Entwined (The Erotic Adventures of Jane in the Jungle: Part 1)

by Colette Gale

  But the next thing she knew, the bed was behind her and his weight bore her down onto the soft mattress. His mouth, thankfully, moved from her lips and she managed, “Mr. Darkdale! This cannot be happening!”

  His only response was a deep, low and heartfelt groan as he shifted to take her into his mouth. His warm, wet lips covered a nipple that had been pinched and teased into attention, and when he began to suck on it, Jane felt the sensations shooting through her body, down to her quim: pain battling with hot pleasure for precedence. Her twisting and writhing seemed only to excite him further and his insistent cock pressed harder and harder against her thigh, as if he meant to imprint himself on her.

  His hand had found its way between her legs and as she twisted and pushed at him, he somehow slipped it beneath her chemise skirt. Finding that very warm, secret place between her legs, his fingers slid and shifted around, probing and then all at once shoving up deep inside her. Jane gave a soft gasp of surprise laced with dismay and began to struggle with more violence.

  “Release me! Mr. Darkdale—Kellan—you must—release—me!” She pounded on his back even as he breathed hard and hot into her neck, his mouth wet against her skin, his hand fumbling between them, down at their waists. Jane knew what was about to happen and she closed her eyes, fighting and twisting as hard and desperately as she could.

  All at once, a loud roar—spine-tingling and ferocious—blasted through the night. Jane screamed. Mr. Darkdale bolted up and away from her, stumbling backward, wild and dark-eyed. It sounded as if the feral cry had come from just beyond her window.

  “My shotgun!” he exclaimed, looking about frantically as Jane grabbed up a blanket with which to cover herself. “I’ll get my shotgun!”

  She stared out the window, expecting some bright yellow eyes and even a snarling mouthful of white teeth to invade her chamber. But there was nothing to see but shadows and the tops of trees filtered with moonlight.

  However, Kellan Darkdale meant to take no chances, and he rushed from the chamber, ostensibly to collect his shotgun.

  Jane, who at the moment found the possibility of a wild feline in her chamber to be preferable to the presence of Kellan Darkdale, slammed closed the bamboo door behind him and latched it shut with a sturdy piece of bamboo that served as a bolt.

  Then, her heart still racing and her neck and breast dripping with his sloppy moisture, she collapsed onto her bed and lay there. Waiting. There were no other noises, no other wild calls. Nor did some ferocious feline leap into her chamber.

  A moment later, Mr. Darkdale was back. The door held firmly when he tried to rush through it, and she heard his exclamation of surprise.

  “Go away, Mr. Darkdale,” Jane told him, wishing the fool hadn’t ruined her evening. She sat up and began to unlace her corset with unsteady fingers.

  “Miss Clemons…Jane…please…I was overcome. Forgive me. I…I vow it will never happen again.”

  “It certainly won’t,” she told him. “The next time you enter my bedchamber, I’ll shoot you.” She’d already decided to appropriate one of her papa’s pistols and keep it hidden under her bedclothes. It seemed as if that would be a most convenient location, based on Darkdale’s fondness for that piece of furniture.

  “But Jane…there was a tiger or a lion or some creature—”

  “I’ll take my chances,” she told him as her corset loosened enough that she could wriggle out of it. “Now go away.”

  She closed her eyes and lay back onto her mattress, concentrating on the soft, sweet breeze filtering through the uppermost trees and into her chamber. But her chemise was still a barrier to completely feeling the gentle air and once more she sat up. This time, she tugged the light cotton gown up and over and sat on her bed, completely nude.

  The night air beckoned and Jane went to the large window and stood there. She heard the rush of waves in the distance, heard the sounds of wildlife in the night: coos of birds, clicking sounds, rustling noises, and, in the distance, a low, deep animalistic roar.

  Her long curling hair feathered with the breeze over her bare skin, and the sensation erased the memory of Darkdale’s insistent, urgent touch. Jane closed her eyes and sniffed, smelling sweet, rich floral scents and the tang of ocean.

  After a while, she moved to recline on her bed. I’m going to sleep naked tonight. She smiled to herself as she lay there, enjoying the sensual breeze over firm nipples, skating lightly over the skin of her belly. Such freedom.

