by Ciar Cullen
Now fairly convinced of her innocence, he felt terrible shame at his treatment of her. His heart beat wildly as he saw Gwyneth make her way down the path towards him. She approached on tiptoe, evidently unwilling to disturb a prayerful Brother.
Show her! Tell her now, apologize to her, and stop your deceit! But Simon knew she would flee at the sight of her enemy, her persecutor. And he could not bear to let her go, not yet.
“Brother?” Her question was a mere whisper.
“Yes, Milady?” Simon whispered as well, pulling his hood close around his face and turning slightly away.
“I am sorry to disturb your prayers. Would you have time to counsel a troubled woman? I have no confessor, and my questions burn in my heart. Oh, I am bold, let me seek out another who knows me…”
“No, wait, child. I am willing to listen. Let us walk a bit.”
“You are Italian, Brother? May I ask your name?”
Simon groaned inwardly at his own foolish imitation of Adrian’s accent.
“I am Gabriel, from Firenze. I visit for a short while. Please tell me your concern, my child. Your words are safe with me.” Say anything, Gwyneth. I crave the sound of your voice, your nearness, knowing what you look like under that cloak and dress. Dance and laugh and arch your naked breasts to the sky. He shuddered at the thought and chastised himself, knowing he’d be the laughing stock of the village if she told of his deception.
“It is a difficult subject for me to discuss, Brother.”
“Indeed? You may speak on of any subject, my dear, and God will listen.”
“Will He forgive my wanton lust for one of the Grey Cloaks? For one of your own? Nay, I think not.”
Simon took a quick breath and had to stop himself from turning to her and looking into her eyes.
Gwyneth smiled, sensing his shock, knowing she’d hit the mark, her arrow true. She had spotted the man immediately. His height, his broad shoulders, a lock of dark hair escaping from his hood. She had watched him in the corner at supper, sneaking peeks at her as she spoke with Brother Adrian concerning the health and wellbeing of the aging monks. And she resolved to amuse herself with him this evening, to give the monk what he surely craved.
No, to give herself what she craved—to release all of her passion anonymously with this one tall stranger.
His soul was the one at greater risk, she thought. At least she had never vowed to be chaste. Of course, most of the brothers took lovers now and again, within the walls of the monastery, with each other, or beyond, with women like her.
“I am truly sorry, Brother Gabriel. I seem to have upset you, and I will now withdraw to join the rest of your brethren in prayer.”
Gwyneth turned to walk back up the path to the monastery, but a strong hand gripped her shoulder. She stood still and smiled to herself, her back to the Brother.
“No! You are welcome to speak with me. You see, in Italia, these matters are tolerated. Of course, your soul may be in serious jeopardy, but I am the ideal confessor for you, my dear. Please, go on. Your passion for a Grey Cloak? Have you…”
“Indulged myself with this holy man? Oh, no. May we rest, Brother? I am afraid this confession may make me swoon in shame.”
“You may lean on me, my dear. Let us rest here.” He led her to a low wall, one of a thousand ruined pieces of antiquity littering the countryside.
“Ah, Brother, your people built this very wall. Does that not make you proud—to know their hands reach across hundreds of years to provide a place for you to rest?”
“I do not understand.”
“Is it not a Roman marker?”
“Ah, yes, Roman, that is very true. Indeed, I am descended from the ancient ones, no doubt.”
Gwyneth heard his low groan and wondered why he disguised his voice and feigned a terrible Italian accent. Terrified of being exposed as a lecher?
“Brother, I have sinned terribly and no less than three times. Many more times, if you count the moments alone, in my bed…” Gwyneth smiled again to herself as she heard his intake of breath. No doubt, it was him.
“Each month I must take to the woods near my home, to gather the herbs that heal—the herbs I bring to the brothers or sell to the villagers to help pay for my meager needs. I follow the waxing and waning of the moon, which guides my rituals.”
“That is admirable, my dear. But I fear for you, your mention of the moon. You do not refer to the Pagan worship?”
