by Ford, Lizzy
Nell left me at the door of Taylor’s room, and I hesitated a moment before knocking.
He answered it, dressed in his pajama bottoms and a loose shirt. Stepping aside, he motioned for me to enter.
His room was as large as mine, decorated in manly shades of dark blue and red, with a bed that was closer to a king size than my full bed. I faced him, curious in the tense silence between us. The butterflies were back, along with the distant reminder that Carter seemed to think Taylor was bad.
I just don’t see it.
Taylor’s eyes swept over me quickly, as if he was afraid to look too long, before he crossed to a carafe of amber liquid I assumed was whiskey. He poured a glass and offered it to me.
I shook my head.
He poured himself one and tossed it back.
“You all right?” I asked.
“I am … new to this.”
“To what? Being married?”
His eyes went to the bed in a silent response.
“Wait. You’re a virgin?” I asked, astonished.
Red crept up his face. “Not a virgin. No honorable woman will consider someone raised by savages. I’ve visited the soiled doves once a year on my birthday and …” He drifted off and cleared his throat.
My unease vanished, and I tempered the urge to tease him. He had been uncomfortable but dutiful all evening long. The sight of the uncertainty dogging an otherwise confident man touched me. “I got you covered.” I grinned and went to the hearth.
He frowned but joined me. “Where you’re from … you’re … “
I glanced at him. Every once in a while, he said something that reminded me he knew more about me than I did him. I wasn’t always certain what to think about that. “Where I come from, men and women both try on relationships before they’re married. It’s like pretending to be married to see if it works.”
“Does it work?”
“Not usually.”
His brow furrowed.
“I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re asking,” I supplied. “Have a seat. We can talk.”
He left the tumbler on the tray and sat beside me the way he had last night. Apprehension and desire eddied and spun through me. We gazed at each other. I found myself fiddling with the ties of my housecoat, as if it were my first night. I stilled my hands.
“I’ve never touched a woman meant to be mine,” he said softly.
The way he said it robbed me of any shred of amusement I had at being thrown back in time with a near virgin. To him, this wasn’t pretending or temporary. It wasn’t going to be another one-night stand for me, not when it was real to him. I didn’t want to hurt him when I left.
I also didn’t understand how he could know I didn’t belong here – and still believed this arrangement to be real.
“We don’t have to do anything,” I said. “You don’t seem comfortable.”
“I want to. I don’t know where to start,” he admitted. “I’ve been alone here for so long. I’m not sure what to think about all this.” He motioned to the room. “I’ve never had nothing, Josie, and now I have everything.” There was a familiar glow in his gaze, one that reminded me too much of the look John gave me often and stirred my guilt.
I hate lying to good people.
“Maybe I do need a drink,” I murmured and stood. I went to the whiskey and poured a shot, gazing absently at my reflection in the mirror of the dresser behind the table on which the tray sat.
How did I tell him not to get attached? He was somehow part of all this yet oblivious at the same time. Unable to make heads or tails of him, I likewise didn’t know why I was drawn to trust him.
Taylor rose. “If you’re not ready, I understand,” he said and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure I am.”
And then he said something completely endearing, and I wasn’t able to see the danger Carter swore was there. I met his gaze in the mirror and replaced the tumbler. Despite what little I knew about Taylor, no part of me felt like walking away from him tonight.
“We could talk,” he offered.
“Oh, hell no. I’m ready, and I’m going to make you blush,” I replied with forced cheerfulness. I fumbled with the ties on my housecoat and pulled them free. I let the garb drop to my feet to reveal the near-sheer, sleeveless nightgown I took for being risqué in this era.
His cheeks were pink. Taylor’s eyes went down my yoga-toned form. He hesitated and then stepped forward, his heat warming my back. As if afraid to hurt me, he rested his hands lightly enough on my arms to make me shiver.
“It’s okay, Taylor. I won’t break,” I said with a small laugh.
“I know. I want to remember this forever. You only get married once.” By the earnestness in his words and face, he was serious.
I’m a piece of shit. Pretending to be one man’s daughter and another’s wife … I wanted to scream. Instead I drew a breath and closed my eyes, focused on Taylor’s caress. I could wear out my attraction to him or better yet, see if sex would motivate him to help me. I hated using people as much as I did lying to them, but if I wanted to succeed and go home, I needed his help.
He ran his palms down my arms and back up to my shoulders. Fingers tickled the sensitive skin of my neck, and I shivered. Fire bloomed in my lower belly. I relaxed and leaned against him.
He traced the tattoo at the base of my neck. “What is it?”
“Pink lotus,” I murmured. “I thought it was pretty.”
“It’s beautiful,” he agreed. “You have more?”
“Nope. Just that one.”
Taylor’s fingers moved to my hair, and I bowed my head so he could undo the simple bun Nell had made. Long, blonde curls toppled down my shoulders. He pushed them over one shoulder and I bared my neck to him, my head resting on his chest. His hand went across my collarbone and around my neck loosely before it strayed to my left shoulder.
