Scoundrel

by Zoë Archer

  Now she stood in front of him, in this hidden, sacred place, her own eyes raking him up and down. She saw plainly his chest rising and falling, his hands curled as if already touching her, the aching length of his cock pressing tight against his trousers. And she smiled.

  “The goddess demands a sacrifice,” she murmured.

  “I hope like hell it’s me,” Bennett growled.

  “Let us prepare you for the ritual.” She took one of his hands in both of her own and drew him slowly forward, until they both stood within the confines of what had been the temple. In the dusk, the stones gleamed white and marmoreal, but nothing compared to the radiance of London as she led him toward the large slab of stone at the temple’s center.

  “I don’t know this ritual,” he rasped.

  “You will learn it well. And I shall guide you.” She stepped close to him, her breasts brushing the front of his waistcoat. Hell. He wanted her skin touching his, not the barrier of fabric. When his hands came up immediately to try again at unbuttoning his waistcoat, she brushed them aside. “I will ready you for the sacrifice,” she whispered. “Place your hands upon the altar behind you, and do not move them until I say you may.”

  He knew better than to disobey. Seeing her in complete command, heady with her own power, resounded deep within him even as she drove him to madness with desire. So, his back to the altar, as she called it, he slapped his heated palms down onto the cool stone.

  “Very good. First, we begin with a kiss.” She tilted her face up to his.

  He leaned forward, bringing their mouths together. Since he could not touch her with anything but his mouth, he unleashed a kiss of impossible heat and irreproachable tenderness. He stroked the inside of her mouth, her warm heat. Their tongues met, tangled, lapping at each other. It felt like sex, like lovemaking, from only their mouths. Her fingers threaded into his hair. From the back of her throat, she made a sound that could only be described as a whimper. Just as she began to press her body against his, she seemed to catch herself and move back a few inches. He ground his teeth together, sure he’d break his jawbone by the time this was over.

  With an agonizing slowness, she undid the buttons on his waistcoat. He obediently lifted one hand, then the other, as she removed the garment. He shrugged from his braces. Next came his shirt. Each button carefully slid through its hole, her fingers dipping in to stroke his bare skin. He was shaking like a sail in a monsoon by the time she pulled the shirt off of him.

  “Your body pleases the goddess,” she breathed, trailing her hands over the planes of his chest, down the ridges of his twitching abdomen. She found the raised flesh of his scars and the newer injuries, the scratches from bullets, bruises, and traced them softly, her eyes brimming with compassion. “Such wounds you’ve borne in service to your cause.”

  He didn’t care about that. He didn’t care about anything but her, the heat and heart in her gaze.

  When she bent to tug off his boots, he broke her rule and pulled them off himself. She was no lackey, to dirty her hands on his battered boots. But as soon as he was barefoot upon the stone floor, he replaced his hands upon the altar.

  She nodded regally at his obedience, but something of her usual self slipped through when she smiled quickly, like a playful girl. He smiled back. Then she resumed her role and the queenly demeanor of a goddess.

  She brushed her breasts against him, the hardened points of her nipples a delicious rasp over his chest, and she closed her eyes at the pleasure. His skin was tight as a drum, and he felt even this small touch everywhere, especially between his legs, where he twitched with each press of her flesh to his.

  Her hands went to the front of his trousers, stroking his straining cock through the fabric. He hissed, his eyes squeezing shut, as his hips thrust forward of their own volition. “It seems the goddess pleases your body, as well,” she murmured.

  “She has no…damned idea…how much,” he said between his teeth.

  “I think she may have a damned idea how much.”

  She left off stroking him, but he wasn’t sorry, because she was unfastening his trousers. As soon as the placket was open, she pushed the trousers down his hips, where his cock leapt free, released at last. Past his hard thighs she slid his trousers, past his calves, and then he stepped out of the trousers. They were now both naked. And panting.

