by Dreama Faire
He tilted his head. "Did you sleep?"
"No, I'm too wound up." She smiled invitingly. "Thanks to you."
He snorted. "Well, exhaustion won't help anything if we have to make a run for it."
Her breath caught in her chest. "What do you mean?"
He moved to the window and glanced quickly up and down the street. "Just being cautious." He turned back to her, arms crossed over his chest, a sheepish grin twitching his moustache. "Habit."
Amazed by her own daring, she held his gaze and walked slowly toward him. Reaching out, she touched his muscular forearm and brushed her fingers lightly with the flow of the soft dusting of dark hair. His muscle tensed beneath her caress, and a dagger of delight speared her thoughts. He could be putty in my hands, if I work at it.
She gave him an impish smile. "Where are we going from here?"
He uncrossed his arms and stepped back, setting up an invisible barrier between them.
"I told you, back to the airport."
A sharp pain pierced her heart and she almost faltered. Then, she lifted her chin and stared defiantly into his shadowed eyes.
"And I told you—I want to stay."
The air crackled with opposition and her pulse began to race. Would she be able to convince him?
His tone was brusque. "You don't know what you want."
Moved by emotions she'd never felt before that moment, she stepped forward, ignoring the barricade he'd constructed.
"I want you. Now, what do I have to do to prove it?"
Disbelief flashed across his rigid features, followed by a flicker in his eyes, maybe the brief question: what if? He didn't say anything, but gazed steadily at her. A second later, the dull veil of disillusionment descended over his sad eyes, and her heart fell.
He stepped back. "I have nothing to offer someone like you." Grasping her wrist, he led her to the bed. "We have to sleep. I want to leave here tomorrow."
26
Disappointment melded with exhaustion and Amanda sank onto the mattress. She rested her head on the small hard pillow and listened to Nick beside her, his breathing already evening out with sleep. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, feeling her tension fade, then closed her eyes. I can fight this battle later.
* * *
Feeling a movement against her back, she roused from the depths of a dreamless sleep. Nick curled against the full length of her body, his breath warm and caressing against her shoulder. She smiled into the dark. They fit together like the pieces of a large puzzle. Her fantastic ocean voyage had nothing on this experience. Longing rushed through her—not sexual, but emotional. For the first time in her life, she was experiencing what other women took for granted—the comfort and pleasure of a man in the bed. She pictured herself nestled with Nick under the goose-down comforter at home, safe from the sharp chill of New England winter air. Making love every night in the cozy cocoon of her bedroom.
Uninvited tears sprang to her eyes, surprising her with their burning intensity. If she stayed with him, she'd never enjoy those particular fantasies. In her determined plans, she hadn't considered the prospect of a vagabond life. If he'd even have her. Surely, she'd never convince him to settle down in America. Sometime in the next few hours, she'd have to make a choice. Either her heart would guide her to fight for him and take her to places unknown, or her damned practical nature would send her back to familiar oblivion.
Nick moved, murmuring something unintelligible, and she put the dilemma out of her mind. His hand crept across her body, circling her waist, and she snuggled into him, savoring the new and fascinating experience. Immediately, his cock grew hard against her buttocks, and a small, glowing ember sprang to life between her legs. His hips rocked slowly and erotically, pushing his rigid mound against her, stoking her fires. His hand slipped to her crotch. She moaned and lifted her leg to let him in. His fingers found her clit and circled it, his nail rasping lightly against the nub with each revolution. Her pulsing lips swelled and his finger dipped into the slippery depths to lubricate his exploration. She began to move her hips against his delicious torment.
"Oh, yes, do that...more. Please, baby," she whispered.
He pulled his hand away. "Don't move."
