Time's Enemy: A Romantic Time Travel Adventure (Saturn Society Book 1)

by Jennette Marie Powell

  She giggled when he ran his lips down her nose, then pressed his mouth to hers when he finally reached it. Their lips molded perfectly, wet and moving against each other, the way she longed to do with her entire body. She leaned into him but he gently pushed her back. He dragged his tongue down one side of her neck—she whimpered—then the other, making two trails of wetness that joined at the base of her neckline, above the quarter hidden beneath her dress. His teeth tugged at the top button a moment before it came free, then he drew his tongue down, around the quarter, until he came to the next one. He stepped back. “This is taking way too long.”

  Charlotte mumbled an agreement. Bubbles of excitement rose inside her. He flicked the rest of the buttons open with his fingers and peeled her dress away to reveal her bra, garter, and...

  “Oh. My. God.”

  She turned a falsely-innocent smile to him, her voice higher pitched than usual. “What’s wrong?” Play it for all she could, repay his delicious torture.

  “You’re not wearing any...” He bit down on his tongue, then loosened his belt and undid his trousers, muttering something about being ready to bust.

  She glanced down at herself in mock surprise. “Oh. I didn’t pack enough underwear, I’m afraid. And I didn’t want to spend our last day together doing laundry.” It was the truth, though she hadn’t realized it would be such a delightful mistake.

  “Like hell.” He let his slacks fall to his ankles, whipped off his shoes and socks, then stepped out of them.

  He reached behind her to undo her bra, while her gaze landed on the protrusion in his drawers. She longed to be one with him, savor this last night... She gave him her best demure smile. He grabbed her around the waist. With a grunt, he lifted her onto the table, then swiped the bra off the rest of the way.

  He stepped back, and his adoring gaze made her feel like she was the most beautiful woman in the world, never mind she sat on a cheap, wooden kitchen table, wearing nothing but a hat, garter and stockings. His eyes roved over her like she was a feast, and he hadn’t eaten in weeks. She drew her tongue across the inside of her lower lip.

  He lavished her shoulders, her throat, her arms with his tongue, then sucked each individual finger, eliciting more delighted giggles and sighs before he turned his attention to her breasts, traced his tongue around their hyper-sensitive tips. Lord, she could never get enough of his touch... yet she had to. Take this night for all it was worth, wring every bit of pleasure from it, then she’d do the same for him.

  His lips and tongue trailed down her belly, her hips, her thighs. Each touch made the happiness inside her swell. He would do anything for her. Anything to make her feel good. Anything to pleasure her.

  He knelt. A man, on his knees for her, and not just any man, but the one she loved, more than she’d thought possible. But what—

  She gasped when he lifted her left leg and licked the back of her knee, drew his tongue up her inner thigh, almost to—good heavens!—then stopped and did the same on her right. This time his tongue continued upward, until he slipped it into the wetness between her legs. She thought her heart stopped when jolts of electricity shot through her in undulating bliss. He drew back. Lord almighty, she’d thought he was joking when he said everywhere! But oh, my... She fell back onto her hands. “Ho- holy shit!”

  “I’ve never heard you say that before!” His lips drew into a wide grin. “You okay?”

  No one had ever touched her there, given her such pleasure. “Oh my gracious... yes!”

  He dove back in, until her thighs tightened around his neck, her hips arched, she couldn’t stop herself from shouting his name as her insides quivered and waves of pleasure soared through her entire body.

  He stood as her breathing slowed again. “My heavens, that felt so good it should be illegal!”

  “It probably is in this time.”

  He took her big toe into his mouth. The gentle suckling sent more sparks through her. She threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him up. “That’s enough,” she said. “Now it’s my turn.”

  A grin split his face as she hopped off the table and grabbed his hand. In the living room, she pulled him to the floor, in the center of the area rug. “This will suit my purposes better than the table.” Her fingers worked the buttons of his shirt, slid it off, pushed his drawers down. Once she’d relieved him of the clothing, she pressed his shoulder. He took her lead and lay on the rug.

