by Nya Rawlyns
much beyond this point. Several possibilities ran through her mind and she blushed brightly as each image became increasingly suggestive, as if being force-fed a string of pornographic vignettes unreeling in fast-forward. She gasped and giggled, then bit her lip, peeling away a callus of dried flesh. Blood beaded on the raw spot and she licked it away, savouring the sultry warmth and acrid taste.
Trey was forced to stay still as she’d tied his wrists, amused that she thought him immobilized. The act left him giddy, every nerve at full alert, knowing he could simply snap the laces and be free—and not wanting that. He revelled in the rush of blood to his groin and the tremble along his thighs as a cool draft of air wafted into the shelter, caressing his skin and sending a chill up his spine. He’d grown used to lust and had long ago learned to satisfy it with a minimum of effort. The act of rutting totally under his control, his vessels compliant and generally satisfactory for his needs. The sensations now sweeping over his flesh seemed more a tease, more filled with promise, intense and slightly out of reach. Even the rush of bonding that had overwhelmed him, sending him into a time-space where his release was more relief from pain than actual pleasure, could not compare with the anticipation and the not knowing.
The feather strokes along his cheeks and chin, then along his lips, a brief brush against his eyelashes, came not from tender fingertips but from her soft breath as she worked her way down his neck. He longed for the feel of her lips but she kept a physical distance, a curtain of desire between them that she was unwilling to breach.
Caitlin removed his glasses, smirking, then took his shirt and tied the long sleeve over his eyes. She probably suspected he was not comatose after all—the involuntary gut clenches and subtle movements of his hips as his cock filled and throbbed were clear cues. Her intentions were obvious: she wanted him tight as a guitar string. His body soon tuned to her every prompt, paying attention, straining for the next sensation yet not knowing from whence it would come. He would become aware of her in a new way, not as a mannequin to be manipulated and deployed at will, but as a partner. While he claimed provenance over the supposed link , she would show him how to use it.
He banked back a flush of concern when she’d taken his glasses. Of all the things 86
he’d used in his life as crutches, as tools—swords, knives, or his beloved sniper rifle—the glasses had taken on significance far beyond their simple functionality. He feared blindness almost to the point of irrationality. To lose them meant placing his trust in his woman, something he understood in principal but would have difficulty doing. The bonding could be more of a curse than a gift, a disruption and not a mere distraction, if he could not come to terms with its requirements. It might be rare and precious—and the stuff of legends—but in this time and space, it set the stage for disaster.
So lost in agonizing over his fears and concerns, he almost missed the fleeting
brush of Caitlin’s lips along the inside of his thigh. He spread his legs apart to give her access but she moved forward—he could sense the swish of air on his belly—wondering where he’d next feel the cool breath.
“So, I finally have your attention, do I?” she whispered in his ear. She nibbled at his earlobe for a fleeting instant. “Hot, are you?”
“Gods, woman, can’t you see that?”
“Oh yes. And so much more.”
“Tell me.”
“The hair on your chest,” she puffed a breath as he shivered in response, “and
your nipples are so hard.” She flicked her tongue over one, then the other, as he stifled a moan and twisted his shoulders.
“More.”
Caitlin drew a ragged nail up the sole of a foot, just a bare hint of pressure. He gasped and pulled his leg up and away, straining against the ties.
“Ticklish?”
He heard the devilish mirth in her voice, but he ached for it to stop and moaned,
“Don’t.”
She pulled his leg down, massaging the instep, then moving up the calf to the
muscular thigh. She nudged his legs further apart, working her way under his straining cock, then down the other side.
Trey warred with the need to rip the fragile laces apart to free his arms and pull her body on top of his. His skin screamed in agony for the touch of flesh-to-flesh, the teasing almost beyond bearing.
“Let me go.”
Caitlin chuckled. “Not yet. I’m not done with you. Not nearly.”
“Please.” He fought and lost, the pleading clear.
