked nymph woven into a tapestry that hung between the windows. Suddenly, he turned to Cami, a leer on his handsome face. “I choose you!” he cried, with a great swirl of his cape.

  Before Cami could react, Vic swept her up in his arms and headed for the stairs. Moments later, he carried her through the doorway into the old nursery. The windows were shuttered, filling the room with shadows. Still, Cami could see that Vic had already been there to prepare the scene. The curtains were drawn around the bed to form a private chamber.

  Vic set Cami on her feet, then kissed her again, deeply.

  “I can’t guarantee the storm’s duration, but I promise no one will call you down to supper this time, my darling.”

  Cami stood staring from Vic to the bed, then back to Vic. Her whole body burned for him as she realized that her moment had finally come.

  Releasing her, Vic gazed down into her eyes and smiled. He removed the silly turban and tossed it across the room. His cape soon followed. “Well, my darling?” he whispered expectantly. “Your sheik awaits. Will you surrender your innocence here and now or must he steal it from you?”

  Cami couldn’t answer. All she could do was cling to Vic and tremble. This was what she’d been waiting for since the first night she set eyes on him. Now that the moment had come, she felt consumed by her own painfully sweet longing.

  She reached up and touched Vic’s cheek, tears brimming in her wide, indigo eyes.

  “Oh, mon coeur,” she whispered. “The place, the time, and the man—they are all perfect. At last, I have been chosen!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cami and Vic stood facing each other, frozen as if in a Mardi Gras tableau. The sweetness of the moment held them both. Lightning flashed, illuminating the passion in Vic’s face, the soft, glowing innocence of Cami’s. Their eyes caressed each other—the black of midnight commanding the gentle blue-violet of dawn.

  Slowly, Vic’s hand came up to rest on Cami’s shoulder. Her flesh quivered beneath his warm touch. One finger traced up her throat to fondle the delicate curve of her cheek. Cami stood still, holding her breath, her eyes closed. Unable to see where her bold lover might touch her next, she found the path of his seeking hand all the more arousing. When his fingers left her for a moment, then returned to fondle the lace at the edge of her bodice, Cami caught her breath. An instant later, his lips touched her shoulder.

  “Oh, Vic…” she moaned softly. She ached to embrace him, but forced herself to stand perfectly still for fear she might seem too eager.

  Her eyes shot open again when she felt the tug of her sleeve as Vic eased it off her shoulder. His eyes glowed like black fire—more flesh to touch, to kiss. And he did.

  “Oh, love, you drive me wild,” he murmured between light, hot flicks of his tongue. Then “Damn! How do I get you out of this gown? I may be forced to tear it off as you once suggested.”

  Cami pressed her hands to Vic’s chest, gently pushing him away. Then, deftly, she undid the tiny, hidden hooks of her bodice. Vic stood before her, his hungry eyes taking in her every move. When her work was done, she slipped her arms from the sleeves. Only her thin camisole covered her breasts.

  “My God, you’re beautiful!” Vic gasped.

  Once again, his hands reached out for her. He drew her close, kissing her deeply while his fingers kneaded the thin batiste over her straining nipples. Cami truly thought each breath would be her last. His fondling sent tossing storms of pleasure and desire raging through her until she felt weak with longing.

  “I’ll buy you a new one,” Vic groaned, ripping the thin camisole away in his strong grip. “Ah, Cami… Cami, my love…” He buried his face between her bare breasts, moaning her name over and over.

  Cami felt sure she would swoon when Vic caught her breasts between his palms, pressing them forward. When the tip of his tongue touched her nipple for the first time, fire shot from the point of contact to all parts of her body. Her legs almost gave way beneath her. She clung to Vic to stay on her feet as he held her, teasing one breast and then the other.

  At last, she could take no more. “Oh, please, Vic,” she moaned. “Please…”

  “Please, what, my little darling?” he whispered against her warm flesh.

  His question barely pierced her desire-fogged consciousness. She found it impossible to form words to express her longing. Instead, she slipped her arms around his waist and drew him tight against her, marveling at his heat and the hardness of his body. He pressed closer still, showing her that he shared her readiness.

  “Will you come into my tent, then?” Vic asked in his sheik’s commanding voice.

  “Oh, I will, I will,” Cami moaned back.

  After some hurried fumbling to shed her petticoats, Cami found herself standing there in only her ruined camisole and pantelettes. Once more Vic raked her with his hungry black gaze.

  “My God!” he breathed. “Oh, Cami…”

  Vic began hurriedly undressing. Averting her eyes, Cami slipped between the filmy bed curtains and stretched out, awaiting for her lover. The wait was brief. A moment later, Vic eased in beside her. He was as naked as she had seen him on that very first morning. And as large, she noted with a momentary tremor.

