Topaz Dreams

by Marilyn Campbell

  Once again Steve was left staring at empty space.

  Falcon ran blindly, oblivious to the people he passed on the sidewalk. He crossed the street between two hotels and ran toward the ocean. Tearing off his shoes and socks, he ran in the wet, sucking sand.

  He ran until he thought his heart would explode through his chest. But he could not escape what was happening to him.

  He had laid his hands on her in anger. How could he have done such a despicable thing? He still felt her satiny skin against his fingertips and carried her sweet scent in his nostrils. He had no idea what she had said to him; he was lost in her eyes, and would have pulled her closer and kissed her again, had he not heard the two words "want . . . more." He had not touched her mind, nor had she spoken. Yet the words had come to him all the same. They jolted him because he had never before heard an untrained person's thoughts that way. They frightened him because they were an echo of his own thoughts. Was it truly her wish, or had he unintentionally planted the desire in her mind?

  His powers were increasing. He knew that and was prepared to adapt, but the struggle between his two selves was escalating in spite of every attempt he made to suppress his awakening humanity. The emotions bubbling inside of him, unexpectedly taking over at the oddest times, had to be some sort of challenge to his worthiness to handle greater powers. It was as if his human half was demanding he acknowledge his weaknesses.

  Then what did that make Steve—the ultimate test? Resist her and acquire the gifts of the most powerful felan. Give in to her, accept his humanity, and lose, not only the chance to reach a higher mental level, but perhaps the powers he had had since birth.

  Not long ago the wiser choice would have been obvious.

  Chapter Nine

  There is no great genius without a mixture of madness.—Aristotle

  Gordon Underwood grunted as he ended his telephone conversation with King. So, the two detectives had pounced on the bait, and Barbanell revealed that she had made a connection between him and Nesterman. Regardless of what she had to say, he was not ready to hand over the scientist to her, even though his efforts to turn Nesterman into an ally had not yet succeeded. His frustration led him to giving King a free hand in Miami Beach, so long as none of his actions could be tied to Underwood. Barbanell and Falcon were like two annoying flies, and he wanted them swatted away.

  Work held little appeal for him this morning. With a resigned sigh, he headed for the parlor, where he knew Delphina would be right where he had left her.

  "You look very tense, Gordon," she noted with concern. "May I be of some assistance?"

  Sitting down next to her, he took her slender hand in his. "You help just by being here, my dear."

  "I am able to do much more. I am aware that Outerworld morality is less open in some ways than I am accustomed to in Innerworld. It occurs to me that you might not understand what my job as an entertainer at the mining camp would have entailed." When Gordon raised an eyebrow at her, she continued, "I am a fantasizer. For a short time I can make you believe you are whoever you wish to be. Although you would never leave this room, mentally you can be any place, any time.

  "A sexual release can relieve tension, but combined with a fantasy, it is considerably more effective. You have never requested my services in this manner. I do not know if you were hesitant to ask or if you have not found me desirable."

  "Not desirable?" Gordon took a long slow breath to steady his erratic heartbeat. "You are the first woman I have desired in years. From the moment I saw you I wanted you." He pulled his hand from hers and looked away. He was embarrassed as if he were an adolescent on a first date. "But it doesn't matter."

  "If you have wanted a sexual release with me and not satisfied the need, that would explain your frustration. It is not healthy to deny a natural physical urge such as sexual gratification. I am here for you, Gordon." She placed her hand on his cheek and turned his face back to her.

  He met her gaze, watched her tongue wet her lips in anticipation of his kiss. Hesitantly, he bent his head until his mouth touched hers. A small spark caught, and a long-forgotten stirring began in his groin. He deepened the kiss, pulling her into his arms, seeking her tongue with his own. Her hand moved slowly from his cheek, kneading the muscles of his shoulder, discovering his sensitive nipple through his shirt, down over his belt buckle to the semi-hardness between his thighs.