  She never had such freedom of sensuality back in London, even in Jonathan’s bed.

  ~*~

  He was very near the large window, watching the woman with the burning hair. She couldn’t see him; he was in the shadows, hidden by thick leaves and vines. Like the big cats, he’d moved noiselessly, making his way from branch to branch to tree to tree until he was just outside the large opening.

  If he reached out a finger, he could touch the wall. He sniffed silently, and amid the familiar scents of the jungle—the flowers, the damp soil, the underlying decay of plant and animal, the proximity of a tree monkey—he smelled something new. He smelled her. Musky and sweet and exotic. Something he’d never scented before; but an essence that drew him.

  He couldn’t pull his eyes away as she took off her dress—that was another word he’d learned in the books—and saw all of the roundness there. The jouncing and the curves and the smooth, hairless, ivory skin…and a patch of fire between two legs. He wanted to touch that fire.

  His heart was pounding and there were other parts of him pounding too. Never. He’d never seen anything he wanted to touch, to smell, to taste so badly.

  And he was not the only one who meant to touch the woman. In the darkness, his face turned fierce and he forced back an angry growl. The tall man had tried to touch the woman, to take from her, to mate with him, and she hadn’t wanted him to.

  She’d fought with him, but the foul man had his hands on her body, his red, wet mouth, his fingers leaving dark marks on her ivory skin. Her face had been frightened and angry, and the foul man’s expression had been hungry. Deprived.

  Now, he gripped the rough bark of the tree. Though the woman had fought and struck at the foul man, the sight of the two bodies writhing and twisting caused his breathing to change and his face to heat. His veins pounded, blood surging through his body. He didn’t want to see the woman hurt, he had to do something…but the images made his insides move. Made them heat and tingle and…want.

  And so he helped her. He could mimic the sound of any creature in the jungle, and he chose to growl the most threatening sound he knew: that of a hungry, angry tiger. He smiled to himself in the dark when the foul man had jumped away, stumbling off of the woman, panic and cowardice blazing in his face.

  And when the woman closed the door behind him, he knew she was intelligent and strong.

  And he wanted even more to touch her.

  Unseen and silent, he watched her for a long time as she lay, uncovered, on her bed, in the soft yellow glow of a flame.

  He could tell when she fell asleep, for her breathing changed, her body relaxed. Her head turned to one side, her vibrant, burning hair covering a cheek and curling over her neck and shoulder.

  Heart pounding, he slid down to the branch on which her nest rested. His fingers curled over the edge of the wall and he sniffed. Hot sensation rushed through him. Her smell was beautiful, and it made him feel almost the way he did when he breathed the smoke burning from the special negaru plant.

  He wanted to bury himself in that delicious, compelling scent, his face and nose close to her skin and in the warmest parts of her curves. He closed his eyes for a moment, steadying his breathing. He couldn’t make a sound or she might waken.

  Then, silent as the tiger he’d mimicked earlier, he climbed into the nest. Heart pounding, he stood next to her pallet, in the shadows and looked down.

  Such a thing of beauty. He could hardly breathe. The burning hair lay spread all over her pallet and her white shoulders, down over her
belly…almost to the second, smaller, shorter patch. Round white globes, tipped with small pink flowerbuds, rose and fell with her easy breaths.

  He tightened his fingers into his palm to keep from touching her.

  Suddenly, she shifted in her sleep. He stilled, slowing his rough breathing into silence. She gave a soft moan and a sigh, and as she moved, her hand rose and slid to cover the short, burning patch between her legs.

  Her foot shifted and her legs opened, showing a large portion of the pallet between them.

  He reminded himself to breathe, to draw in air, for his vision seemed to tilt and sway. He couldn’t pull his eyes from her. His body felt hot and engorged and he watched breathlessly as she moved her fingers.

  They fluttered between her legs, shifting delicately into the short, burning fur…then they tensed and straightened, and she began to rub herself. It was rhythmic and steady, and it reminded him of the mating movements he’d seen in any number of animals. Her legs shifted helplessly, her head turned from one side to the other and the hair covering her face fell away. Her body arched and relaxed as though she were reaching for something…longing for something.