He rolled away from her, then the bed jiggled as she felt his movements, heard the swish of fabric as he peeled out of his jeans and shrugged out of his shirt. She waited, holding her breath, crazy to feel him against her again, inside her, touching her, fucking her. The mattress moved again and, from behind, he pulled her skirt up and snuggled up against her. His hot, throbbing cock slipped between her flaming thighs. The engorged tip slid through the cleft of her pussy lips, bypassing the opening, and moving forward to crawl across the rigid bulb of her clit. She clenched her thighs tightly around his shaft, and he groaned. Again and again, he dragged his cock through the slippery crevice, masturbating against her firm thigh muscles, sending her pulse racing and fanning the flames in her belly to scorching intensity.
She squirmed with delicious agony, begging him with whispered pleas. She reached down to feel him as the tip of his penis emerged from between her legs.
His sharp tone froze her hand in mid-movement.
"Hands off! You have forgotten the rules already?"
She smiled to herself, remembering her vow to change the game. All in good time. She slipped her hand beneath the blouse and found her nipple. She squeezed gently, enjoying the interesting new sensation spreading across her chest. She squeezed harder, rolling the tightening nub between her fingers and moaning softly. Nick pulled back and rose to his knees.
"Take off your blouse and roll over on your back," he commanded.
The chilly air raised gooseflesh on her bare skin, and her nipples tightened deliciously. She gazed at his face, illuminated by the dim streetlight coming through the window. His lips moved seductively as he ordered her to pinch both nipples.
She obeyed, and he stepped off the bed. "Don't stop."
She heard him rustling in the dark corner, and her clit pulsed. A second later, he pulled her legs wide apart, going through the ritual of tying her to the bed, spread eagled and helpless against his decadence—the most exhilarating feeling she'd ever experienced. He grabbed one of her hands and pulled it away from her breast, holding it tightly while he covered the nipple with his mouth and sucked hard, drawing a tight ribbon of pleasure up through her cunt. He released the tortured nub, then proceeded to secure her wrist to the headboard. She continued to pinch and pull her other nipple, savoring the rising excitement of again being tied up and helpless. Seconds later, she was bound securely to all four corners of the bed. The only movement she could make was with her hips.
He climbed onto the bed and straddled her, his cock glistening in the soft light, waving enticingly as he rose up on his knees. His balls settled against her pussy, and she moaned at the touch of sex against sex.
"How badly do you want it?" he rumbled.
"More than anything, Nick. I want to fuck you all the time."
He chuckled. "I'm your pirate, right? What do pirates do with captives?"
She stared at him, trying to think of something clever to say, but all she could think about was having his cock inside her and tumbling over the edge of her passion. He sat down between her legs, then lazily circled his finger around her clit.
"Torture, perhaps?"
She bucked up against his moving finger, trying to capture just the right pressure, but he was too good. He teased and flicked, then stopped, chuckling at her moans of dismay. A finger slithered into her slippery cunt, then moved quickly to her ass. A spasm ran through her as his finger penetrated her darkest desire, slipping through the tight ring just far enough to torment her.
"Nick—"
"Quiet! You obey or you'll walk the plank."
A giggle bubbled up and out before she could stop herself.
Nick leaned forward and scowled into her face. "You dare to laugh at Captain Nikko? You'll pay dearly, my pretty!"
He
quickly moved forward on the bed until his knees rested against her armpits. Eyes wide, she stared at his throbbing cock, just inches from her face, then looked up and saw his intent. A brief stab of anxiety rippled through her gut as he braced his hands against the wall and brought the tip of his penis in line with her mouth.
"Suck it."
Fright and excitement crashed through her thoughts at the same time, and she hesitated.
"Do it, or I'll fuck you hard in the ass. You won't like that yet, I assure you."
His cock touched her lips, and she closed her eyes and opened her mouth. Her thoughts ran rampant as the velvety skin touched her lips. So soft, so hard. She trailed her tongue over the tip, exploring the slit, tasting his juice. Sweet, smoky, sexy. A heavy contraction clamped down on her clit, and she closed her mouth around the throbbing organ. Nick grunted and began to pump slowly, each thrust moving deeper into her mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut, struggling to breathe, trying not to gag, while her cunt jumped and clenched with the marauding debauchery.