  He tried, desperately wanting it to be different with her. The past would not allow it. It intruded with images that reminded him of what he needed to satisfy the wretched creature in his trousers. With a groan bordering on a sob, he pulled away from Delphina and strode to the window.

  "Gordon?" She glided to him and placed her hand on his arm. "Have I done something to offend you?"

  He looked at her in disbelief, opened his mouth, but foiled to find a satisfactory explanation.

  "You do not need to tell me, you know. I could touch your mind and see whatever it is that is so difficult for you. Perhaps in the sharing you would find comfort as well."

  Gordon felt an overwhelming need for the comfort she offered. He had never confided in anyone, about anything, least of all his secret. "Delphina, whether I told you or you learned it in your way, you would be too repulsed to allow me near you again. I don't think I could stand that. You see, I can't ... I'm sorry I kissed you. Let's forget it, all right?"

  "I do not believe that would be the best thing for you, Gordon. I am very knowledgeable about sex, and I could never be repulsed by anything about you. Please tell me why you cannot come to me for your pleasure."

  Could she be right? Was there any way she could know about him and not hate him? Would this beautiful woman from another world grant him the satisfaction he had so long denied himself? "I would not know where to begin," he finally said with a shake of his head.

  Delphina took his hand and led him back to the sofa. She made sure he was comfortably seated, walked around behind him, and placed her fingertips on his temples. "Relax now, Gordon. Close your eyes and remember. Let me see what I need to do to please you."

  As soon as Gordon closed his eyes, a scene crystallized before him. At first he knew Delphina was planting the image into his mind. A moment later, all awareness of present time and place was gone, and he was reliving a memory, physically and emotionally, not merely watching it.

  He was thirteen again, sitting at Miss Preston's kitchen table. His knuckles smarted from the whack she had just delivered with her wooden ruler. Not for the first time, she reminded him that she was hired to tutor a genius, not to teach manners to an adolescent.

  But he couldn't seem to help himself. Ever since his friend, Frankie, had told him about what men and women did in private, he hadn't been able to get it out of his head. Maybe if he didn't love Miss Preston quite so much, or if her red hair, green eyes, and small body were not quite so beautiful, maybe then he could keep his eyes from wandering over her, and stop wondering what she'd look like without her clothes.

  That day she changed her tactics. Accepting the fact that his highly active curiosity about every academic subject had naturally extended to sex, she took on the responsibility of satisfying that curiosity in order to get his mind back to his studies.

  Gordon could not believe his dreams had come true when she undressed for him, and when his hesitant first touch made her moan, he was certain she loved him, too. She showed him how to please her with his hands and mouth, but a moment after she seemed satisfied with his performance, she turned on him.

  He had to be punished for his wicked behavior, she scolded him. She had to help him learn not to be ruled by the mindless devil in his pants. By threatening to tell his father that Gordon had raped her, she forced him to accept the punishment she believed would teach him the self-discipline he needed.

  Gordon's father preferred to use his fists or his leather belt to enforce strict discipline in his house. Miss Preston's weapon was her wooden ruler, but she was equally proficient at inflicting punishment with her hands,
fingernails, and teeth. But that day through it all his erection never relaxed, as if that part of him truly did have a wicked mind of its own. That was enough to convince him that she was right about having to learn to discipline himself before the stupid appendage between his legs destroyed his intelligence, the only thing his father could not take away from him.

  When she felt he had been sufficiently chastised, she allowed him to climax with a few impersonal jerks of her hand. Then they both got dressed and returned to the calculus lesson as if none of it had happened.

  Each lesson after that began in a similar way, with Miss Preston continually finding new, inventive ways to punish Gordon for his evil male thoughts. When she did take him into her body, she tainted that joy as well, with tricks such as viciously biting his nipple or sticking him with a hatpin at the moment he climaxed.