“Oh, Brother, indeed no! I am baptized by Father Martius. Brother Adrian himself was a witness, you may ask him. No, I am a believer in the True Cross! My art is simple and my chants in the old tongue are a reminder of the ancient wisdom—where to pick, at what time…” she lied. You believe in Christ and you believe in the Goddess. And no one shall ever know the truth of that contradiction.
“Go on, then.” His voice sounded impatient.
“As I perform my duties in the woods, I have noticed one of your holy brothers very near, watching me. He does not know I see him.”
The man’s silent shock was palpable.
“My healing arts have made me very sensitive to the presence—the sight and smell and sound of others. In any case, Brother Gabriel, this man, as I said, watches my movements. As part of the ancient ritual, I am allowed to strip off my clothing and worship God in that state.” Worship the Goddess, you mean.
“I know that the Brother watches me. And, I know that he derives pleasure from watching me. Do you understand, Brother?”
“No. How do you know what he feels?”
“Oh, not what he feels, but what he does. He touches himself in an unholy way.” She shook her head and tried her best to make tears fall down her cheeks. Damnation. Nothing. Gwyneth tried not to laugh at her own poor performance.
“How terrible! You do nothing to stop this behavior? That is the same as blessing his actions!”
“It is worse than that, Brother. I live for these nights. I relish my time before him, the thought of his hand and what it does to him, what I do to seek my release when I am alone, afterwards. I can think of little else, save what it would be like if we could come together, rut like lowly animals in the woods.”
“And…and what do you do? When you are alone?” He squirmed a bit and stood and Gwyneth decided to act.
“Why, I start by touching myself, here.” She pulled her cloak away and rubbed her hand on the cloth covering her breasts. She pinched her nipples through the fabric.
He didn’t move.
Unlacing the ribbon of her dress, she pulled open the fabric. He moaned as she brought her hands onto her bare nipples, squeezing and teasing the hard nubs in the cool night air.
“Then, Brother, I carry the sin further.” Gwyneth propped a leg up on the low wall and pushed her skirts aside. She ran her hand up her inner thigh in languid circles, pulling the fabric high to show him her mound. She pushed her fingers into her soaked hot folds and began the motion that would bring her to release. She moaned and offered her fingers before his face as evidence of her passion. The moisture gleamed.
His voice was barely audible. “You do not join with another? Do you lie to me?”
“No, not since the death of my husband. This Brother is the focus of my passion, but he knows not that I see him, that I want him, want to touch him, want to welcome him into my hot, wet skin.”
“Oh!” He looked as if he would fall to his knees. “Oh, my dear.” The words rushed out in a heavy breath. “This is not…you should not…”
“Is it not what you want, Brother? These three months I have seen you! It is time for your confession, is it not?”
“Damnation, woman! I…Oh my sweet God…” He quivered as she stood before him and pushed her hand against the fabric of his robe, feeling the huge, hard shaft that betrayed him.
“Oh my sweet God, indeed, Brother.” She rubbed his shaft against the fabric and led him to the wall, where she fell on her knees.
“What? Oh, you cannot mean to…”
“It is y
our choice. And, good Brother, if you are from Florence, I am from that farthest twinkling body.” She nodded towards the heavens. “What is your answer, Brother? I would like to satisfy such a loyal audience.” She laughed and he grabbed her head and pulled her in. He pushed up his robe and she gasped at the glorious sight of him. Never in her wildest fantasies had the man—any man—looked like this. The head of his thick, hard cock was coated with a tear of moisture. How would she take a man that large into her mouth? How would he feel in her body? Less involved in torturing him now and more caught in her own lust, she reached towards his velvety flesh.
“God help me.” She smiled up at him, unable to see his eyes.
Simon’s mind barely functioned. His body floated, burned, ached at her touch. He had known many women, but this one woman’s lustful smile made him forget it was not his first time. How could she have this effect on him? The thrill of the look on her face at the sight of him—he nearly came undone.
He longed to kiss her, to pull her in and take her, to make her scream…his name alone. You want her for your own! It cannot be! Not Gwyneth!