  She dotted tiny kisses over his bristly face, his neck, his arms, his chest. The small, wet spots glistened in the light from the table lamp she’d left on... a week ago? Each touch of her lips elicited another tiny groan from him.

  She hesitated when she reached below his waist. Louie had once made her take him in her mouth, like the European prostitutes had done when he was a soldier in the Great War. It had been degrading, something she felt she had to do, something dirty and horrid. But she wanted to do it to Tony, wanted to give him that pleasure and watch him squirm with delight. He wasn’t demanding, she was offering, and it wasn’t dirty. It was the body of the man she loved, and it was nothing but wonderful. “Should I...?” She looked up from beneath the tiny brim of the hat she still wore.

  “If you want,” he grated.

  She drew her tongue up his smooth, silken shaft in a cool, moist line, then tentatively explored the other side—

  He clamped his hand onto her shoulder. “I’m not going to last another minute if you keep that up.” She pulled back, and he released her.

  She knew what he wanted, and lowered herself onto him.

  He held her hips and rocked slowly beneath her. Heavens, she could never be with another man, no one would ever compare. “Charlotte...” He drew his hands over her breasts, her sides, her back. She concentrated on the warm roughness of his palms. Tried to imprint them on her memory, for after tonight, memories were all she’d have left.

  Too soon she clenched around him. He rolled her onto her back. She pressed against him as tightly as she could, wanting to become one with him, for their skin to bind them together. One last time would never be enough—

  Her stomach lurched as dizziness swamped her. The room spun, faded into...

  Concrete? Huge, round pilasters loomed behind Tony’s shoulders, and roaring sounds above. Cold, roughness grated against her bare back. Still joined with her, Tony raised up, looked around. “What the hell?” A huge dark expanse above blocked the moonlight. Overhead, something rumbled. What on earth?

  She grabbed Tony’s shoulders. Concrete buildings to the right. To her left, streetlights cast spotted reflections on the river, its surface dimpled by rain. Something whizzed by in front of her, and a horn blared, lowering in pitch as it sped past.

  A spaceship! Round, smooth, shiny. Something like she’d imagine in Buck Rogers, only on wheels.

  No. A car. The highway, the concrete... Just like Tony described in his time. But it couldn’t be! Icy claws trickled down her throat and gripped her from the inside. It wasn’t possible to jump into the future!

  “No way,” Tony said. “No, not yet!”

  Still dizzy, she squeezed her eyes shut and dug her fingernails into Tony’s back. “Think about my living room!”

  She opened her eyes. Almost sobbed in relief at the familiar, plaster ceiling above him and the softness of her area rug beneath her back. Then she forgot the dizziness and the strange sights as he moved above her and the sensation of their bodies joined together overwhelmed her. She clenched around him, and his body responded in kind.

  He rolled off of her and they lay together on the rug, her head cradled in the hollow beneath his shoulder, his heartbeat in her ear. Her hat had come off and lay a few feet away, next to the radio. “Tony... I love you.” Her voice hitched.

  He didn’t look at her. Probably couldn’t. The side of his face blurred. I love you too, she could hear him say, although when he opened his mouth, nothing came out. She wouldn’t press. He loved her, she knew he did. “Me too,” he finally managed. She forced b
ack her tears. She couldn’t cry. Had to be strong. It was what he’d want.

  She wasn’t afraid to die. Not if she could have the comfort of drawing her last breath from within his arms. But if he returned and something happened to her, he’d feel responsible. She wouldn’t ask him to bear that burden.

  She wanted to remain there on the rug with him all night. All week wouldn’t be long enough, but every few minutes his lips curled into a grimace, and he pressed a finger to his temple. The pull was hitting him harder. He wouldn’t be able to put it off much longer, and then he’d have to get out of her sight so he could leave. For good.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  Her body went rigid. Who on earth would call at such a late hour? Go away! Whoever it was, she wouldn’t let them steal one moment of what little time she had left with Tony. Thank heavens she’d left the drapes closed, though if the visitor tried, he’d probably see everything through the lacy fabric.

  The insistent visitor knocked again. Louder. “Expecting someone?” Tony asked.

