Then she felt the zipper of her dress sliding open.
“Ties?” she whispered, her voice suddenly husky.
“I have carried a small dream with me since I met you, an image that has goaded my nights and haunted my days.”
She shivered as his lips touched the bare flesh over the back of her shoulder.
“I dreamed of you, naked beneath me, writhing and screaming my name.”
Calli gave a tiny laugh. “You and I both know I have writhed beneath you at least once.”
“Not the way I will have you tonight, Callida.”
The dress fell to her ankles and she heard Nick’s breath catch. “My God,” he breathed, walking around to face her. “I see I am not the only one who has laid plans for this night.”
She smiled, mentally thanking Minnie for the inspiration, for beneath the wedding gown she wore stockings and garters and nothing else.
Nick plucked the silk tie from her fingers and looped it around her wrist. He took the box from her other hand. “Come,” he said. He led her to the bed and laid her on top of the cool coverlet. Pulling her arm above her head, he fastened the tie to the headboard.
Calli’s heart beat harder and she could feel herself growing moist and hot. She licked her lips.
Working quickly, Nick tied her other arm and then both ankles, leaving her spread across the coverlet, exposed. She felt deliciously helpless and totally at Nick’s mercy. It was thrilling. What did he plan to do with her?
He straddled her hips, looking down at her. There was a wicked light in his eyes. His mouth curled up. Quickly, he shrugged out of his jacket and shirt and as always, when Calli saw the ripple and swell of his muscles she was awed yet again by his power and strength.
He stroked her breasts, sending a shudder through her, then leaned over to caress her nipples with his tongue, each in its turn, while his fingers continued to play with them, orchestrating a maelstrom of pleasure that fizzed through her blood and ignited a powerful arousal. She strained against the bindings at ankle and wrist, gasping as the level of excitement built in her.
For long minutes he continued to nuzzle her breasts, working with teeth and lips and tongue and hands, as she moved restlessly beneath him, her breath growing shorter and shorter.
When Nick’s mouth moved down to the taut muscles over her abdomen, Calli was quivering and panting, but the touch of his hot mouth against her flesh there made her gasp yet again and her muscles tighten. His hands slid down her flanks, his fingertips caressing the highly sensitive indentation of her waist and the outward curve of her hips, while his mouth kept level with his fingers, slipping over the lace of her garter belt and trailing down across her pelvis toward her mound.
Calli held her breath, swallowing compulsively. Her heart beat in her temple, laboring hard, echoing the throbbing of her clitoris, the pulsing of the whole cleft of flesh between her legs. Her pussy clamped in reaction to the spikes of pleasure.
His hot breath blew across the top of her slit and she gave a tiny little moan. The anticipation...!
Delicately, his tongue inserted itself between the folds and stroked upwards across her clit. Calli writhed, throwing her head back with a small cry.
“Yes,” Nick said, his voice thick with arousal. “The sounds you make, they are a spur.”
He bent to his task once more and she felt his fingers gently open her to him. Her lips parted, venting a silent moan as his tongue whirled around her clit, stroking it. His fingers also caressed and stroked at her folds, nudging the opening of her pussy. It was a multiple assault upon her responsive flesh and Calli quickly lost track of what sensation which caress caused. It was a medley, building up to a crashing crisis.
But as soon as her climax approached, Nick sensed it and his relentless stroking ceased.
Calli fell back against the coverlet, panting, her tendons strained and muscles weak.
After a moment, Nick began again and as she sucked in her breath, Calli realized that he was repeating the torture she had inflicted upon him that night at his house in Pascuallita. It was the same rhythm, the delays, the pattern of pleasuring that kept her floating on the high crest of the wave for as long as he cared to keep her there.
For an endless eon he did keep the tension exquisitely balanced, holding her level of excitement at not quite a peak, until Calli had lost all sense of time and any externals whatsoever. All she was aware of was the quivering pulses surging through her and the need—the desperate desire—to reach a climax.
