by Raine Miller
She feathered kisses on his chest, nibbled her way down his chest. She bit his belly, chuckling low. Her hands spread his thighs like he was a woman, and at last she sank her lips about his prick.
He stood it for only a short while, fighting his body’s demand to wrap around this woman and bury himself in her. At last the drive won. He raised his arms, lifted her from his prick and she allowed it. He could feel her desire as he maneuvered her up his body, the heat of her cunny leaving a liquid fuse. He parted her legs, sat up and they became one.
They kissed and he tasted his near capitulation to her on her tongue when they melted together. She took a deep breath and rocked upon his lap. In his last moment of clear thought, he locked eyes with her.
“Alan…Alan…Alan…” he heard her cry out.
It was enough proof.
CHAPTER 18
For the first time since her affair with Captain Silvestri began, she woke up with him still abed with her the next morning. His left arm draped over her, his warm hand cupping her breast. Not aggressively, rather relaxed and in total ease. Such a wonderful night. No talk of serious things. Very little talk.
They’d touched, stroked, and sat in companionable silence to watch the light fade from Tortuga. Few tiny flickers of light, from candle or lantern, reached the haven Silvestri built.
And no doubt he’d built it. She observed the pride he took, stroking the carving on the door, the polish on the table. How carefully he lifted the chairs to the hooks on the wall. He touched the headboard of the bed with lingering fingers. He eventually draped a light blanket over her shoulders as the night waxed and the stars shone intensely.
When the moon rose, she’d turned to him in surprise. “The moon is full?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Isn’t that when the vampires waltz? How can they hold the party? Isn’t it dangerous?”
“Tomorrow night is the blue moon. Second full moon of the month. They’re only allowed one hunter’s moon per month.” He stroked her hair. “Have you ever worn it long?”
“Oh, sure. Nearly to my ass a few times.” She’d leaned against his hand, wanting to purr, if she only knew how. She asked him later if the vampires would be at the party, and he’d assured her that yes, of course. But as participants, nothing more. He even promised to point out the swamp where the zombies wandered. It was well after midnight when they retired to the humble cabin.
It took her some time to fall asleep, even though her body craved it. Her mind spun with things he’s spoken of earlier. Other times and other places? Her memory played back some of the things she’d seen when wandering Tortuga after her bath. She’d seen some strange stuff. A man in a top hat and tails. A woman in a silver cat suit, shawl tied around her hips. It wasn’t just the blenders and microwaves that were out of place. She’d grown so used to seeing anachronisms that few of them registered as strange anymore. People, appliances, she’d even heard modern music sung at street corners and didn’t think it strange.
The microwave on the ship. How did it find power? She’d never asked, just figured it was part of the vast delusion. Her memory produced a sudden vision of a man juggling in Nassau. Rubik’s Cubes. He’d been juggling Rubik’s Cubes! And the woman in the cat suit—holding a camera? Or maybe something totally different.
There’d been a lovely parasol in a window off High Street, with some sort of hydraulic tube attached to its handle. The proprietor could not say what it was for.
Suddenly, the story that Jezebel told her, how Tortuga was the site of washed up items from everywhere and every when became clear. She’d fallen to a black hole of lost items? Like where all the extra socks went when they disappeared from the dryer at home.
She finally fell asleep with visions of every lost item in the universe washing up on the beaches of the Caribbean like some vast landfill.
When morning came, her body was rested, but her brain still spun with all the possibilities. His breath was soft at the back of her neck. His cock stirred and she knew he was waking up.
The night before, he’d been near frantic in his pursuit of her pleasure. She’d been caught in the chase and run neck and neck with him. Like some mad contest, they’d pushed each other to a mindless state of satisfaction. Fun and furious, and she refused to consider any drawbacks. She knew he found her desirable now. There was no room in her mind for doubt after the night.
He pulled away from her, urging her onto her back. His hair covered her face when he bent to welcome the morning with a kiss.
