Enchanted: A New Love (The Erotic Adventures of Jane in the Jungle Book 8)

by Colette Gale

  The most striking thing about him was his attire: he wore only a pair of skintight black breeches that covered him from hip to just above his knees. The lines of his impressive thigh muscles were outlined by the shimmering black material, along with an enormous bulge in the center, displaying the shape of his cock and bollocks. Gidaro’s feet were bare, but there were wide black leather bands around his ankles, wrists, and neck.

  As Gidaro moved like a panther across the chamber, Zaren inhaled the essences swirling invisibly in the air. What he scented were the smells of heat, power, and lust, and something speared him deep in the belly.

  Something unexpected. And new.

  He allowed himself to focus only on that—not on Jane, not on the threat behind him, not on anything else but the moment. He knew that was his only chance of survival: to go along with whatever Mendiara meant for him.

  To Zaren’s surprise—which he managed to hide—Gidaro knelt in front of him. In a flash, Zaren was brought back to that dark, strange interlude with Cold Eyes back in the jungle, back inside a dark, smoky, sweet-scented hut. A shudder of remembered sensation trembled deep inside him as his palms turned damp.

  With two quick, powerful hands, Gidaro unlaced Zaren’s breeches and yanked the fabric apart like a pair of theater curtains.

  Although every part of him yearned to drag the man to his feet and toss him aside, breaking his neck on the cold marble floor, Zaren forced himself to stand impassively. He curled his strong toes into the insides of his boots and drew on every bit of control he owned as he fought to remain outwardly calm…perhaps even mildly curious. He banished all thought, all memory of before, and focused only on what was happening to him now. For his reactions must ring true.

  The air stirred behind him as whatever threat held him in its sights shifted and prepared to act, and he smelled the heightened aromas of pungent, musky desire as it flourished in the vast chamber. Mendiara watched avidly as Gidaro’s hands brushed over the soft, sensitive skin at the juncture of Zaren’s thighs and torso.

  In spite of himself—and perhaps it was, as his beloved Jane would have said, a blessing—Zaren felt the answering response from this unexpected invasion of his trousers as his cock began to shift and fill. It swelled, heated, shivered, stealing his breath and making his knees a bit unsteady…and as Gidaro pulled the unlaced breeches apart even further, Zaren’s rod sprang free from its warm, dark moorings.

  “And with no coaxing,” murmured Mendiara. The steam of lust rolled off her like the heat of a summer day in the jungle, animalistic, musky, and surprisingly—startlingly—delicious. Zaren realized his breath had changed and he was having difficulty controlling it, keeping it easy and calm. As it had done previously with Cold Eyes, his cock seemed to have a mind of its own.

  Gidaro, still on his knees in front of him, was also exuding a strong, feral scent like that of an animal in heat—a delicious, titillating, insistent aroma—and he curled his long, bold fingers around Zaren’s thighs.

  Had he been anywhere but here, in any other predicament than this, there was no question that Zaren would have killed the man instantly. But he understood far too well that today, such action would mean his instant death—and so, as Gidaro brought his face closer to Zaren’s now fully-erect cock, all he could do was think: for Jane.

  For us.

  When the hot mouth closed over his straining member, Zaren smothered a gasp of shock and surprise at the dark, horribly familiar—and amazing—sensation. He staggered a little, his hands moving slightly as if to grab for support before he recovered himself, as the heat of pleasure and eroticism blasted through him like a great river being unleashed from a stoic mountain.

  But Gidaro had no hesitation, for he tightened his lips and began to suck gently at the knob of Zaren’s cock, now thrusting free from its protective sheath. His tongue swirled around, danced over the tip, played with the tiny hole there in the most sensitive part and it was all Zaren could do to keep his knees from buckling. Or from howling like an animal in heat.

  Sensations, smells—even sounds—that he’d never experienced before filled his senses. Hot, dark pleasure, the roar of blood surging through his body—trammeling to the one place now throbbing and hot that seemed to be the only part of his existence—and the luscious, titillating noise of Gidaro’s demanding mouth feasting on his cock—slip, slurp, smack—made Zaren lose his mind.