His simple caresses were mesmerizing, his intent of memorizing every curve and dip of my body clear in the slow, sensual, light touch. I barely noticed when he pushed the nightgown over my shoulders and down to my feet. His hands traced my sides, hips and across my stomach. He pressed his hips to my ass, his hard erection long and thick enough for me to approve of it even without seeing it.
The brush of his fingertips over my sensitive nipples made my breath catch, and I resisted the urge to shove his hand down my belly to the place between my thighs that ached. I was experienced, but he was just learning.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Josie.” he whispered, awe and appreciation mixing with husky need.
I said nothing, lost in the tickling sensations of his hands exploring me. He turned me carefully, and I opened my eyes to gaze up at him. The intensity of his look stripped away my attempt to remain unattached, and I let myself dwell in wonder at the idea of belonging with a man like this, one who treasured every inch of me and wanted our first night to last forever in his memories.
There was nothing standing between us, not two hundred years, Carter or my mission. I was falling into the green depths of his eyes, the tender way he touched me.
But it wasn’t enough for me to want to stay.
I hesitated a moment before realizing I was already in too deep to want to walk away without one of us getting hurt. I slid my hands under his shirt and pushed the material up. Taylor’s hands left me to remove it before they returned to my hips. He pressed his to mine, and I rested my palms on his chest.
His body was perfect. Thick biceps, rounded shoulders, wiry chest and washboard abs. I traced his skin with the same restraint and gentleness he had mine, admiring the smooth texture and the muscles beneath. I wasn’t certain I had ever really noticed a man’s body before aside from the part below the waist I was normally concerned with.
“May I kiss you, Josie?” he whispered.
“You don’t have to ask, Taylor,” I replied and took his planed cheeks. I pulled his face to mine and rested my lips lightly against his. “Just kiss me.”
>
He cupped my cheeks in his hands and obeyed.
I melted into him. Initially unsure, he soon began to descend into hunger. His velvety tongue slid between my lips, and I opened for him readily, returning the kiss with passion. He tasted of whiskey and his own unique flavor. I nipped at his full lower lip playfully. Taking his hands, I slid them down my shape to my ass. He froze for a split second before digging his fingers into my cheeks and pressing me harder against his erection. He trailed hot, wet kisses down my jaw and neck.
“Ah, yeah,” I breathed, eyes closing. “I love that you want me that much.”
“I do,” he replied. “I have since the first day I saw you.”
He’s a good man. Guilt shot through me but was swallowed by the more immediate urge to feel his naked body pressed to mine. I may have hated lying to good people, but I was no saint. The furnace in my belly was demanding, my core aching with need.
Taylor’s ministrations remained measured and slow, rendering me breathless and so turned on, I trembled. My desire soon overcame my patience, and I pushed at his chest in complaint. “Taylor!”
He chuckled. “You’ve never broken a horse.”
“Did you just call me a horse?” I opened my eyes to look at him quizzically.
“No.” He was smiling. “The more time you take with a horse, the more rewarding the results.”
I started to laugh and then stopped, realizing a near virgin was schooling me on sex. “We’ll do it your way,” I murmured. A thrill of exhilaration rippled through me. “Break me, Taylor.” I grinned.
Lust flared in his gaze. His arms wrapped around me, and he kissed me hard and deep, until I was breathless and held up only by his embrace. Despite his intention to take it slow, Taylor appeared to be struggling.
The wicked side of me wanted to see him lose it. I rubbed his erection through his pants, nipped at his lips, and wriggled against him provocatively, pushing him closer and closer to what I craved.
Taylor responded by slowing his caresses, tapping his fingers against the mound of my pussy without touching the aching nub or dipping into my core. He licked and sucked on the peaks of my breasts and trailed kisses down my neck and back.
When at last he lost his pants and steered me towards the bed, I was close to panting, begging and barely able to walk. He laughed in response and pressed me onto my back, his kisses growing harder and more desperate.
I wriggled beneath him, moaning when his erection brushed the opening of my core. My hands went down his lean abdomen and around to his ass. I dug my fingernails into his cheeks. Taylor captured my mouth and entered me with the same slow control he used to tease every inch of my skin.
I arched beneath him, close to coming from the simple penetration. His dick filled me, stretched my sheath to capacity. Neither drunk sex nor sex with the man I was engaged to felt this incredible. Need and pleasure sizzled across every nerve ending and rippled through me as if this was the first time I had ever truly been aware when it came to sex.
“Yes!” I hissed. “Taylor …”
He kissed my neck. “You feel …” He ended with a groan. “Tight. Jesus. So tight!” His body shook from control and emotion.
“Show me what you got, cowboy,” I whispered and then bit his earlobe hard.
His control shattered. Taylor began to thrust hard and deep, penetrating me with desperation I shared. I clung to him, unable to recall when I last experienced sex like this. My orgasm built quickly, and I tensed beneath him as my muscles grew taut.
Even before it hit, I knew it was going to be unlike any other climax. I was too aroused, too aware of Taylor’s every breath, too connected to him for it to be anything other than a shattering of my body and heart at once.