The light slipped through partly opened shutters, illuminating his silver hair into a shining mass of brightness. She smiled, reached up and lightly pulled it away so she could meet his eyes. The sapphire appeared black for a moment. Then she wondered again at the depth of their color. She could dive into those eyes and just float away for the rest of her life. He met her gaze and examined her face. So intently, she wondered if he were memorizing it.
She understood the sentiment. She wanted to remember him always as well. Delusion or not.
She traced his crow’s feet with her fingertips, loving how they drew attention to his eyes. She softly caressed the odd, crescent scar. He wouldn’t tell her where it came from, making it a mystery. Wonder opened in her heart. This man loved her? He’d actually said those words to her.
If only she could say them back.
He winked, then murmured, “Doesn’t matter.”
“You reading minds now, Captain Silvestri?” Somehow the thought didn’t surprise her.
“Not hard to see you toy with regret.” He tilted his head at her. “Maybe even guilt. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter.”
“It does too—”
He stopped her words with a kiss. One of his mind-numbing kisses, so soft that the thought of butterfly wings entered her mind. He continued to kiss her, and when his lips left her mouth, he replaced them with two fingers, silently asking her to drop her doubts.
She inhaled and smelled herself on his hand. And she kissed the pads, running her tongue along his nails, conveying trust and willingness to indulge whatever bit of decadence he wished to toy at.
He smiled, almost sadly, then moved his lips from her face, to her neck, to her breasts. He lingered on her breasts, using his tongue with pure magic. Her breasts were never been much of an erogenous zone. Until he woke them up.
She wrapped hands in his hair as he made love to each breast and nipple one at a time.
He touched softly, as if apologizing for the power of the night before as he continued down her body. He licked at scratches, rubbed bruises with a tenderness she didn’t think many men were capable of. Each touch was in direct contrast the passion of hours ago. He made up for that desperate harshness with every move he made.
She didn’t ask for it. Hadn’t felt she needed the reassurance. He didn’t hurt her and she’d never felt in danger. But a growing tenderness inside her signaled he’d been right.
He sank his mouth to her belly, and she could hear him speaking, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. When his fingers dipped between her thighs, she didn’t care anymore. His tongue and lips played her body like a symphony. Her brain shut down, stopped trying to understand or analyze. There was nothing in her experience to compare to this.
For an hour he savored her, coaxed words from her that she admitted in her heart as truth.
I want you. I want your touch. I want you. I need you. And finally I love you. That slipped from her as he slid her down an orgasm so intense and peaceful, she was no longer afraid of death, for just a moment. An hour of passionate progression about her body took her to nirvana. Every kiss, every touch, every gentle connection reinforced it. His cock anchored deep inside and she heard him murmur, home. She felt him release into her as she fought to keep from crying.
He sighed, took a breath, and kissed her. His arms wrapped around her, eased her up to sit atop his kneeling figure and he held her. For an eternity.
Her head rested on his chest, hearing
his heartbeat.
She’d just been made love to. She thought she’d been down that path before. Now she knew that was wrong. This was deeper than anything she’d ever come close to. With a sigh, she held him and accepted this new life and new love. Even this new world as her new home.
An hour later, he closed the door and they paused on the porch. Her head still spun, slowly adjusting to a new reality. She felt giddy.
He stopped before they began the descent to Tortuga. “Wait.”
She turned to him. Damn, she loved a pirate. A cursed pirate. Somehow, the peace of that admission would stay here, on this mountain, where it was safe. He pulled a chain from his pocket. An extremely fine gold chain, and at the end, a pendant rested.
She reached to touch it. Smiled at the whimsical carving. “Must be the same artist who did my mirror. Oh! My mirror! I think one of the dyers stole it!”
“No, I have it. I don’t know how it ended up left in my cabin, but I have it safe. I’ll see it returned to you before the party is done. Meanwhile, take this. I saw it and knew it was for you.”