  She took him in her hand again, and her fingers against his bare skin were excruciating, wonderful. Her thumb rubbed lightly back and forth over the crown of his cock, spreading the drop of moisture there over his flesh. She moved her hand lower, enclosing his shaft with her hand, sliding up and down.

  “So beautifully hard,” she whispered. “You are almost ready for the sacrifice.”

  “Almost?” he repeated, hoarse. If he was any more ready, he’d spend all over her hand.

  “There is another rite to perform.” She released him, then grabbed the heap of her discarded dress and bunched it together. She set the bundle of fabric on the ground, in front of Bennett. He knew at once what she meant to do and felt dizzy.

  She knelt upon the fabric and looked up at him through the fringe of her lashes. His nod was clipped, barely a movement of his head, he trusted himself so little but trusted her entirely.

  Her fingers silken torments, she wrapped them around his cock, and took him into her mouth. His fingers dug into the stone as she ran her tongue over him, along the shaft, over the swollen head. Pulling, sucking, lapping at him. Her mouth was wet and hot and perfect.

  How to decide? Watch her sucking him—her lips wrapped around his flesh, the bob of her head as she sank down onto him, her fingers stroking. But if he watched her, his climax would be a matter of seconds. Yet to close his eyes and focus only on the sensations was itself an agony.

  She eyed him with stern disapproval when one of his hands came up from the stone and tangled in her hair, but she did not stop or tell him to release her. Instead, her own eyes fluttered closed with pleasure as he gently pushed her down, guiding her to take him deeper into her mouth. His hips moved, forward and back, and his body was tight and straining everywhere with tension. It was so goddamned good.

  He pulled her back, almost roughly, so that his cock sprang from her mouth. Even in the fading light, he saw the flush covering her luscious body, the stain of arousal high on her cheeks, and her thighs rubbing together. He drew her up, so she stood, and they met in a fiery kiss. One hand he kept cupping the back of her head, the other gripped her hip, bringing her flush to his body. His wet, pounding cock pressed into the curve of her belly. She moved, angling herself, so that, when she writhed against him, her slick pussy slid along his shaft. He caressed her breast, one then the other, plucking at her nipples so that she moaned.

  He broke away just long enough to grab his waistcoat, shirt, and trousers. She watched him with glazed curiosity as he made a pillow from the shirt, then two more pads with the other clothing, and set them all upon the altar.

  Everything became clear when he climbed onto the altar and lay back, his head cushioned on his jacket, and the other pads on either sides of his hips. He beckoned her forward.

  She needed no encouragement. She also climbed onto the altar, then, with his hands upon her hips, straddled him. The pads protected her knees. In the violet light of dusk, surrounded by the white temple and green shadowed woods, he’d never seen anything as beautiful as she.

  “It’s time for the sacrifice,” she said with a husky breath.

  “Thank God for that,” he rumbled.

  “Thank goddess,” she corrected, and sank down onto him.

  An animal groan tore from him. He became all sensation. The tight clench of her pussy surrounding him. The drip of her juices as she slid up and down, his hands on her waist, her, bracing herself above him. The muscles of her legs, grown stronger and leaner in the past week. The sway of her flushed breasts with her movements. Her gasps as she rode him, her head tipped back with her hair streaming around her shoulders, grinding her hips against h
is so they were as tightly fitted against one another as anyone could ever hope to be, two interlocking pieces meant only for each other.

  She drenched him. She had no mercy, for him or herself. Her need was feverish. She impaled herself, again and again, until she stretched herself taut and cried out, clenching around him.

  No sooner had she reached her climax, then Bennett moved with an inhuman speed and strength, fueled by colossal desire. He positioned them so that she stood on the ground, facing the altar, her hands braced upon it, and his hands on her hips as he stood behind her. He pressed her down so that her febrile body contacted the cool stone, the sensation making her cry out again, then he thrust into her.