“What do you want?” She brushed his lips with her tongue. “Tell me.”
What did he want? This. He wanted this. Her lips playing his body like a fine instrument. For a lifetime he’d satisfied his needs, but what she did to him now went far beyond the simply physical. Words failed him.
“Do you want this?” Caitlin fingered the tip of his cock, swirled the pre-cum
across the surface, then drawing it down the long vein. Bending her head, she let her hair fall over his belly, trailing it slowly, lovingly along the length.
Praying to all his gods that she would never stop, he quickly approached a
breaking point. He needed, wanted, to touch her, to fill her and give her pleasure. The sensations were almost too much to bear. Awareness washed over him, icy pinpricks assaulted every inch of his flesh. When her mouth closed over his cock, he slipped back to the time of his youth, that first time—the mystery, the hope, and the promise of becoming a man.
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He loved the rasp of her chapped lips against sensitive skin, the tease of pain
yielding to a wash of pleasure. He was willing to let her explore every inch of his body for hours but the link had assumed a life of its own, with an urgency that pressed against him like a palpable thing. His gut clenched, holding back. Tracing a finger past the soft sacs, her ragged nail rasped along the crease to the sensitive pucker. He wondered if she’d dare, not sure he could take more stimulation and wanting more than anything for her to press him past his limits. She inserted a finger, gently stroking his prostate, then stopped as his body went rigid. He husked, “Gods,” and spread his thighs even further, inviting her to probe and manipulate the gland. Her mouth and tongue nipped and
teased his cock as he thrust his hips, seeking her moist warmth.
Finally he could take no more. He ripped the leather tie from the saddle and
yanked the laces off his wrists. With a sweep of his hand he removed the blindfold. The light blinded him yet he sensed her aura, cool greens and blues, the hues of control.
She sat back on her heels, a smile playing about her lips, a look that showed she was not surprised that he had finally succumbed to his nature. He stared at her waiting, hopeful and asking him the silent question, did I get it right?
“I want to ask you…” he choked the words back.
“What?”
“Will you,” he bowed his head and finished with a whisper, “let me make love to
you?” Without a word, she lay back on the ground and pulled his shoulders against her chest. She felt so frail he feared she’d break under his weight. Nudging her legs apart, he gently probed as he lifted her hips, letting her adjust as he pressed into her depths as slow as he dared. His body screamed for release, yet he willed himself to wait, watching for the cringe, that first twinge of fear. Her eyes remained soft, unfocused as she clenched his cock, drawing him deep, deeper, until he lost all control. With savage thrusts he poured his pain and anguish into her welcoming depths, until he came with a throaty moan.
If he’d had any extra air in his tortured lungs he would have laughed at her
murmured, “We’ll have to work on those foreplay skills.”
****
“Trey? Wake up.”
“W-what?” Trey rolled off Caitlin. He’d straddled her slim hips with his leg,
effectively pinning her in place.
“Ow. Dammit.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“No,
no! It’s not that. Geez, sailor, been awhile has it?”
He grinned at her and leered. “Was it good for you?”
Caitlin smacked him on the shoulder. “Yeah, fifth time was the charm. Come on.
I’m starved. Let’s get some of that seaweed.”
Trey lunged out of the shelter and strode to the edge of the pond. He scooped up a handful of the dried vegetation and turned to hand it to Caitlin but she wasn’t behind him.
“What are you looking at?” She stood by the shelter hand over her eyes as she
stared in the direction of the sheer mountain face off to their west. “Caitlin. Hon?”
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“Can you hear that?”
“No. Wait a minute. Yeah.” Trey strained to filter the distant echoes from his own heartbeat. The low clouds shielded the sound, whatever it was. He found it hard to focus, so intent on fixating with Caitlin’s energies that he failed to process the rhythmic beats. When the ‘pfft, pfft’ finally penetrated his brain, he mouthed ‘oh shit’ and raced back to his mate.
“Inside. Now!”