Relieved to know her mirror was safe, she grinned. Turning, she drew back, eyes following the stark white carving descending to her chest.
“Do I return this Kraken when you get the mirror back to me?” she teased.
“No, dear Mrs. Pawes, this is yours. Promise me you will not remove it. I feel it may carry good luck. Not as mine, but good luck with no tricks.”
She stroked the pendant and nodded. “An Old Monster, eh?”
He tilted his head at her. “Yes. Quite astute of you. Shall we head for the tailor’s?”
Glad to know her mirror was secure and warmed by the simple gift, she merrily strode down the hill.
The day dawned with light mist. He directed her attention to the north, where threads of vapor lingered despite the brightness of the day. “That is the swamp. The zombies seem quite content there. They gather ingredients for Mama Lu, and she takes care of them.”
“Did she create them?” Emily asked casually, taking care to set one foot in front of the other. Her sandals were growing tattered.
“No one creates them. They are the nearly dead who choose to fade into the wilds instead of leaving with fanfare. The swamp takes them in, eases their last years. I understand zombies have a different evolution where you come from.”
She paused, then turned to look up at him. She chuckled. “You could say that! They are the dead, raised by evil voodoo practitioners to be mindless slaves with a hunger for brains. In some fiction they are the result of a virus or pathogen that infects the living and the dead, turning them into mindless monsters. And they generally remain near the graveyards. Let me think, our swamps are said to be inhabited by lizard-like monsters. Or sometimes wandering mummies.” She waved her hand. “All fictional, none real.”
“There is little actual fiction here, Mrs. Pawes. Keep that in mind and you’ll be safer than if you deny the reality of the Kraken’s Caribbean constantly.”
“That was said with such seriousness!” She waited for him to climb down next to her.
He kissed the side of her neck. “I am serious. It’s best if you heed what others tell you regarding what you might see as nonsense and fairy tale.”
“All right, Alan. I’ll work at reining in my natural skepticism. You will keep us away from the Quill today? Or maybe I should go to the ship and check in?”
When she was with him—when they were alone together—uncertainty didn’t enter into her thoughts. It wasn’t that he made every decision. Though that was part of it. Tom had been so fair he’d often driven her mad by offering too many options, until making decisions was a burden. Alan simply led the way, and she wanted to follow him.
If they remained together, there would be more conflict, of that she was certain. Right now, she was a visitor. But she’d want to lead, eventually.
The closer they got to the city, the more nervous she grew.
He took her hand. “I think it best if we remain on the outskirts. I will have your dress sent to the Tortuga Grotto, where the ball is being held. I have arranged a room for the day. You can rest, bath, and dress in comfort.”
“You won’t be there, right? At the ball?” Her heart tightened at this question. Because she wanted him there. Wanted to dance with him, wanted to see him dressed in finery. But she also didn’t want him there. Didn’t want to see Mick grow agitated and put himself in danger by attacking Alan. Didn’t want to be revealed as a couple. Not yet. Not ready.
Alan shook his head. “Don’t worry, Emily. I may linger out of sight long enough to see the glitter, but nothing more. I have a journey to make. You won’t see me for some weeks, my dear.”
“Oh.” She took a deep breath, both relieved and disappointed. Turning, she looked into his face. “When you return, we must talk. Figure out a way….”
He set his fingers at her lips. “I know. We will talk, I promise you.”
He kissed her again and quickly took her down a path that led toward the southern edge of the city.
Emily had done a fair amount of exploring the several times the Quill docked at Tortuga, but she didn’t recognize a thing around her. The rock walls grew steep around them. One side of the path still presented buildings, store fronts and small shops though they grew sparse and a young forest took their place. But the rocky wall grew steeper and more formidable. She worried they were descending rather quickly.
Were they going underground?
They turned a corner and broad steps were before them, leading down toward a huge opening, where cascading ferns disguised how high the arch climbed. She gasped, “The Grotto?”