  He strained, filled, and suddenly exploded with the shock of sharp, fast climax. His seed slammed into the back of the slick mouth around him as Zaren arched into Gidaro’s face, shoving his rod deeply into the tight cavern of his throat. The sounds of his tormentor gagging and choking were just as compelling as the feel of his lips and tongue around him, and he shot harder and shoved deeper, his knees trembling as they worked to keep him from collapsing in the middle of the court.

  When he recovered himself moments later, Zaren looked down to find Gidaro’s blue eyes shining up at him, blazing with heat and pleasure. The air was thick with lust and sex, the smell of his own cum and the desire of the others in the chamber.

  Staggered by the intensity, the shock of what had just happened, Zaren looked over at Mendiara. Her eyes gleamed with the same promise—and threat.

  “Very well then,” she said in that husky voice, even lower and tighter now. The scent of bold musk filled Zaren’s nose as she raked over him with that hot gaze. “I do believe the position is yours, Lord Hampstead.”

  — V —

  There it is. Sallito Island,” said Akenov. “Your new home, my devoted enchantress.”

  They stood at the ship’s railing, side by side. Jane’s long hair blustered in the wind and Akenov snagged a large handful of the coppery curls to rub between his fingers, then twisted it lightly around them. The intimate, almost sweet, gesture made her heart hurt.

  It was something Zaren would have done. And then he would have brought the lock of hair to his nostrils and smelled it, his eyes closing blissfully as he inhaled her. “You love me,” he’d say—amazing her once again by what he could discern emotion merely from smell and scent. “Heart and soul.”

  Then he’d have wrapped the curl around his wrist and reeled her gently into his embrace, covering her mouth with his, pulling her body close to his tall, muscled, sweet-smelling one. She’d quiver, and turn warm and lush, and then they’d make love…

  Jane blinked rapidly and steeled her heart, closing her eyes against the sting of the sea air and her own tears.

  Could it really be true that Zaren no longer thought of her? How could he have lost his love for her?

  But he had.

  Perhaps someday she would be able to submerge the pain enough to repair her broken heart. But not yet. Not today.

  Perhaps never.

  “What do you think of it?” Akenov demanded, sounding a bit like a petulant child. “My home, my kingdom…and now yours?”

  She opened her eyes and looked more closely at the island that jutted from a churning, green-blue sea. The palace in the center reminded her of a frosted cake set amid a tumble of emeralds: neat tiers of pristine white stone, along with aquamarine and turquoise accents, gleamed in the sunlight. In the distance, behind the imposing building, was a spindly, rugged mountain that speared the sky with its dark green peak.

  “At the far side of the island is Fulmar Mountain,” he told her. “The great sorcerer Belmar lives there.” Akenov lapsed into silence and stared contemplatively over the sea as the gentle rolling of the ship bumped the sides of their bodies against each other.

  Jane was acutely aware of the slide of delicate chains over her hips and between her thighs. The weight of the small cup over her quim had become negligible over the last two days, though it had been removed briefly several times a day for bathing and other activities.

  But never had she been allowed to touch herself there, to seek any sort of relief from the constant gentle need that always pulsed there. Akenov had watched her with sharp, eagle eyes whenever he freed her from the d
ainty shield. And though he wore nothing like such a shield, he continued to deny himself the pleasure they both clearly wanted.

  The sight of his tumescent cock, rising from his bath or when he climbed into bed next to her—or bulging from behind the loose trousers he wore on ship—made Jane’s mouth water and her insides flutter and twist. It also told her he’d not lost his desire for her in any way.

  But why he was denying himself as well, she couldn’t understand.

  “We will be docking in one hour,” he said abruptly, releasing her hair. “Time for you to prepare.”

  Prepare?

  Only a moment later, Jane learned what Akenov had in mind, for a dinghy had come out from shore to meet the ship. The small boat carried several guards, along with three women. The latter were quickly ushered aboard and, along with Jane, taken to the cabin she’d shared with Akenov.