  But all fear was soon forgotten. The bed was small, forcing them close. With skill born of experience, Vic divested Cami of the tattered remnants of her underthings. When flesh met flesh for the first time, Cami experienced an electricity more powerful and wonderful than any lightning from the stormy heavens. Vic held her so close she could feel every hard plane of his torso. The coarse hair covering his chest abraded her breasts, but brought no pain, only burning pleasure.

  Vic placed one long leg over both of hers, guiding her into a love-locked embrace. Then, holding her—head to toe—he kissed her, a kiss that went on and on. The deeper he probed, the more savage she
became. Gone were all thoughts of Fiona and her warnings, all lurid descriptions of the act. This was not an act after all, but a total, perfect, loving melding of one man and one woman into two halves of the same unique soul. And how Cami’s soul ached and burned to mate with Vic’s!

  The first fierceness of their loving passed after a time. In an instant, Vic turned from wild to tender. His kisses on her breasts and face were light now, his touch, as his fingers trailed over her body, almost teasing. If Cami had thought she might die from wanting him moments before, she was sure of it now. When his hand slipped down between her thighs—touching, stroking, fondling—a new sensation began to build. Later, Cami would think about it and decide that it felt like wading into a warm pool. Right now, she could think of nothing; she could only feel and ache to feel more. As the pleasure built, Cami feared she might lose consciousness. The storm raging outside seemed to have taken possession of her body, whipping her inside with its winds, striking between her quivering thighs with great jagged bolts of lightning, making her heart beat like shuddering thunder. But all the while, she was aware only of Vic—Vic kissing her breasts, Vic clutching her to him, Vic touching some secret spring that opened her very soul.

  And then he was there, poised above her. For one passion-filled moment, their eyes met and held. He was not smiling, yet the darkness of his eyes was different—softer, kinder, gentler than Cami had ever seen. He almost seemed to be asking silent permission to complete this wondrous act. Cami was sure that the longing in her own half-closed eyes must have granted him the world and more.

  When she felt the first tentative touch of his hot, love-swollen flesh, Cami closed her eyes and caught a ragged breath. Vic paused, giving her a moment to ready herself for his thrust. When she felt him ease in a bit farther, she sighed. Every nerve came alive in her body. The pleasure that had begun as he fondled her built to a new and staggering height.

  “Oh, Cami love…” Vic groaned. As he said the words, he thrust forward.

  Lightning struck, destroying Camille Mazaret’s virginity for all time. Tears eased out of the corners of her eyes, but they were tears of pure ecstasy. Whatever pain there might have been was lost in the tumultuous wave of pleasure that consumed them both moments later. Cami clung to Vic, murmuring his name over and over again, wondering that she had survived such a total and overpowering burst of all-consuming bliss.

  After a time, they lay still in each other’s arms—silent and awed. Vic kissed Cami tenderly, letting his lips trail over her cheeks, kissing away her happy tears.

  “It will be better next time, my darling,” he whispered.

  “Oh, Vic!” Cami turned her face into his shoulder and wept. “I’ll die if it’s any better.”

  Carol woke first. She could still feel Cami, tingling all over. Her cheeks were damp with Cami’s tears. She gazed at the man asleep beside her. It was Frank, of course, but in her moment of waking he had looked like Black Vic. She shook her head slightly, trying to clear her vision. Then she noticed that Frank’s eyes were open. They looked glazed.

  “Are you all right?” she whispered.

  “Cami,” he murmured hoarsely. “Don’t cry, Cami, please.”

  “Frank!” Carol said louder, touching his cheek. “Cami’s gone now. It’s Carol.”

  He frowned at her, then rose up on one elbow and glanced about. “Carol? Where…? What…?” He relaxed visibly. “I went away, didn’t I?”

  “Yes,” Carol answered softly. “I went with you. Cami’s lost her virginity and Black Vic is a wonderful lover. Thank you, darling.”

  “It will be better next time.” Frank’s voice still sounded strange, as if it came from far away.

  “I know. Vic said that already. Frank, are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I don’t know. I just feel sort of weird, honey. But good.” He smiled at her and stroked her hand.

  “Yes, it was good,” Carol said wistfully. Then she sighed. “So good!”

  “I didn’t—I mean, Vic didn’t hurt you?”

  Carol smiled at him. “No. Cami didn’t even notice the pain. She loved every minute of it.”

  “I’m glad. I was really afraid—that is, Vic was concerned about her. He knew he was her first lover.”

  “And how was it for Vic? As good as with Ivory?”

  Detecting no jealousy in Carol’s voice, Frank answered honestly. “It was great with Cami, but in a different way. Making love to a woman her first time is a tremendous responsibility. You just can’t imagine, Carol. And Vic’s really crazy about Cami. He didn’t want to do anything to turn her off.”

  Carol laughed softly. “You don’t need to worry about that. He didn’t! He sure knows how to turn her on, though. Wow!”