She felt Nick’s fingers inside her, stroking low inside her channel. The good pressure of his fingers, of having something hard inside her, was pleasure enough, but the caressing, the firm strokes, ignited a secondary furnace of excitement.
Calli strained against the silk bonds, feeling her body lock tight like a bow, as her orgasm burst upon her, shattering through her like an explosion. Her head fell back, her eyes shut tight and her throat strained as a low hard scream of pleasure ripped through her. The orgasm went on and on, surging through her as waves that assaulted her senses and left her stunned. She heard a guttural woman’s voice calling Nick’s name and realized it was she making that primordial sound.
Before the climax had fully shuddered through her body, Nick was over and above her. Her hands were free and his arm were around her. He thrust into her in a quick, hard stroke and she clenched around him hard, delighting in the heat and hard length of his cock inside her.
He gazed into her eyes as his hands stroked her flesh wherever he could reach it. “Come with me,” he coaxed.
She was astonished to find that she could, that her still taut body caught the quick rhythm in the build-up to another climax. Nick slammed into her, his eyes glittering as he watched her face. She gripped his hips with her hands, encouraging him. Her eyes widened as another climax unexpectedly spurted through her.
Nick was there with her, straining over her, calling her name and spilling his hot seed into her before they both collapsed, their energy spent.
* * * * *
Minnie stared at the boat riding low in the water, at the light spilling from the long, narrow cabin windows and swore under her breath. Tonight, the entire population of Vistarians in Acapulco was at Nick and Calli’s wedding. She had counted on Nick’s boat being empty and unattended.
The dock she stood on was higher than the boat’s main deck by a good six feet. If she climbed down the ladder, she would have to step onto the wheelhouse deck and that was where a long rectangle of light spilled from the open door leading down to the cabins. She would be seen straight away.
Raucous male laughter billowed from the cabin and there was a light tinkle of feminine amusement, too. Minnie wrinkled her nose. That was the sort of twitter a woman made when she was trying to flatter a man into thinking he was funnier than Jim Carrey.
She walked the length of the long yacht to the bow, her high heels clicking softly. On the elegant front of the boat a covered hatch nestled between the gleaming steel rails that swooped around the nose. The rails stood about two feet high. If she hung from the jetty....
Before she could question her own sanity, Minnie kicked off her heels and lay down on the boards. The surface of the jetty was washed-out, salt-dried and gave off the faint odor of rotting fish. She didn’t want to think what the smell and the old planking would do to her new evening gown.
She held her breath and wriggled out over the edge until her legs dangled down. Then, inch by inch, she eased her body off the planking, hanging on with her arms. She waved her feet until they collided with the railing and she could find her footing. Thankfully, she transferred her weight to her feet and clung to the edge of the jetty with her fingers as she lowered herself down onto the surface of the prow.
She pulled her gown back into place and glanced up at the jetty. Her satin shoes sat gleaming softly in the moonlight. She would never reach them from here. With a shrug, she padded to the hatch, eased the rubber handles out of their locked positions and carefully
pulled the hatch up.
Warmth fanned her face as trapped heat escaped. She realized that cool air would replace it and perhaps warn the people in the cabin that the hatch had been opened, so she quickly dropped down onto the coils of anchor chain beneath and let the hatch fall back into place above her.
She remained still, listening.
From the main cabin, the voices came back to her. They were clearer now.
“Oh, baby, yeah,” a man murmured.
“You like what you see?” came a woman’s voice and Minnie’s eyes widened as she recognized Carmen’s throaty purr. She sounded quite drunk.
“You’re one wicked lady, all right.” It was a second man’s voice.
Minnie bit the pad of flesh on her thumb, trying to figure out what to do now. She had no intention of interrupting Carmen’s private party, but she needed the boat. Would she have to stay crouched here until the festivities were over? She wasn’t sure she wanted to listen to any more of Carmen’s idea of fun, though.
“Hey!” Carmen said sharply.