  Low, guttural sounds clawed up from him as he took her, worshipped her, his mind shut down entirely. She pushed herself back into his thrusts, the softness of her buttocks under his hands. And when one of her hands slid from the altar to rub at her clit, first with trepidation and then with growing confidence, her fingers also brushing his cock, whatever tenuous threads of control he might have still possessed snapped. He came with a shout, heat pouring through him as he gave himself up utterly to her, to how she made him feel. Her own orgasm followed quickly.

  His legs shook as he held her tightly, chest pressed to her damp back. Their breathing came in labored gasps. He nuzzled her hair, licked the sweet curve of her neck, inhaled her scent. He reached up and turned her head to the side, then he kissed her, mouth open, and she kissed him back in kind. Everything was open to each other, nothing held back. She overwhelmed and humbled and delighted him.

  He gasped, between kisses, “I love you.”

  London’s heart leapt to hear his words. Then she remembered. Bennett’s definition of love and her own were very different. When he said, “I love you,” to her, it meant, “I like you very, very much.” Gratifying, but not entirely the same effect on a person’s soul.

  Yet it was more than she had ever received from anyone, from any man, and she accepted Bennett’s declaration for what it truly was, without regret. She would receive his love, in whatever form it took, for as long as it was offered.

  As for her own heart…she had to protect it. At some point, she and Bennett would part. She had to be ready for that day, make sure it did not devastate her. But she was growing stronger every day. Surely she could withstand it when the passion cooled between her and Bennett and they separated, perhaps to meet again only as friends.

  “Is the goddess appeased?” She felt the vibrations of his voice through her body as he curved around her. “Or does she demand more?” He pressed his hips against her bottom, and she could already feel him firming, despite his intense climax moments earlier. Incredible.

  “It seems the supplicant is not satisfied,” she murmured, wriggling against him.

  “I’m a deeply holy man. However many times I need to perform the ritual, I’ll gladly do it.” He punctuated this statement with a light thrust against her. He was almost fully hard.

  Immediately, she wanted him again. But she knew it wasn’t to be. She sighed. “Much as I wish to stay here and worship all night, we need to get back to the beach. We have to be up at dawn to watch the sunrise.”

  “I didn’t do a proper job,” he mumbled against her neck, “if you’re thinking so coherently.”

  She didn’t feel coherent. She felt unmoored, floating, cast adrift on the desire and need between them.

  Still, they disentangled from one another, he helping her up from where she sprawled against the altar. Slowly, languorously, they dressed, pausing every now and then to kiss and caress and murmur meaningless words of sated appreciation. He deftly performed the task of ladies’ maid admirably, hooking her back into her dress with agile fingers in the growing darkness.

  Once they were both dressed and shod, Bennett gathering his jacket from where he’d thrown it, he drew her back into his arms and kissed her sweetly. His smile was warm honey that covered and filled her. “Such a bold creature you’ve become. A demanding goddess.”

  “I never thought to rise to the heights of a deity.”

  “But you have. You are. Divine. London, lusty goddess of the consecrated spring.”

  She tilted her head back, closing her eyes. “Mm, that has a pleasant sound to it.”

  “Not as pleasant as your moans of pleasure.”

  Opening her eyes, she smiled. “You’re very good at performing the sacred rituals.”

  “I live to serve my goddess.”

  She looked at Bennett, his sculpted face of pristine masculine beauty, his eyes heavy lidded with repletion, gazing down at her as if she was something both precious and powerful. Only with him could she have dared to act as brazenly as she had, revealing her most private self, trusting him not to laugh or be shocked or judge. An extraordinary man.

  She felt herself sliding toward danger. But she let herself go, fall into it, because it was better than shutting herself away in a protective cage as she had for so much of her life.

  “Your devotion will see you handsomely rewarded,” she said, then stifled a yawn. “And now the goddess is so sleepy, she can barely walk.”

  “Easily remedied.”

  He swung her up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a bird. She felt as though she ought to protest that she was perfectly capable of walking on her own, which she was, but a heavy, delightful lassitude had woven itself throughout her limbs. So she looped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder as he strode back through the forest. He felt solid with muscle, utterly capable, and smelled of wind and sea and man.