  Once inside the chamber, Jane was swept up in a flurry of activity. The women—whom she by now identified as maidservants—stripped her of the mens’ clothing she’d been wearing on the ship since she’d escaped the fire in Amazonia with nothing. They also removed the little metal cup, then efficiently dunked her in the large, steaming bath tub.

  Jane was scrubbed and washed with impersonal hands that bordered on painful in their efficiency. Her hair was bathed with scented soap, then dried with heated towels that had somehow appeared with the maids and brought a soothing warmth to her scrubbed and brushed body.

  It took two of the maids to twine, curl, pin, and otherwise anchor her waist-length hair into a tall, elaborate style on the top of her head. The third servant buffed her feet, scraping off the rough skin and polishing her nails until they gleamed smooth and pale pink.

  Jane’s breasts and buttocks—and everywhere between and below—were slathered with a rich, scented cream that made her heady from the floral aroma. She remained very aware of the plump neediness of her little pearl, but there was nothing she could do to relieve herself of that desire while under the scrutiny of the maidservants. She suspected Akenov had given them strict orders.

  At last, she was clothed: in a diaphanous blue fabric that was little more than a cape fastened about her throat with a sapphire and silver collar. The silky, pale blue material fell from shoulders to feet, and other than the large brooch at the top, was open all the way down the front. There were slits for her arms to extrude as well.

  Whenever Jane moved, the fabric shimmered, shifted, and slid over her skin—which had somehow become even more sensitive to touch since the lotion had been slathered over it. Her nipples made sharp points in the silk, and her breasts, hips, and arse were outlined by the clinging, teasing material.

  Her feet were fitted into silver sandals that had soles three inches thick and laced up to her knees. Matching wristlets were fastened and woven around her from hand to elbow. A tiara wrought from silver was placed on her coiffure, with a large sapphire that dangled onto her bare forehead.

  As if summoned by some silent call, Akenov entered the chamber at that moment. The maidservants—who until now had been silent, brusque, and military in their activity—dissolved into subservient flutters, bowing and scraping to, presumably, their overlord.

  His eyes fastened on Jane, and she felt a dart of lust spear down from heart to belly, and shoot lower, as their gazes met. Without the flicker of a distraction, he commanded, “Begone.”

  The maids fled the room with the same efficiency as their other work, and the door closed behind them.

  “By the gods, you are a sight,” Akenov said. His voice was reverent and yet strong. “My enchantress. Jane.”

  She didn’t know how to respond—what would be permissible, or even how to react to the bald lust and admiration in his face. She swallowed, licking her lips a little nervously. Part of her wanted to leap toward him and shove him inside her wet, hot pussy, and to make him sigh and groan with desire.

  As if reading her mind, suddenly he was there—in front of her. A breath away. His hands slid down her arms, still beneath the cape, imprisoning them beneath the suddenly smothering silk covering. He brought her to him, covering her mouth with his sensual one, pulling her up against his taut, hard, aroused body.

  Jane lost her breath for a moment as his lips and tongue devoured her, and she met his with the same ferocity. He was as skillful at kissing as he was at—everything else. He plundered her, nipping and sucking and thrusting with teeth, lips, and tongue. Her insides shot to full attention—alive, hot, damp, liquid.

  Jane’s knees trembled as his hands shifted and slid to cover her sharp-nippled breasts, kneading them with his elegant fingers, thumbing over the sensitive points with his thumbs as she gasped, pleading, against his mouth.

  Akenov made a sound as if pain was being wrung from him, and he dropped to his knees in front of her, parting the cape to bare her belly and thighs, and the proud thatch of bright red hair that grew there. Her skin trembled beneath his breath as he gently eased her thighs wide, bringing his face close into her musky heat.

  Jane held her breath, trembling and weak-kneed, her hands suddenly finding stability as she clutched the soft, thick curls on his head. She closed her eyes, swaying slightly into him as he drew in a great, audible breath when he pressed his face between her legs.