All clear thought fell away as she ran her hand down the length of his shaft and licked at the slippery head. Simon grabbed her and caressed her hair, groaning in delight as she intensified her sweet torture, bringing her full lips onto the head of his shaft and grasping harder as she moved back and forth on the tip. In a moment that seemed at once an eternity and a second, he cursed and poured into her mouth, onto her exposed breasts, onto her chin as she moved the shaft to cover herself with his seed.
He longed to pull her to his chest, to hold her, rock her while he returned to his senses. Biting his lip to refrain from calling her name, he simply caressed her hair and cheek. Her sly smile crept into his heart and the heat grew again, the need to have her overwhelming.
“It seems we both enjoy our sins. Is it not so, Brother?” She began her torture again, caressing his sack, running her hands along the ridge of tender flesh that led to his muscled buttocks. She pushed her hands up to his chest and pinched his nipples. He was as stiff as lumber again.
“And now, having sinned, should we stop and repent? Or…” She lifted her skirts and bent over the wall, exposing her white flesh and wet folds for his pleasure.
Panting, sweating in the cool night air, burning with lust, Simon wasted no time in pushing his fingers into her. She cried out at his harsh touch, and moved in a primal rhythm against his hand. She clenched at his fingers as she arched and cried out again. He pushed the tip of his hard shaft into her. She clenched tighter and Simon pushed deeper, filling her.
“Dear Brother.” She moaned and cried and cursed and called on God as he thrust in and out of her tight heat, her lips squeezing and straining against his shaft with each push. And when he exploded inside of her, pounding as he pulled her hips to meet his, he knew his fate was sealed. She would be his, forever. And from far away, as his world spun out of existence, he heard her muffled cry.
If only you did not hate me, Raven. I would give you my passion every night. I would worship you, if you would only worship me in kind. Please forgive me.
She turned and he pulled her into his arms, smelling the scent of her sex, of their lovemaking. She cried and Simon pushed her away in surprise. She looked up to his face and he turned away, unwilling to have her hate him more for his deception.
“Do not fear, Brother. I am fine.” She brushed away her tears. “You are troubled? For your sin? Surely you know that many of your fellow brothers are not celibate?”
“Nay, I am not troubled over that…”
“Then what?”
“Perhaps I grieve that my time with you is over.”
“And may it never happen again? Is that what you intend? You will not visit me? You will not reveal yourself to me?”
“Nay, I will not reveal myself to you. But, lady…trust me, you are etched onto my soul for all eternity.”
He smoothed her luxurious hair and turned away, not knowing what to do but abandon her, lest he fall to his knees in confession before her, begging her for forgiveness, telling her he believed her, asking her to be his.
Chapter Five
Shawn took his coffee onto the crow’s nest and settled into a lounge chair. He looked out at the crashing Atlantic and the few die-hard vacationers and locals who hadn’t left the island after Labor Day. He sipped at the strong black brew, hoping to erase the fuzziness from his brain. He had read for a few hours the night before, stopping at intervals to rub his cock, which seemed to have an unquenchable passion for Jen’s writing and a mind of its own. Finally, exhausted, he had fallen into half-sleep, dreaming of the Raven, naked, pleasuring him.
The warm sun didn’t help to wake him, and he closed his eyes, wondering drowsily if Dana could be right. Could Jen have actually modeled a sexy hero after him? Of course, it didn’t mean anything—perhaps she simply needed a character, and any guy would do. No, it wasn’t a letter to him, as Dana insisted. It was fiction, designed to titillate—and it had, he thought wryly.
“Ahem!”
Shawn nearly jumped out of his skin, nerve endings on fire as adrenaline rushed through his limbs. Caught red-handed.
Shawn tried to slide the manuscript under the paper and laughed at himself as he saw how useless it was. He waved the papers in front of her. “Something to swat at flies with.”
“Spectacular.” Jen crossed her arms and tapped her bare foot in annoyance.
“I thought you were on the beach with Dana. Change of plans?”