  For two very formative years he anticipated and dreaded their time together. As in all subjects, Gordon was an excellent student. By the time they parted company, pain, pleasure, and guilt had permanently meshed together inside him. From several futile attempts with other girls and women, he also knew he could not maintain an erection without the pain. Eventually, he gave up trying. He had an empire to build instead.

  The years flew by in a sexless void with the exception of two notable incidents.

  Gordon's father stopped beating him for his many offenses when, at age sixteen Gordon topped his father's six-foot, two-hundred-pound frame, but his mother's torture worsened. He considered his mother a weak, spineless creature, a victim if there ever was one, but that was no excuse for what his father put her through. He hated his father. And he hated himself for being the same gender.

  For years Gordon stood by helplessly as the old man took out his anger on her verbally, but when he had used his meaty fists, breaking her jaw and blackening her eye, Gordon had had enough. In a fit of accumulated rage, he had used his own fists, just like his father always had, but he had not stop with injury. He had not stopped until the older man lay in a bloody, lifeless heap.

  His mother had observed him wordlessly as he removed all his father's identification and folded the body into a large garbage bag. Gordon had weighted the bag and dumped it in the river. It never occurred to him that he could be caught. It simply was not in his destiny. He had returned home to find his mother had cleaned the bloodstains and was calmly waiting for him to take her to the hospital for her jaw. As far as anyone ever knew, her husband had left home one night and never returned. The matter was never discussed at all between her and her beloved son, but ever since that day she believed she owed him her life and her freedom, and he could do no wrong.

  That night, with adrenaline still racing through his system, Gordon Underwood had masturbated, each purposeful stroke matching a remembered punch to his father's face.

  The second incident occurred exactly fifteen years after he and Miss Preston had played out their farewell performance. One night she had appeared on his doorstep looking much older than her fifty years. She had allowed her own hatred and anger to take its toll, but her greed had not dwindled at all. She had read an article about her one-time star pupil, she had informed him, saying that life was treating him well and that he was wealthy and gaining prominence daily.

  Underwood had been tempted to turn her away, then thought better of it. He had listened to her reminders of their relationship, which she said could be renewed openly now that he was of age. After all, she had helped to make him what he had become. By showing him his weakness he had overcome it, hadn't he? Shyly, she had spoken of financial assistance. Blackmail was such an ugly word, she had whined, and he had coolly agreed.

  They had been alone in the house; no one knew she had paid him a visit. He had shut out the vision of the scrawny hag she had become, and remembered the beauty he had worshipped; she who had taken his innocent, pure love and had turned it into a grotesque perversion. It had been so long he told himself, then had told her aloud, with a hard, punishing kiss on her tight mouth. Her teeth had clamped down on his lower lip, breaking the skin. The taste of his own blood pushed him over the edge. It had been too long for both of them. They had undressed hurriedly. He had allowed her inflictions of pain and verbal abuse, and he had grown stiff and anxious, as he had known he would. But he was no longer a boy who could be cowed by threats and promises of dark pleasures. He was a full-grown man with a glowing future and enemies who would use his weakness against him if they knew of it.

  Unexpectedly, Underwood had pushed her down on her back and mounted her. He had savored the look of surprise and fear that touched her cold, green eyes when she saw the size his weapon had grown to, and it grew when she screamed from the pain of his thrust into her skinny, unprepared body.

  "I loved you, Miss Preston ... once upon a time." His hands had closed around her throat as his hips slammed into hers. Miss Preston had absorbed his final climax with the last beat of her twisted heart___

  Delphina's fingertips moved from his temples and stroked the skin of his head for a moment before releasing him completely. Reliving every sickening incident left him too spent to raise his eyelids. Nor did he want to see the change in Delphina now that she knew of the ugliness inside him. And yet, for some reason, he did not feel so ugly anymore.

  She took his icy hands, and warmed them with her breath. Only when she settled herself on his lap with her arms around his neck and her head on his shoulder did he dare look at her. Delphina smiled. He was so elated by her reaction, he found himself running his hands over her, kissing her, and murmuring nonsense against her neck.