Suddenly, he gasped and pulled out. He leaned back, breathing in deeply and exhaling sharply, as he struggled to keep from ejaculating too soon.
Amanda panted, breathless from her own pulsing need. "Nick, please fuck me. I want you deep inside me. I can't stand this any more."
Without a word, he climbed between her legs and, in one swift movement, slid the entire length of his erection into her. He grasped her pussy lips and pulled them wide open, as he pumped. With his thumb, he flicked her clit rhythmically in time to his thrusts.
The wave started and she groaned as it built to tsunami proportions. "Oh...Oh! More!"
His balls slapped against her ass with each thrust, his hips grinding against her mound as he sought to consume every inch of her cunt and reduce her to complete submission.
Glorious ecstasy exploded in fireworks against the movie screen in her head, burning, cutting a blazing swath through the dark, and Nick rose to meet her passion, shouting with his own release.
27
Amanda closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the shower on the other side of the thin bathroom door. Her body purred with the remnants of orgasm, steeped in tantalizing sensations that caressed not only her physical form, but also her thoughts. Having caught the gold ring, she had no desire to get off the merry-go-round. How could she convince Nick to let her stay with him? Though her limited experience with men gave her no insight, she instinctively felt that something had changed, almost imperceptibly. She thought there might now be a tiny chink into which she could slip. With the admission of his true identity, she'd sensed his relief at finally talking about it. Four years is a long time to hide from one's past.
The bathroom door opened and Nick appeared. His tight muscular body was clad only in jeans, and water-drops nestled like glistening pearls in the dark curly hair rambling across his chest. His wet hair hung loosely about his face—a picture that sent an electrifying jolt through her gut. All he needed was an eye patch.
She smiled appreciatively. "Mmmm. My pirate returns."
For the first time since she'd met him, Nick looked embarrassed. He snorted and turned away, at the same time pulling his hair back and securing it into its band.
"No, leave it loose. I like the way it looks—wild, adventuresome."
He threw her a scornful glance, but the color across his cheeks belied his charade.
His tone was gruff. "Your turn in the shower."
Okay, we can take this one day at a time.
As she walked past him toward the bathroom, she picked up the rumpled skirt and held it away from her body. "My clothes could travel all by themselves. And I could really use some more underwear."
He considered her for a moment, then dug into his pocket and came up with several brightly colored bills, which he tossed onto the desk. "You can shop in the village. It's not fancy, but I'm sure you can get what you need." He reached for the door. "I'm going out."
* * *
Nick scanned the street, looking for a taxi stand. Seeing none, he headed toward the market. Someone there would be able to tell him how to get out of the village. A group of men lounged against an adobe building, smoking cigars and deep in serious conversation. As Nick drew closer, he heard the gist of their conversation. While he eavesdropped, he idly fingered some leather goods in one of the market stalls nearby, straining to hear the details.
"Yeah, he was American. Had a gun. It took four policemen to subdue him."
Nick's gut clenched, and he listened closely to the speculations about the incident.
"Probably on shore leave from one of the tankers, got into a fight, was out for revenge. Happens all the time. Damned sailors."
Nick moved away from the group, feeling vulnerable and very visible, even though his skin color blended well with the locals. His instinct told him the men were talking about Boxer. But what was the rest of the story? He could only guess. A few minutes later, he nonchalantly headed back toward the hotel. A man was setting up tables at an outdoor café, and Nick changed direction. There might be something in the newspaper.
"Café, por favor."
The swarthy waiter appeared a moment later with a small cup of thick, notoriously bitter South American brew. Nick nodded his thanks, then asked for the local newspaper. On the second page of the Caracas Interpreter, he found what he sought: a bold black headline read, "American Sailor Goes on Shooting Rampage." Nick quickly scanned the words. "An American seaman from the Norwegian freighter ATLAS was arrested and jailed late yesterday afternoon. The man, reportedly an ex-prizefighter, charged through every bar in town asking about someone named Nick, and waving a gun. He wounded two people before he was finally caught in the lobby of a local hotel, where he had threatened the desk clerk into handing over the registration book. Authorities are conferring with the captain of the freighter ATLAS to determine jurisdiction."