“Wait, Trey. Where are you going?”
“Stay inside. I’m going to move the animals away from us.”
He flapped his arms, yelling at the top of his lungs at the beasts standing
unconcerned at the near edge of the clearing. The horse finally bolted from his position and trotted, with the mule in hot pursuit, to the opposite side of the pond. They paused, sides heaving, to see if their would-be attacker still followed them. He knew they were too weak to move beyond that point so he turned back, rapidly scanning the horizon.
The sounds ebbed and flowed like a tide, bouncing off the mirrored surfaces and making it impossible to pin down the exact direction of the copters’ approach. If they were very lucky, they would do a nominal sweep and move on, perhaps not even breaching the ridge. As long as the beasts did not take flight or move unnecessarily, there should be little to attract attention.
For once, the flat cloud cover and lack of a breeze would make the pond less of a beacon. The green of the trees still stood out as anomalies in the barren landscape. He scooped up their clothing and threw it inside the shelter.
“Get dressed, fast.”
“Is it the helicopters?”
“Yes. They might be on a standard search pattern and never make it over the ridge. If not, and they see the oasis, we’re gonna need Plan B.”
“What are we going to do?”
“I’m working on it.” The pulsing of rotors picked up resonance as the machines
lifted over the ridge, the sound echoing, magnified and amplified by the slick stone walls. He yanked on his jeans and shrugged into the shirt. Watching Caitlin reach for her boots jogged his memory. He said, “Hold on a minute.”
“What are you thinking?” Caitlin barely got the words out when the sharp retort
of machine gun fire erupted, laying a pattern across the far edge of the pond.
Trey shouted, “Gods damn you to hell,” as he watched the animals fall to the
ground. Turning to Caitlin he yelled, “The pond! It’s our only chance.”
“The ledge, Trey, they’ll get us before we can make it to the deep part.”
“Follow me. We’ll work around… Shit!” Bullets strafed the ground in front of the shelter, sending gravel like high velocity shrapnel in all directions. Trey felt a sting on his cheek and arm, followed by a warm trickle of blood. “Move. Now!”
He grabbed Caitlin’s hand and yanked her out of the lean-to, then turned sharp
right and dashed into the tree line, legs pumping hard against the sharp gravel. He ignored her whimpering as the bullets pinged and splintered the trees on the northern side of the clearing. He needed to work around almost to the point where the animals had gone down. At least, at that point, he knew the water was deep enough for diving.
With the muddy suspension masking their progress, they should be able to swim to the cave and wait out their attackers.
Caitlin had a bad feeling that she knew what Trey planned. Seven minutes,
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breathing for two. That gave them … she couldn’t conjure the math but it amounted to too little time by any calculation, as if they had a choice. She’d heard that drowning was not a bad way to go. He yanked on her arm, almost dislocating her shoulder.
The noise rose to an ear-splitting volume as the helicopters swung back, coming
in low, their shadows reflecting off the surface of the pond. They concentrated on the shoreline along the shelf, the bullets hitting and bouncing back, leaving the water churning and boiling as shards of rock flipped up and out.
Trey pulled Caitlin against his body and yelled into her ear, “They think it’s all shallow. Look,” he pointed at the choppers moving off to the outer edge of the oasis to regroup for another run, “they’ll concentrate on the outside, try to drive us into the clearing around the water.”
“What do we do?”
“Wait ’til they move in the opposite direction from this spot. Then we run for it.”
Caitlin nodded she understood as she slipped her dress off. The skirt would weigh her down and might get tangled on something. Trey stripped his shirt and handed it her.
She took it gratefully. If she were to meet her death, she’d prefer it be clothed. He slipped his glasses in his jeans pocket, tilting his head so he could hear which direction the machines headed.
Caitlin said, “I’ll lead you.”
Trey pulled back and mouthed ‘wait’. He counted, “Ten, nine, eight…” then waved
for her to move toward the water. He followed as best he could. She would be his eyes as they cast their fates to the gods.