  Her mouth was open and she was making sounds…soft, panting sounds that tugged pleasure deep inside him. Her particular smell grew stronger, more delicious, filling his nostrils and making his clenched fingers tremble. He wanted to taste her…touch his lips to her smooth skin, find the place of that essence and drink.

  She moved her other hand, using her fingers to massage the rosy pink tip on one of the soft globes. They moved lightly over the little point, then in small circles around and over it. His keen eyes saw it shudder and tremble when she drew in a deep, long breath.

  He noticed the fingers between her legs had become damp and slick, gleaming in the moonlight. Her white hand moved more rapidly and urgently there in the dark shadowy space between and her breathing had become so loud and labored that he might have thought she were in pain if he hadn’t been watching for so long.

  This was not pain.

  It took every bit of fortitude he had—the same strength that had helped him to kill a feral tiger in a hand-to-paw battle, the same control that had kept him alive when he left the ape family that had raised him from a young child—to keep from touching her.

  But he inched closer to the place where she lay, watching from the shadows that would obscure him if she opened her eyes. His fingers loosened, wanting to reach for her, and the blood pulsed through his body—hard and fast and hot. The leather piece he wore to protect his male parts lifted straight out in front as his rod throbbed and shivered.

  He was waiting…waiting…but he didn’t know what he was waiting for. She made a sound that sent a renewed shock of heat and sharp pleasure bolting through him, a soft cry of surprise and need, and then all at once, she gave a low gasp and arched up. Her smell exploded even more strongly, and then she was whimpering and shuddering and shivering.

  He knew, somehow, that this was what he’d been waiting for. His rod was so hard it was painful, it dripped moisture from the tip, and he knew if he touched it, it, too would explode.

  Her hand, glistening and damp, fell away, relaxing open-palmed on her hip. The beautiful, musky smell rolled off her in waves, and now he could see that part of her between her legs…sleek and dark and beckoning.

  He wanted there.

  He swallowed, forcing himself to look away from that temptation. Her lips were parted and her face turned to the side. Her breathing steadied and slowed.

  The pounding of his heart filled his ears as blood rushed to his rod, and he squeezed his eyes closed. Tried to slow, tried to relax.

  But he had to touch her.

  His hand trembled as he reached out and touched lightly…ever so lightly…to touch that burning mass of hair.

  — III —

  Jane woke slowly. Something warm and light filtered over her skin and she smelled sweet, heavy flowers.

  Sighing with pleasure, she rolled to the side and opened her eyes to find soft sunlight and a gentle breeze wafting through the open windows. Her long hair was caught beneath her arm and tangled around her shoulders, for she hadn’t put it in its customary braid last night. As she breathed in the scents of her new, temporary home, she adjusted, pulling free the long, curling strands of hair.

  She couldn’t remember ever having slept so soundly, awaking feeling so rested and…sated. Yes, sated was the best word to describe the sense of relaxation, of satisfaction, of warmth and looseness.

  Vague images of dreams that, thankfully, hadn’t included Kellan Darkdale, buffeted at the corners of her mind. Sensual, warm, hot dreams….

  A shadowy figure had been there, watching over her—an angel perhaps? Or perhaps a memory of Jonathan…for she’d dreamt of a firm, light hand smoothing along the length of her hair. A man’s hand.

  Jane sat up, amazed that she’d slept so soundly and so well after the shocking experience with Kellan, and with her windows uncovered as well. She supposed she was fortunate that none of the jungle creatures had found it necessary to join her or investigate the new addition to their world. Prudence and practicality suggested that she find something with which to cover the windows…but Jane realized she didn’t want to block out the jungle.

  Here so high in the trees, with the branches and vines and even the songs of birds so close by, she felt so free and comfortable. Even the buzzing of small insects hadn’t bothered her. A bit of mosquito netting might be a nice idea, hanging over the windows…but she decided she would not block them otherwise.

  There was no one to see her. No one to judge.

  Her insides tightened at the thought, and then eased. She was in Madagascar, far from London.