“Yeah, that’s it. Like that,” came the deeper first voice.
“Way to go, Jonesy!” It was yet a third male voice.
“Hey, don’t!” Carmen said, her voice lifting stridently.
“Don’t tell me ‘don’t’, bitch,” Jonesy returned. There was a sound of flesh meeting flesh. A slap, Minnie realized. She swallowed dryly. This was not good. Not good at all.
“Usted puta mierda,” Carmen muttered.
“Oh yeah, talk dirty, honey. Come on, talk dirty to me. While you’re at it, you can deal with this.”
The unmistakable sound of a zipper working told Minnie exactly what the guy was doing now. She wrapped her arms around herself, chilled. What could she do? What should she do? Carmen might actually enjoy this sort of attention. There were stranger things in the world than a woman who liked it rough. If Minnie busted in there, she was more likely to be forcefully invited to join in. A five-foot-two woman in an emerald green chiffon evening gown was no match for three men intent on getting their rocks off.
“Ow! Fuck!” It was Carmen’s voice and this time there was an angry note in it.
“Ohmigod,” one of the lighter male voices murmured. “Just look at them, will you?”
“No, you don’t get it,” came Jonesy’s low, controlled voice. “That’s not what you get to do now.”
“Ow! Let go of my hair, you asshole,” Carmen cried. Suddenly, she sounded far less drunk.
“Not until you open up that pretty mouth of yours and take what I give you.”
There was a still, strained silence.
“If you stick anything in my mouth,” Carmen said with perfect enunciation, “I’ll bite it off.”
Again, there was a sharp slapping sound.
“Just try it,” Jonesy said. “Mick, grab her head, huh? Try using your brain instead of your hand.”
“Right.”
Minnie rose from her crouch. Enough was enough. She felt around in the dark for something she could use as a weapon. Anything. There was nothing in the anchor hold but heavy chain. Dragging that, they’d hear her coming a mile off. She eased open the tiny bulkhead door and slipped out of the hold into the main corridor. Bunks and lockers lined it. She had slept in one of these bunks on the crossing from Vistaria. The corridor was a slender fifteen feet long and the door at the other end opened up into the main cabin. She had to find something to use in this corridor.
She delved silently inside the lockers and cupboards, trying to figure out what her hand was resting on by shape alone. The most familiar and strangest find was a small iron skillet. She hefted its weight in her hand, considering, then went delving again. From the other side of the door, she heard the low crooning of one of the men and a choked sound that was possibly Carmen’s. It lent speed to her fingers.
She explored the angled shape under her hand, defining it in her mind. It felt like a gun, but it had a very wide muzzle. Then obscure, buried facts surfaced in her mind and she realized that she was feeling up an old-fashioned flare gun. She pulled it out and held it in her left hand. From personal experience, she knew that staring into the barrel of a gun being pointed at you made that barrel seem about ten times wider than it really was. The flare gun would, she hoped, look like a cannon to these guys.
She padded toward the door, her heart suddenly in her mouth.
Then Carmen gave a tiny, choked sound and a moan of pain and Minnie’s fear evaporated. She exploded through the door, taking in the scene in one quick sweep of her head. A thin youth sitting by the steps up to the deck, a bottle of Corona in his hand. A second one sitting on the long bench, his hand buried in the hair on the back of Carmen’s head, great locks of her black tresses wrapped around his fist. His other hand was around his thin cock, which emerged from his unzipped trousers.
An older man stood in front of Carmen, who had been forced to her knees on the floor. He was very slowly turning his head in reaction to Minnie’s entrance. Everyone was moving very slowly. It was like time had slipped into a jar of molasses and was dragging its way through.
Carmen’s dress had been ripped from around her neck and now hung down from her waist. Her exposed breasts were reddened, as if they had been handled roughly.
The man—it had to be Jonesy—had his hand around his cock and the other under Carmen’s chin, holding her face steady as he plunged the head into her mouth.