  “No,” she whispered. Go away!

  The person at the door called out. “Charlotte!” A man. One she’d heard before. But not Dewey, or man next door. Not Theodore. The man yelled again, and a sword of fear sliced down her windpipe as recognition hit. Caruthers! “No!” Her hand clenched at Tony’s chest.

  “Who—” he began, but the man at the door shouted again.

  “Charlotte! I know you’re in there. If you don’t open the door, I’m coming in!”

  Tony tensed, but Charlotte lay paralyzed until the doorknob began to turn. She hadn’t locked the door! Theodore had yanked her out so fast she hadn’t had time.

  The doorknob clicked. She rolled away, dimly aware of Tony bolting for the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He’d be safe, the pull would take him home.

  She whisked the coverlet off the sofa, had barely pulled it around herself when Dr. Caruthers entered.

  His footsteps rang hollowly on the hardwood floor. “Ah, Charlotte, it’s impolite not to answer the door when—”

  “I was taking a bath!” She said the first thing that came to mind.

  Caruthers stopped. She clutched the coverlet tighter as his dark beady eyes traveled down her body. Even though the blanket covered her, she felt raw, exposed, like a hunk of meat. She tensed, trying to stop herself from shaking under his scrutiny. “A bath?” he said.

  “Y- yes, sir.”

  “In your stockings?”

  Hellfire! How had she forgotten?

  He glanced at the closed bedroom door. Jump, Tony! Caruthers’ oily gaze returned to her, slid up and down her. “I think not. It appears you’ve been providing our Enemy with more than refuge.” His lips drew into a sneer. “Be prepared to accept the punishment meant for him if he escapes—”

  “No! It’s—”

  He strode past her, toward the bedroom door. Why didn’t Tony jump? Please, Tony! Hurry!

  “It’s not like that at all!” She had to stall him. Trembling, she loosened her fist, and the blanket slid to the floor.

  Tony crouched beside the bedroom door. Damn thing didn’t even lock—but the footsteps had stopped. Get rid of him! he silently urged.

  The walls blurred into thick, round concrete pillars—Shit! He couldn’t warp now, not without a scrap of clothing! Make him leave! If she could just get the man to leave, he’d run to the kitchen, swipe his clothes and his glasses, and be gone.

  His ears pricked at the man’s words. “...interrupted something.” The smooth, masculine voice held a threatening tone.

  “It’s not what it looks like, I knew you’d be watching the house, waiting for me to bring him—”

  A roar rose in Tony’s ears. She what?

  He strained to hear her response. “...had to make him trust me—”

  A lecherous laugh. “And that includes giving him all you’ve got?”

  “You know what Theodore says. Whatever. It. Takes.” She emphasized the words. Another Society law?

  “Whatever it—” Laughter. “Ah, Charlotte, I never realized your dedication extended to using your body. Good work, my dear.” Tony bolted upright. Had everything been a set up? The air rushed out of him. He clutched at the wall. Had he been utterly blind?

  “...whatever it takes,” she repeated.

  “Where is he?”

  “In the bedroom,” she said loudly. “If he hasn’t jumped already.”

  Footsteps rang on the wooden floor. Coming for him.

  His stomach grew raw, layers peeled away as if he was suffocating from the inside out. He had to warp. Now, the hell with his clothes and glasses. He reached for the bedspread, but before he could grasp it—

  The vertigo struck, fast and hard.

  Tony uncurled his body, the concrete cold and wet under his bare ass. A semi rattled across the I-75 bridge overhead. Before him, Robert Drive shined darkly in the streetlights. A light fizz on the pavement... Rain.

  He stood, then sagged against a concrete pillar. He needed to get to his car fast— Charlotte... All lies. Everything—before recovery kicked in. She used me. He had to get home before he passed out—betrayed me—and he wound up in the hospital. At least he hadn’t told her he loved her. He couldn’t go to the hospital, didn’t have time for that, not when he had Bethany’s death to prevent—

  Forget Charlotte! Run for the car, be glad it’s raining. He’d have a better chance of getting to the parking garage unseen, the chill breeze notwithstanding.