  “I didn’t think he was all that great!” Frank snapped, irrational jealousy flaring suddenly.

  “Touchy, touchy!” Carol teased. “Remember, that was you and me back there. And I can tell you, Cami sure had it better her first time than I did—the back of a van, scared to death that campus security might come along and catch us. Enjoying it was the last thing on my mind. God, it was a horror!” Carol shuddered in Frank’s arms. Then she leaned over and kissed him deeply. “Thank you, darling. You and Vic have just made up for what I missed.”

  Frank grinned. “Hey, if you liked it that much, then maybe we ought to go back to their time and stay there.” He was only joking, but Carol failed to realize that.

  “Oh, we couldn’t!” she cried. “You mean just vanish into thin air? What would people think?”

  “Who cares? We wouldn’t be around to worry about that.” Frank was suddenly warming to his own suggestion. “Think about it, honey. No income tax, no polluted air, no war, no Saddam Hussein.

  Why, I’ll bet they didn’t even have many murders back then.”

  Carol was becoming uncomfortable. Frank was serious! “They murdered each other in duels. As for war, they’ve got a big one coming up. Remember?”

  “Oh, yeah!” Frank frowned, wondering how it would feel to fight under Robert E. Lee. “I don’t reckon it would be too much fun enlisting in the Confederate Army. But, hell, honey, that’s twenty years off. Vic would be too old to fight.”

  “Nevertheless, I think we’d better stay right here where we belong, Frank.”

  “You mean we can’t go back at all? Shoot! Now that we got the big devirgination out of the way, I was hoping we could really relax and enjoy ourselves next time.”

  Carol laughed out loud. “You! You’re incorrigible, Frank Longpre.”

  He leaned over to nuzzle her cheek. “Naw, honey, I’m just lovable. We will get to go back again, won’t we?”

  “I’m afraid we have no say in the matter. All we can do is wait and see.” She hugged him. “And hope,” she whispered.

  “For now, I’m happy right here.”

  Frank pulled Carol back into his arms. Snuggled close, they drifted off to sleep again, both exhausted by their long night’s journey.

  Two hours later, Frank shot up as if an alarm had gone off. He rolled over, ready to get out of bed.

  Picking up his watch, he checked the time. “Hey, guess what time it is and what day, Carol. It’s Lundi Gras, the day before Mardi Gras and it’s already nine-thirty. We’re missing everything.”

  Carol didn’t want to get up. All through the night she had kept Frank safe in her room—at least in body, if not in spirit. But this morning would be quite a different matter, unless she could convince him to remain in bed. Oliver Percy Jones was still out there somewhere, and she knew he was waiting for his chance at Frank. She moaned and turned over as if she meant to go back to sleep.

  Eager to get her going, Frank gave her bare fanny several pats and said, “Up and at ’em, girl! Time’s a-wastin’!”

  Carol groaned. “Must you be so cheery first thing in the morning?”

  Her question stopped Frank cold. Carol was right—he did feel cheerful. For the first time, his guilt was missing. Suddenly, he went from cheery to euph
oric.

  “This is great!” he shouted.

  “Morning is never great,” Carol mumbled, pulling a pillow over her head. “I don’t do morning!”

  “Well, you’re going to today, by golly! We’ve got costumes to buy, parties to crash, and parades to watch. Move it, lady!”

  Frank whipped the sheet away from Carol and grabbed her up from the bed. She struggled and snarled, but he only laughed at her protests.

  “What you need, hon, is a wake-up shower. Then you’ll be ready to hit the streets and party.”

  A moment later, Frank had the shower taps on and had Carol beside him in the roomy tile stall. She crouched back in a corner, her hands covering her face to keep the hot spray out of her eyes as she called down curses on Frank’s head.

  “Turn around!” Frank ordered, then he mumbled, “Damn little soaps!”

  The next moment, Carol stopped cursing. Her breasts pressed against the smooth tiles, she purred as Frank soaped her shoulders and back. “Oh, that feels wonderful!” she moaned.

  He laughed. “I thought this might wake you up.”

  Working lower and lower, he soaped her whole back, then turned her to face him. “Here’s a bar for you,” he said, handing her one of the dainty little cakes.

  While Frank lathered her breasts and belly, Carol worked on his arms and chest. Soon bubbles were everywhere—hands and lips were everywhere, too.

  “You know, you’re mighty sexy when you’re slippery,” Frank growled, trying to get a grip on Carol to bring her closer.

  She giggled and slithered her hands down over his soapy torso. A moment later, all laughter ceased. Frank, at last, got a grip on Carol and, with a mighty, soapy thrust, pinned her to the wall.

  “My God!” she gasped, sliding her arms around his neck while he lifted her. She locked her legs around his hips. Silence fell except for the sound of spraying water and the slap-slap of flesh on wet flesh.