“Yes, the Great Tortuga Grotto. Home to the yearly celebration, and said to house many portals. Obviously, not yours or you would know this place already. Do not be surprised at who or what you see at the ball tonight.” He led the way down the steps, to a smaller side opening. He rang a bell, and they waited.
A lovely Asian woman rushed to greet them, bowing low to Captain Silvestri and taking Emily’s hand shyly. “You come with me? We help you get ready.”
“Go with her, Em. I will see your dress fetched and meet you in a few hours. You will enjoy the pampering.”
“Alan?” She paused, took a deep breath and blew it out. “Can some word be sent to the Quill that I’m fine and will see them tonight?”
“I will take care of it. I look forward to seeing you polished.”
She snickered. “If I have anything left to polish.” She raised a hand. “Don’t get on me about it. I look forward to seeing you bright and shiny, too. All right?”
He nodded. “Until this afternoon.”
She let the woman drag her down the tunnel.
Three hours later, she’d been bathed, buffed, scrubbed, lubricated, dusted, polished, massaged, and scraped. She ran out of ways to describe it to herself. Oshi and Ishi, the first being the woman who’d brought her to the room, started it by leading her to a steam room.
Emily wasn’t a prude, but it was a bit disconcerting to be stripped by two women, who then stripped themselves and insisted she allow them to take care of her. She was plucked and stroked. Her hair was washed six times, then dried and pulled back from her face with intricate combs. It amazed what they accomplished with so little length to work with.
Finally, she was given a robe and led to another room, where Silvestri sat waiting for her. A covered gown hung from a hook on a wall. He also wore a robe, but explained he’d barely begun to prepare, as he’d been running errands.
“First a good meal. It will be nearly midnight before they serve any food at the ball. And before you ask, yes, I sent message to the Quill. They’ve shifted the ship away from the pier. Other ships arrived and needed to unload items for the party, I imagine. There will be cutters available to get you aboard after the ball.” He handed her a narrow box. “Your mirror.”
“I thought you said it was on the Immortal. It hasn’t come into port, has it?” A surge of w
orry tried to overpower the wonder of the day and her belly tightened at the thought of any confrontations.
“No. I’m sorry I didn’t make that more clear. I found it in a room I’d taken. The Immortal is anchored miles away. Don’t worry.” He sat back when Oshi brought in a tray.
They shared an intimate lunch, deep in the rock carved rooms Emily gave up trying to understand why they were well lit, why the water was hot—all of the impossible aspects of what surrounded her. He’d said some portals opened to the future. Future technology might do this, she assumed.
He pushed away from the table and walked to a large padded bench, set against a wall. With total nonchalance, he dropped his robe and sat down. He leaned to one side, draping himself on the cushion. He gazed at her. “I want you now, before we dress. Come to me, Emily.”
A sudden and unexpected self-consciousness rose in her. She’d been naked in front of her husband, but that was the years ago. As they aged, those times came less and less. But now, with Alan…. He lay before her, gloriously naked, posed to make her mouth water, and she wanted to be naked with him. But…she was old! Droopy boobs, stretch marks, and her belly sagged and her thighs dimpled and…she just couldn’t move. This was stupid; she’d been naked with him, walked and talked and everything else. What made this different? Why did this feel so formal and even intimate? He sat back on the bench and tilted his head at her, totally relaxed with his nudity.
“Last time it was dark. I want to see you, Emily. All prettied up, polished and fine.”
So easy for him to say. Sure, his body held some flaws. Wrinkles, scars, gnarly, ropy veins and even a bit of a belly. But he was a man with a ready cock, and that was all he needed to feel confident.
She needed more. She turned away, knowing she couldn’t hide behind the robe forever. She wanted to be on that bench, with him. She needed to be with him. Slowly, she let the robe drop to her waist. Her back wasn’t unattractive—maybe she could slide backward. Not face him.