He took in her smirk and let his eyes drop to her sinful body, barely covered in what he supposed counted as a bathing suit—tiny triangles of shimmering black fabric, soft rounded stomach and hips, long, toned legs, full breasts, the body of a real woman…
Jen pulled her long black hair back into a ponytail, nonchalantly pulling up a chair to sit next to him.
“Your sister takes forever to get ready. I see you’ve settled in. Anything I can get you? A beer? A Mai-Tai? Sex on the Beach? Maybe iced tea? Oh, I see you’re still on coffee. Some reading material, perhaps? You already have a fly swatter…”
“It’s Dana’s fault. She found it.” He flashed a grin he’d been told was charming, boyish, and watched her face relax and a smile creep to her lips.
“People will read it eventually, at least I hope they do. I didn’t intend for you to see it. You know, with all that hot sex.” She drew the words out slowly, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. She ran her gaze down his chest to his shorts and back up to his face, lingering on his lips. Then she met his gaze and held it, and a glimmer of awareness passed between them. Shawn felt as if he were falling into an abyss.
She’s flirting with you. Oh. My. God.
“Tell me again that you didn’t mean for me to see the book. You’re lying.”
Jennifer popped out of the chair and backed away from him, opening and closing her mouth as if to protest, but saying nothing.
“Well? Never knew you to be a liar, my dear sister-in-law.”
“Ex-sister-in-law. Don’t forget it.”
“Trust me, I haven’t. Admit you want me to read your book. I suppose you want a guy’s opinion for some reason?”
“All right, what’s your opinion?”
“I’ll tell you when I finish.”
“Fine, whatever. I don’t care.”
“You look like you care. I’m a scientist, Jen. I observe various phenomena and draw conclusions based on what I see.” Shawn took his time sweeping his gaze down her body, head to toe, lingering on her breasts and finishing at her mouth.
“Stop that. Stop it right now!” Jennifer turned on her heel and scurried down the stairs. He stood, breathless, excited, and watched her disappear.
“Nymphomaniac!” he called after her, and heard her muffled giggle from the bottom of the stairs.
Shawn lay back in the lounge chair and grinned. “I’ll be damned.”
Jennifer squirted a stream of water onto Dana’s back
.
“Hey!” Dana rolled over and saw the anger in Jen’s eyes. “Uh oh. You’re still mad?”
“Mnnn hmnn. Rummaging around for something to read today? Hope you finished it, because Shawn’s settled in with it now.”
“I’m sorry, I should have asked. It was out in plain view, well, pretty much in plain view. All right, I couldn’t resist. That’s pretty hot stuff, hun. Didn’t know you had it in you. Are you ready for your family and friends to read it?”
“What family? You and Shawn are my only friends, anyway. Of course, Mrs. Jenkinson—the woman who sold me the Raven’s Cave—she’d probably have a coronary. Maybe I need a pen name. Hmnn. Oh, never mind that now. I knew you’d find it. To be honest, I wanted you to find it. I mean, for feedback.” Jennifer spread out her blanket and began her ritual beach setup—suntan lotion, thermos, book, spray bottle. She looked up over her dark glasses at a handful of surfers and fishermen. The usual suspects—old Charlie, hoping for some stripers and a bit of company. Young men with sun-kissed hair, catching the last waves of the season.
“Jen, thanks again for having us down here. I love Long Beach Island after Labor Day. It’s like a private getaway.”
“You know you’re always welcome here. I look forward to your visit all year. And I love moving back into my own house. No, get that look off your face. Half of Long Beach Islanders rent out their homes during high season. I’m not a charity case, Dana, it’s simply helped since the divorce. The Raven’s Cave is doing great. It never ceases to amaze me what people will buy when they’re on vacation. And, then I’m trying the writing…”
“Oh, you’re dying to tell me about the book, aren’t you? Go ahead. Is it him?” Dana propped herself up and eagerly looked over her sunglasses.
Jennifer avoided her friend’s innocent blue eyes. “Is what him? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I mean, really. My baby brother. Your brother-in-law.” Dana giggled.