  "Gordon. My Gordon. You have very dark memories, but that is all they are—memories. I cannot change them and neither can you. You must not let them affect the present. It is against our laws to do violence to each other, even if it is for the purpose of pleasure. But I still want to try to please you. Remember, you cannot disappoint me. Whatever happens, I will be here for you."

  Delphina unbuttoned his shirt and toyed with the sparse hairs on his chest. "I like the man you are, Gordon. In Innerworld, a man with such a beautiful body would be in demand by many women.. You should never feel shame about your natural physical needs." She kept talking, telling him what a good thing it was that he was a man, how much she needed him, exactly as he was, and how much she wanted to be needed by him.

  Minutes passed. Or was it hours? Gordon could not be sure. He was entranced by her voice and the butterfly movements of her fingers over his naked body. A thought floated by that this was one of the fantasies she had spoken of, but he wanted it to be real, and so it was.

  Her skin warmed to his touch. She melted for him. And he was all man for her.

  "I love you, Delphina. You are mine, now and forever."

  She moved against him in answer and he wanted her . . . again . . . and again.

  Chapter Ten

  It is not good to wake a sleeping lion. —Sir Philip Sidney

  It was one o'clock in the morning before they could attempt the next step in Steve's plan. She appraised her bikini-clad figure in the mirror. Falcon would probably think her donning the skimpy suit was another one of her flimsy attempts to attract him. She grabbed a tee shirt and pulled it on. Two seconds later she took it off again. The hell with what he thinks, she thought angrily. Swimming was easier without excess clothing, she reasoned, and he probably would not notice anyway.

  Out on deck Falcon waited with even less covering than she wore, but she vowed not to notice. "Don't you think you ought to take that off?"

  Falcon paused. He had understood nudity was not generally accepted in public, and although her attire left nothing to the imagination, the female parts of her anatomy were covered ... more or less. Don't think about it! "I do not understand. You picked out this swimsuit. Is it not appropriate?"

  Steve's mouth opened and closed as she realized what he thought she meant. "Oh geez, no, I, uh, I was referring to your ring. Opals aren't supposed to get wet, are they?" As far as she was concerned, nothing could make
the showy thing less attractive than it already was, but he did seem attached to it. "Is it your birthstone?"

  Falcon turned his ring hand away from her line of vision, and said the first thing that came to mind. "It is not a genuine opal. The water will not hurt it. Yes, it is my birthstone."

  "Not genuine? No kidding?" Steve reached for his hand to get a closer look at the fake, but he put his hand behind his back.

  With his other hand, he pointed at the two-foot long, black, cylindrical tube she was holding by its grip. "What is that?"

  Now why wouldn't he want her to see his stupid ring? The thought of trying to force the issue held some temptation, but she decided not to give him another reason to think she was a twit. "I've never used it in the field myself, but it's the latest technology in mountain climbing. When I press this button, the top opens and twenty feet of rope shoots out wherever I point. A four-pronged grappling hook on the end opens like an umbrella, with rubber tips. As long as there's something for it to grab onto, it will support up to six hundred pounds.

  "It sure would have been nice if Underwood had taken my bait and invited us on board by the front door, but I guess that would have been too simple. I just hope there's no alligators in that water."

  Falcon raised one eyebrow at her. It had not occurred to him that there might be living creatures in such dirty water. Fortunately, they would only have to swim a short distance. "And I hope the moon stays behind those clouds. Steve, I know you work alone, but will you please stay close once we are on board? It would be inefficient, and possibly dangerous, to separate."

  Steve felt like refusing just to be ornery, but it was exactly what she was going to suggest, so she agreed. "Fine. Ready?" She prepared to slip over the side into the waterway when he stopped her.

  "Steve?"

  She turned back to him, wondering at his frown.