  Ignoring the cold, he streaked across Robert Drive, skulked along the outside wall of a junkyard, darted from building to building until he reached Seventh Street. A bum slouching in a doorway shouted a guttural catcall as Tony ran by.

  When he reached the parking garage, he crouched at the wall for a moment and hugged himself, trying to shake off his shivers. The cold was dissipating from his skin, the drizzle barely noticeable. But it wasn’t because the weather had warmed or the wind and rain stopped. He was getting numb. Fading into recovery. He sidled along the wall, toward the attendant’s booth—

  Brakes squeaked behind him. He barely registered the sound of the car coming to a stop on the wet pavement before headlights burned his shadow into the parking garage wall, and flashes of blue slashed the night. Fuck. “Hey buddy,” a man called. “Little chilly to be walking around in your birthday suit, isn’t it?” Car doors opened, and footsteps approached. Tony didn’t even have the energy to turn around and face the officers.

  THE BATHWATER HAD GROWN COLD, but Charlotte remained, curled up with her knees drawn into her chest. She’d drawn the water scalding hot, as hot as she could bear, but it did nothing to cleanse the shame that stained her to the core. Boiling water wouldn’t be hot enough to wash away the image forever burned into her brain of Caruthers’ leering grin and his evil laugh as he unzipped his pants, then pinned her to the floor while he—

  No! No-no-no-no, it didn’t happen.

  But it did.

  Her gaze flicked to Theodore’s Saturn Society knife lying on the edge of the tub. She’d found it on the living room floor where Tony must have dropped it when she undressed him.

  Too bad she hadn’t seen it until after Caruthers walked out the door. When she stopped crying enough to see, she’d grabbed it and crept to the bathroom.

  Like walking, the water had hurt at first, but as it cooled, it leeched away much of her physical pain.

  But nothing would ever heal her spirit after being taken and used by a man she despised. She’d never lose the sense of worthlessness and dirtiness, or forget the stab of Caruthers’ laugh when he informed her it would do no good to tell anyone. No one would believe a woman who wore low-cut dresses to her restaurant job, who’d taken in a man who wasn’t her husband, boarder or no. A woman who’d lost her only source of income and was surely desperate. In dropping that blanket, he said she’d asked for it, never mind she’d screamed no a hundred times. How could the neighbors not have heard?

  She ran through a
mental list of people who might offer some consolation, give her a shoulder to cry on. She certainly couldn’t tell Mabel. She’d say it was Charlotte’s fault, even if Charlotte didn’t mention the blanket. Dewey might believe her, but she couldn’t tell him. It was too shameful.

  Theodore wouldn’t blame his fellow Watchkeeper, the one who helped him dispatch and punish time criminals—one of whom Charlotte had allowed to escape.

  Only Tony would believe her. He’d hit Irving for merely making lewd suggestions. Tony had told her later that in his time, what Irving had done was called sexual harassment, and it was against the law. If she told him about Caruthers, she had no doubt Tony would go to Cleveland, hunt him down and kill him—

  But Tony was never coming back.

  Her tears returned, and she bowed her head, resting her arms on her knees. Thank heavens Tony had the sense to stay away. The Society was too big a risk. There was nothing for him in this time except life on the run and likely capture... then life as a doddering idiot.

  Better a life of misery and loneliness than that.

  Her eyes lit on the knife again. Blinking away her tears, she picked it up and ran her finger over the engraved PIPPIN 1905, then drew the blade’s edge across her finger, staring in fascination as a bead of blood formed, reflecting in the pallid bathroom light. She was a fallen woman, the one man who believed in her never to return.

  She yanked the blade away and squeezed the handle. Tony had vowed never to come back because he didn’t want her to die.

  He said she had many things yet to do.

  She’d chanced Caruthers’ lust so Tony could escape.

  If she had to make the choice again, she’d do the same.

  She put the knife down. Tony wanted her to live. Even if he couldn’t be with her. Perhaps some day, in a more enlightened time, she’d find a way to make Ben Caruthers pay.