Carmen looked straight at Minnie and her eyes were bright and sparkling.
Tears, Minnie realized. But she hadn’t let them fall.
Jonesy was still turning. So slow....
Minnie brought the skillet around in a sweeping tennis shot, aiming for the back of Jonesy’s head. She didn’t pull the shot at all. Anna Kournikova would have been thrilled with the power in it.
But there was no satisfying bounce of the ball against the strings. The impact was jarringly solid and the muffled, wet sound made Minnie feel sick. Abruptly, time moved up to normal speed. Jonesy crumpled like a house of cards, sliding to the floor.
“Fuck!” the man on the bench said, sitting up with a jerk. His cock disappeared inside his trousers.
Minnie lifted the flare gun and pointed it at him. “Let her go.”
His eyes were huge, the whites showing all the way around. He lifted his hands up in the air. “All right, all right,” he said.
Minnie waved the gun toward the kid on the steps. “Come here.”
He lowered the beer bottle and scurried over to the bench. “No problems,” he said, his voice high and nervous.
With them both together and facing the gun, Minnie knew she could afford to glance away for a second. She glanced at Carmen, to check on her.
Carmen was tying her dress up behind the back of her neck, her face very pale. But she was steady enough. “Take the pan,” Minnie said, holding it out to her. “Whack anything that moves.”
“I can do that.” She took the pan, got to her feet and pushed at Jonesy on the floor with her foot. “Did you kill him?”
“I don’t care too much,” Minnie said shortly. She looked at the other two scrunched up on the bench together. “You two pick up your friend and get the hell out of here.”
“What if you did kill him?” the young one said, his voice rising even higher. “That’s murder!”
“Fine. Sit here then. I’m happy to call the cops. They can look at Carmen’s scratched breasts and her ripped dress and figure it out for themselves. In fact, why don’t you call them? I’ll even give you the centavos to make the call.”
The two of them glanced at each other.
“I have an even better idea,” Minnie said, reaching for the business card tucked into her dress that had been scratching at her skin and reminding her of its presence. She threw it onto the little table next to them, face up. “Why don’t you call Miguel and ask him to come down. How good’s your Spanish, boys? Know what the Secretaria de Gobernacion means?”
The older of the pair leaned forw
ard to read the card and said under his breath to the younger, “Immigration.”
“There’s a reason I was carrying that in my cleavage, guys, and Miguel won’t like the fact that you’ve messed up my friend. He will fill your young American lives with misery.”
“Hey, lady—” the younger began.
“We’ll go,” said the older, overriding him. “Let us just get our friend. We’ll get out of here.”
“You’d better move it. You’ve got sixty seconds.”
They moved it. Between them they picked up Jonesy’s limp body and dragged him up the stairs onto the deck. Minnie followed them out of the cabin, the flare gun on them, and stood halfway up the steps, watching them struggle to get Jonesy up onto the dock. She stayed where she was until they reached dry land and had faded away into the night shadows.
Then she took a deep, trembling breath and climbed back down into the cabin.
Carmen was rinsing her mouth with water at the sink.
“I think you’ll need sterilizer for that,” Minnie said, sitting at the table. Her legs were suddenly wobbly.
“There’s so much scotch in me no bug will live anyway,” Carmen husked. She sat at the table opposite Minnie and shoved her hands together. Minnie watched her take a breath every bit as unsteady as her own and the sparkling in her eyes grew. Then she growled under her breath, wiped swiftly at her eyes with the back of her hand and straightened her spine. “I don’t know why you’re here, but I’m glad.”
“So am I,” Minnie said softly.
There was a flicker of a smile at Carmen’s mouth. That was all, but Minnie sensed the air between them shift and change.
“What the hell are you doing here anyway? A rendezvous with this character?” Carmen tapped the card on the table between them. “No, wait, what am I saying? I’m forgetting the late, great Eduardo.”
“Duardo,” Minnie corrected. “And not so late.”
Black Heart Page 11