  Crawling from her bed, she used the chamberpot and then washed up with a small basin of water and a soft dish of soap. The scent of lilly of the valley meshed with her own, musky, private scent, and when she smelled it on her fingers, for a moment Jane closed her eyes and breathed. The memory of pleasure and release mingled with the hint of sweet, hot dreams washed over her. She smiled.

  And then her smile faded. She missed Jonathan.

  After standing once more at the window, allowing the warm breeze to slide over her bare skin, teasing her nipples into hard little points, she reluctantly dug through a trunk to find something to wear.

  No more long corsets, she decided. Just a short lace-up one that she could fasten herself, and that didn’t need to squeeze her so tightly she couldn’t breathe. A skirt of light lawn, and a simple white shirtwaist that buttoned down the front.

  A short while later, she climbed down the sturdy wooden stairs that led to the main floor of the treehouse. Here was a large living space that had been outfitted like a large parlor and kitchen, all in one, with built-in tables, counters, and shelves. A wood burning stove sat on a small balcony so that the smoke wouldn’t collect inside the walls and ceiling. When Jane entered, she saw that the moveable walls had been pulled aside. This made the space feel as if the floor was a large platform embraced by the massive branches of the tree.

  “Good morning,” she said, her gaze sliding quickly over Kellan, who sat in shirtsleeves and dark trousers, and to her father. “Did you sleep well, Papa?”

  “I don’t b’lieve I’ve ever slept better,” he replied between mouthfuls of eggs and sausage. “Don’t b’lieve I’ve ever had a more delicious breakfast,” he added with a look at Efremina.

  The cook sniffed and clanged the spoon into a pot.

  “Enjoy it while it lasts,” Kellan said. “The ship won’t return with more supplies for weeks, and when these provisions run low, we’ll be supplementing them with whatever game I can find in the jungle.” His regard settled on Jane, and she felt her cheeks warm. “Good morning, Miss Clemons. I trust you slept well, and uninterrupted?”

  “I slept very well,” she replied. “And thank you for the reminder,” she added. “I’ve decided it would be best to keep a loaded firearm in my room. Just in case I have unwa
nted nightly visitors.”

  Kellan grimaced and he appeared chastised, looking down at the tin cup of coffee he’d been sipping. “I’m certain if an unwanted visitor made its way to your chamber, it was a terrible accident and wasn’t meant to be an offense.”

  She looked at him, but he was studying his drink. “Nevertheless,” she said, remembering his pinching, questing fingers with a little shudder, “I’ll take one of your pistols, Papa. Just in case.”

  “Perhaps you’ll allow me to teach you how to load and shoot it?” Kellan suggested, standing suddenly. His pale blue eyes were fastened on her once again. “Dr. Clemons?”

  “Missy Jane don’ need no help wi’ that,” Efremina said flatly, her blond hair fairly bristling. “She knows ’ow t’use a pistol just fine. Just ask them squirrels what tried to make off with the bird feed she put on the trees at the country ’ouse.” She gave an emphatic nod.

  Smothering a smile, Jane looked at her father. “What do you have planned for today, Papa?” she asked as she walked over to retrieve one of the pistols from his supply trunks.

  “Mr. Darkdale and I are going to walk along the jungle shoreline. I’m hoping to find an intact example of the glimmer-headed tyra. They like the salt water, but weave their cocoons beneath the bark of the north-side of a tree.” Papa hopped to his feet as if remembering what an exciting day he had planned, and Jane watched in fond amusement as he began to organize his tools for the day.

  “Very well, Papa. Have a wonderful time.”

  “And don’t you f’get the luncheon packet I got for ya,” Efremina said, making it sound like an accusation and foregone conclusion that he would.

  “And what do you have planned, Miss Clemons?” asked Kellan. “Would you like to accompany us? Don’t you intend to make drawings for the professor?”

  “No, thank you,” she replied. “I have several trunks to unpack and supplies to organize. There will be other opportunities for me to accompany you, Papa, won’t there?”

  And, with Kellan Darkdale otherwise occupied accompanying her papa, Jane intended to do a bit of exploring near their camp. It would be unlikely, but there could be a clue to Jonathan’s disappearance, even after three years. She was certain she’d find the man she loved—or at least a trace of him.