  Oh, God, please…

  He lifted his face, kissed her trembling belly, slipping his tongue around and then darting into the flat, shivering navel in front of him. She felt his breath, moist and hot, on her skin as his lips slid lower…lower, to the delicate skin at the juncture of her thighs as he prodded her legs open wide.

  “Jane,” he whispered against her. “Jane, do you want me?” His mouth, and the words, hovered there in front of her ready quim.

  She whimpered, gripping his head tighter, her eyes closed, her body tight and full.

  “Jane,” he said again. She could feel him, right there, the barest sensation of his nose pressing into her wiry hair, the puffs of his exhalations against her wet nether lips.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Oh, please…yes…”

  His fingers tightened a trifle, his mouth came a little closer. She strained, trembled, held her breath. He inched nearer, and she felt the soft, tentative swipe of his lips against the inside of her thigh. He shuddered, his mouth pressing against her skin as she felt a surge of desire pulse from deep inside, making her drip even more.

  His voice was rough and dusky. “Do you love me, Jane? Tell me you love me…tell me you forsake…all others.”

  Tears spilled from her eyes. The words were there. Yes. Yes…please.

  “Do you?” he demanded, his breath faster now. “Tell me, Jane, tell me you do.”

  Yes. Yes. The words hovered there: I do. I do…

  I do. No, no, that was for Zaren. For their wedding. What she’d said to him.

  “No,” she cried, squeezing back tears, sobbing with confusion and pain and desire. “No, I can’t.”

  He shoved her back, erupting to his feet. His eyes were glassy with lust, and fiery with fury. His mouth glistened, full from the kissing, and from his gentle teasing of her secret place.

  Jane’s breathing heaved wildly, her breasts shivering and trembling beneath the silk, her nether lips damp and dripping and hot, as she looked up at him, waiting for…whatever.

  Please, she thought desperately, eating him with eyes that clouded with tears. Please give us what we both want. Forget about the words…

  Akenov looked down at her, and she saw how he pulled back and leashed his anger, pulling it into something less terrifying. “I see,” he said very softly.

  He turned away for a moment and Jane shuddered. How would he punish her now? How would he take out his fury and disappointment on her?

  When he turned back, he was fully under control. There was even—was it admiration?—in his eyes, though they still looked upon her with wild lust.

  “At the least I will know, when you finally say it, that it won’t be said lightly. Or dishonestly. That once you give your
love to me, Jane, it will be strong and true.” His blue eyes flashed. “But until then, do not expect me to be kind to you.”

  He snatched up her hand and brought it to the front of his trousers, pressing it over the massive bulge burning behind them. He closed his eyes and stilled for a moment as her fingers closed around him through the material. Lust leapt inside her, and she felt the heat of his cock bleeding through the thin fabric, the shape of its knob, and even the throbbing veins coursing beneath—

  He gave a little shiver and opened his eyes. Now his gaze was filled with hard resolve. “Do not expect me to be kind when I must walk around with this ahead of me.”

  He thrust her hand away, then, to her continued surprise, offered her an arm. “Come, my lovely. I shall introduce you to my kingdom.”

  Jane found it extremely difficult to walk once they reached land—for not only was she used to having to adjust for the constant rolling of the ship’s deck beneath her feet, she was not accustomed to navigating on the three-inch shoes that made her slightly taller than Akenov himself.

  Thus, she found herself clinging to his arm more tightly than she liked as they made their way to the palace.

  Instead of some sort of vehicle or conveyance, there was only a broad, tree-lined avenue that led from dock to castle gate. Flowering trees, laden with sweet-scented white blossoms, arched over the roadway. On either side, people gathered—at a respectable distance, but packed in tightly in an effort to see their lord and his…whatever she was.

  They took their time, walking sedately—which was both frustrating and comforting to Jane, for the slow pace kept her cape from flying completely open and exposing her otherwise naked body to the throngs on the street. However, she wanted nothing more than to get off her feet, away from the crowds, and to find out what it was Akenov had in store for her.

  More than that, she wanted to seduce him—to ease the terrible desire and lust that had built up between them. Perhaps then there could be some sort of partnership and understanding between them, for he seemed to be as helpless with her as she was as his prisoner.