  “Wake up, love,” Bennett murmured, rubbing his mouth over the crown of her head.

  London stirred, her eyes drifting open. They were at the beach. The shapes of Kallas and Athena moved about on the deck of the caique, anchored a small distance out. Lights from the boat cast shining reflections in the gentle surf. Night had fallen.

  “Wasn’t asleep,” she mumbled.

  He laughed. “I won’t contradict a goddess.”

  Moments later, they were back aboard the caique, with London standing on her own feet. She had awakened enough to observe Athena and Kallas arguing—this time about whether olives were better grown on the mainland or the islands—but she was able to see a more contemplative look cross the witch’s face whenever Kallas had turned away.

  “I think relations may be thawing,” she softly noted to Bennett, when Kallas and Athena were out of earshot.

  He paused in his task of bringing up several blankets and pillows from below, glancing back and forth between the captain and Athena. A smile quirked Bennett’s lips. “Thank God for that,” he answered quietly. “I think our esteemed captain is on the verge of tearing down the masts with his bare hands.”

  Yet the captain was not going to have a reprieve any time within the next few hours. Athena took notice of the pallet Bennett was preparing on deck, a pallet large enough to accommodate two.

  “Am I to have the bunk all to myself tonight?” she asked.

  Despite everything she and Bennett had done together, including wildly make love in a ruined temple, a small blush crept into London’s cheeks as she nodded. Spend the whole night with Bennett! True, they would be on deck, entirely exposed, but to have him beside her for the entire night, even if they only slept, was a treat she readily anticipated.

  He seemed to be looking forward to it, as well, judging by the grin he didn’t bother hiding, the scoundrel.

  London snuck a quick peek at Kallas, and saw the brief look of hope that flashed over the captain’s weathered face. Then Athena bade them all good night and went down to her cabin. The sound of her locking the cabin door was faint, but it reverberated throughout the boat.

  Without speaking, Kallas extinguished the lamps around the ship, stomped down to his cabin and slammed the door.

  London turned to Bennett with a grimace. “Perhaps I spoke too quickly.”

  “The steps to Athena’s dance are deuced complicated, but I think she’s c
hosen her partner.” Bennett shrugged. “For this set, anyway.”

  London could only shake her head at the continual mystery of men and women. Yet thoughts of the witch and the captain fled as Bennett finished preparing their bed and waved a welcoming hand toward it.

  “Will this please the goddess?”

  With a drowsy laugh, London said, “The goddess is so tired, she could sleep in a cast-iron bathing tub.”

  “I think you’ll find this more comfortable. And the company better than a sponge.”

  He stripped down to only his trousers and she her chemise. He lay down, propping himself up on an elbow, and held the covers open for her with an enticing smile, as if she needed further enticement.

  London slid under the covers, stretching out fully beside him. Even though the deck was hard beneath her back, it didn’t bother her at all. She had wanted this for a very long time. The blanket enclosed them, capturing the warmth of their intertwined bodies. He wrapped her in his arms, and together they stared up at the night sky. Stars spread in profusion, a sorceress’s embroidered gown, and the moon her diadem.

  In his deep, rich voice, he told London stories about the constellations, some true and others entirely fabricated by his whimsy. There were Virgo and Leo and Leo Minor and Boötes, but there were also the Hot Water Bottle and Richard, the Articled Clerk, and the unholy union of a blancmange and a trebuchet, which fired projectiles of pudding at poor Richard across the sky.

  She fell asleep laughing.

  Many hours later, she had no idea of the time, she was awakened by his hands and mouth on her, the already frantic need of her body for his. Though she had led their lovemaking in the temple ruin, here he took command, wordlessly, confidently shifting her this way and that, caressing, stroking, trailing hot kisses everywhere. He drove her to madness. When she felt sure she would truly lose her grip on sanity from his sensual torture, he pinned her hands above her head, moving her thighs apart with his own, and drove into her. She arched up with a cry, filled everywhere by him.