My orgasm snapped, and I cried out his name, washed away in waves of pleasure that started in my core and tore through me with intensity that left me breathless, lost.
Taylor came shortly after me. He bucked and plunged into me several more times before collapsing, his hard breathing in my ears.
I panted and wrapped my arms around him, trembling from the intensity of the orgasm still working its way through my system. My sheath pulsed and rippled around his dick, and I wrapped my legs around his lean hips, crossing them at the ankle to keep him buried deep inside of me.
“Good, Taylor,” I whispered. “You can be taught.”
He lifted his head. His eyes glowed with appreciation and desire, his penetrating gaze searching my features. He touched my cheek gently and eased off me, a hint of his shyness returning.
“It feels different with you,” he murmured.
“I hope so,” I said and laughed. “You aren’t paying me, for starters!”
He smiled and hugged me against him. We lay in quiet long enough for me to slip into a doze before he began speaking.
“I’ll start. I’m from here, or at least, a similar time, which is why I came here to retire. I can’t remember how many eras I’ve visited or how many people I’ve met along my travels. They offered me the ability to retire where I wanted, and I chose here and now. It’s about fifty years before my time, but I wanted to see this era.”
I listened, startled he was diving straight into his secrets after avoiding speaking of them since we met. My fingers twirled through his tousled hair absently.
“I believe Running Bear is my grandfather.”
“You came back to see your family?” I asked.
“To see the last years of freedom my father’s people enjoyed.”
“I understand. But I thought you were four when they found you.”
“They did. I’ve lived around ten thousand lives in ten thousand times.”
My mouth dropped open.
“Technology has advanced a great deal in that amount of time. Used to, there was no way to bring someone from the past forward. It was a one-way trip, until the secret to moving forward in time was stumbled upon by someone at the agency I worked for. Once they figured it out, the old way of doing business was no longer in fashion,” he explained.
“Wow,” I breathed. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, by the way. Carter didn’t tell me anything before sending me back. I had no idea time travel existed before him.”
“Want me to start from the beginning?” he offered.
“Yeah.”
“Time agents are sent back in time to a particular point where there’s a disruption or sudden, dangerous change to history as we know it. We go native, as they call it, and are either raised in the era where we land as part of the culture and society or sent back at least five years before to give us time to adjust. The goal is to make us the ultimate sleeper agent who knows the ins and outs of his world. When we’re ten, we’re granted the memories of our past lives and where we came from. When we grow tired of the travel and relative immortality, we can opt to retire. This is my retirement cycle.”
Unable to voice any of the questions pummeling my thoughts, I was silent. Why his story seemed fantastical after knowing what I did already, I wasn’t sure.
“Our focus is to prevent men like Carter from modifying history for selfish reasons. There is a time and place where time travel is a way of life. But even if so, there should be no one permitted to change history for personal gain or revenge or any other of those human motivations.”
This sank in deeper than the rest. I didn’t know Carter’s motivation; I assumed he wanted what he said he did, to help people who needed it. “But … how do you live ten thousand lives?” I asked.
“We technically don’t. We live one life. I reached the age of thirty-three in my own time. Let’s just say … they sent me back in time on a Friday. I cease to exist in my own time from that Friday onward. But the day before, on Thursday, I’m still there. So the next life, they pick me up on Thursday and take me back in time. For the next one, they pick me up on Wednesday. Three hundred sixty four lives a year. When I arrived here, I was four. It’s roughly ten thousand days between the age of four and thirty three
, which means ten thousand lives.”
“You remember them all?”
He shrugged. “After so many, you tend to keep those you enjoyed the best and forget the rest.”
“How is this possible?”
“How are you a hundred and fifty years in the past with an empathic memory chip?” he challenged gently.
I touched my head self-consciously. “You know about that.”
“It’s either that or you’re touched like Fighting Badger. Your language skills were another giveaway. Never met a white man who spoke with your fluency.”
“I had no idea there was an entire agency devoted to time travel,” I said. “I can’t wrap my head around that.”
“It’s a work in progress. Once they were no longer restricted to traveling strictly from future to past, it opened up the doors to more possibilities.”
“Carter … doesn’t work for them, does he?” I asked with some reluctance.
“No.” Taylor’s features grew shuttered for a moment. “The truth is we know little about him or what he wants or why he’s decided to use that immense intellect of his to change the past.”
Part of me was relieved that Carter wasn’t a criminal, while another instinct whispered that the unknown had the potential to be even scarier. “Then who the hell is Carter?” I ventured.
“We don’t really know. A genius for certain. He created the empathic memory chip, a marrying of technology and human brain power that’s theoretically impossible.”
My breath caught. “Oh, god. Am I going to explode?”
The sense of disconnect returned. I shook my head, and my ears buzzed.
“Focus,” he whispered. He rested his palms on my cheeks.
Just as fast, I was yanked back into reality. I released a breath. I was sitting up, a blanket wrapped around me, while he sat beside me. Enough time had passed for him to put on his pants again.
“I keep getting dizzy,” I said.
“Side effect of traveling,” he explained. “Look at me.”