Nick closed the paper and gazed across the dusty street. It was unlikely that the local authorities would pay much attention to the ramblings of a crazy sailor, but for the time being, he and Amanda would need to stay clear of Caracas. He smiled as he folded the paper and set it aside. At least he wouldn't be bored.
Half-an-hour later, for the first time since leaving his homeland, Nick found himself thinking seriously about using the situation as an opportunity to give up his nomadic seafaring ways and make a new life for himself on land. Surely, she wouldn't be happy away from her comfortable home and modern country. The notion stunned him. What did he have in common with the mousy little schoolteacher from America? Come on, Nikko, she's about as mousy as a tree nymph! He grinned, fantasizing about Amanda, luscious and naked, peeking from the crotch of a huge tree on Crete, or in the hills behind Athens. The unexpected woman hidden inside the plain brown wrapper was a treasure, and he—Nicholas Christofis—had captured it. A strong band tightened around his heart. Indeed, a treasure he wanted to keep.
* * *
Amanda angrily brushed her hair, frustration knitting into her thoughts. Why couldn't she get past Nick's barriers? The obvious answer was that she didn't have any experience with this type of man. She spotted the postcard peeking from her bag, and pulled it out. Again, the scenic seascape soothed her and she exhaled slowly. She sat down on the bed and began to write. "Dear Cal..."
She scowled. What next? Dear Cal, I'm fucking my brains out with a stranger—glad you're not here? She jumped up and stuffed the card back into her bag, then picked up the wad of crumpled money Nick had left her. She'd buy underwear and some less glamorous clothing, perhaps some comfy trousers. Olsen's malicious slur slammed into her thoughts, and anger flushed through her chest. She would not go home. She had nothing to go back to but an empty house, a headstone in the cemetery, a job that had grown stale...and Calvin. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine sex with Calvin, trying to visualize what he would look like naked, what kind of penis lay buried beneath his loose Dockers. Never going to happen. She could have a real life by standing her ground an
d staying with the man who'd ignited her daydreams and set her heart and body on fire.
She picked up one of the silky scarves, slithering it through her fingers, feeling the cool, slippery surface. Heat simmered between her thighs at the images crowding into her head. Yes, she definitely wanted to win this contest of wills. It was a matter of life or ennui. She pulled her hair back and tied it with the scarf, then marched over to the chairs by the window and sat down to wait for Nick. Determination secured itself at the forefront of her thoughts. I can be as stubborn as he can, by golly. Minutes later, she spotted his deliberate stride, moving toward the hotel at a brisk pace. Her gut lurched and, for one moment, she worried that she wouldn't be strong enough to overcome his objections. Then, reality grabbed her like a vise. If I don't, I'll spend the rest of my life regretting it.
She took a deep breath and waited, her nerves singing with both anticipation and dread.
He stepped through the doorway and grinned. "I thought you were going shopping."
"I am, but we need to talk first."
Wariness cut across his smile as he moved past her. He tossed a parcel on the desk, then placed a loaf of bread and a melon on the table. He sat down, crossed his arms and stared at her intently.
A shudder of anxiety raced through her gut and breathing became difficult, but she finally swallowed the fear and concentrated on her mission.
"I am not going back to the airport with you."
Something flickered behind his steady gaze, but he said nothing. Silence wasn't what she'd anticipated. Every square inch of her body and brain had prepared for an argument, and the awkward silence now snatched at her courage. Taking a deep breath to quell the tremors shaking through her chest, she began to explain the reasons for her defiant attitude.
"After my mother passed away last year, I found myself floundering with excess time on my hands, time that had been forever committed to someone or something else. I'd never had the leisure time to engage in hobbies or entertainment, so I sank into the oblivion of my work, and lost myself in books. Then, one day I came across something Mark Twain had written, and it moved me to change my life. He said, 'Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do, than by the ones you did do. So, throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor...Explore. Dream. Discover.'"