As they neared the shoreline, Trey hesitated and said, his voice tight with
emotion, “Caitlin, I-I…”
She turned and growled, “No goodbyes, dammit. Not ever. Here we go.”
Caitlin tore across the narrow strip of gravel, dragging Trey in her wake. She took two steps into the murky water, then felt the ground drop off beneath her feet. The helicopters began their lift over the low bank of trees, angling away.
Trey yelled, “Don’t let go!” and dove beneath the surface. His hand slipped away from hers as they plunged towards the depths.
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Chapter Fifteen
Caitlin floundered in the opaque fluid, her every instinct driving her toward the surface and safety, but she had no sense of what was up and what was down. A profound illusion of weightlessness added to her otherworldly perceptions. Nothing felt quite as alien as being suspended with her senses stripped. Little light filtered through the murk, barely reaching the level where she hovered, suspended. Using her arms to pivot, she spun in place, her hair dragging through the thick suspension and slowing the rotation.
She reached in all directions, seeking Trey, but he’d disappeared, leaving her alone. Her lungs already near to bursting, she had an insane need to open her mouth and scream his name. She gulped a bit of water and gagged, the reflex so strong she knew she was lost. She prayed her lover would survive as she sank slowly toward her muddy grave.
Caitlin allowed the illusion of peace into her soul. She had no final philosophical thoughts, no meaningful dialog with her deity, nothing more than a small list of regrets.
She’d never see her father again, her brother seemed destined to a life of ruin and despair and she’d never make good on any of her vows. She’d done so little to make a place in her world and had barely scratched the surface of her abilities, let alone offering them in service to something greater than herself, small failures and a small life. She never even told Trey the one thing he needed to know. Not once. If there were an eternity, she was sure she’d spend it in a purgatory of grief and remorse.
She settled onto the bottom, her bare skin cushioned by reeds, like angel feathers, drifting with the bubbles escaping from her nose and mouth; the last breath. She opened her eyes, expectant. Perhaps there would be the bright
light, and judgment. She’d suffered terribly. Would they take that into account? Would they place her good
intentions in column A, her minor misdemeanours—the white lies and petty jealousies—
in column B?
Floating along the bottom, a weak current carried her body across the grassy
surface as she bounced against the odd rock or mound of gravel. Detritus wafted in the upper reaches as the lower level cleared enough for her to see features—old stumps, stands of reeds like an underwater garden, a looming black maw that could only be the cavern Trey had discovered. The current picked up strength as she drifted on her back.
This dying seemed to take forever. She wondered if Death’s minions were too busy to tend to her. Perhaps, in this godforsaken dimension, they didn’t even know she’d died.
She snorted at that thought. That would be one hell of a fix.
Here she’d been consorting with a demon, a devil, whoever—whatever—Trey was.
She knew, finally, he wasn’t exactly human. He was clearly ‘other’, though why that should surprise her, given her own unique talents, made no sense. She was starting to get irritated. How long did you have to wait in the deep? Or was she supposed to surface and make her presence known. Maybe scare the bejeebers out of whoever was unloading a shitload of ordnance onto this barren world. Even her lover hadn’t known for sure who tracked them with such diligence. She had a niggling suspicion that he would not be happy if he lived long enough to find out. She really did not want to be in their combat boots if he made it out alive, without his soul mate. That man would write the book on vengeance. She’d love to be there to see it.
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Caitlin flipped onto her belly and kicked just enough to take her away from the
rocks and sharp reeds. She didn’t want to know what her butt looked like after scraping along the gravel bed. The current held steady so she paddled to keep herself within the boundaries of the cool flow as it cut a definite channel through the pond. Off her right hand side, to starboard as she’d been taught, a swirl of mud and debris attracted her interest. Strange how her eyesight improved with each passing minute. Of course, she had no frame of reference for the passage of time and little interest in it now that it ceased to exist for her.