Evil's Niece

by Melissa MacNeal

  Monique rowed the slender boat expertly between cyprus stumps; beneath live oaks, where Spanish moss hung from the branches like mysterious moonlit shawls. Night birds called around us, their cries echoing in the canopy of trees. Otherwise, there was only the lapping of the water against our boat, and the fluid movements of Monique’s tight body beneath her flowing peasant-style skirt and blouse.

  ‘You feel happy, non? It’s perfect for you, that pretty dress. Like a gypsy’s.’

  I grinned, hugging my knees. ‘I feel loose and — well, lewd.’

  ‘Ah, oui. The freedom of leaving the corset in the drawer.’ Monique’s eyes followed the slope of my bared shoulders along the opening of my loosely gathered blouse. ‘Tommy Jon, he’s going to eat you up, cherie. I may have to sneak him into the trees to get my share tonight.’

  My face flushed with pleasure. From a distance came the twanging of a guitar and the sawing sing-song of a fiddle being tuned, and the spicy aromas of a Cajun buffet. Something inside me stirred, for tonight I wouldn’t be concerned about appearances, or saying the proper things to the proper people on my husband’s behalf. Tonight was just for me. To enjoy. To explore. To discover!

  We pulled up to the shoreline near a cabin on stilts, a simple structure with a sloped roof and a gallery porch. Monique had no more than set foot on land when a swarm of children rushed out to greet her.

  ‘Etienne! Marie-Claire! Et toi, ma jolie Ginette!’ Her voice rang out over their French chatter. ‘Miss Eve has come to dance and sing with us tonight. Make her welcome, mes petits.’

  Those three grinned at me — with that same openly curious gaze I’d first seen on Monique’s face — while more children rushed around the corner of the cabin. ‘Your nieces and nephews?’ I asked, squeezing the hands that reached for mine.

  ‘Oui, quite a flock of them. My brothers, they love their wives!’ She grabbed my hand, and we proceeded towards flatter ground, where long tables were covered with fragrant pots of food.

  ‘Maman! Everyone!’ she called out, ‘Miss Eve has joined us tonight. Make her welcome. Make her happy!’

  And how could I not be happy, among such smiling faces? Groups had already gathered around a bonfire and a barrel of beer, while others poured from pitchers of wine with slices of lemon and orange afloat in them. They looked up from their heaped plates, their joy contagious as they motioned me to the tables.

  I followed Monique to the serving line, listening intently as she spooned food on to her plate. ‘Crawfish étouffe…jambalaya…Maman’s special recipe for red beans with rice…mashed yams…’gator pie —’

  ‘What?’ I dropped the serving spoon as though a long set of toothy jaws had emerged from the bowl.

  Monique laughed, plopping a generous spoonful of the pie beside my dirty rice. ‘The ’gators that come ashore to check our chickens don’t make it back for seconds, if my nephews catch them at it. Eat or be eaten, ma tante. Or both, if you’re lucky.’

  Her eyes caught mine in a playful gaze, and I glanced around to see if anyone was watching us. The last thing I needed was to be involved in such word play — or the sex play it might lead to — among total strangers. I doubted it would get back to my husband, but still…

  My maid let her plate land on the table, to throw her arms around a man who’d apparently been waiting for her. He caught her up in an exuberant hug and then kissed her firmly, moving his mouth over hers with low moans that made my insides tighten. Standing there behind Monique, I could see every flutter of his closed eyes, every possessive shift of his lips as his hands splayed across her bottom. I didn’t know whether to turn away or to take notes on the most intimate, full-body kiss I’d ever beheld.

  When he finally let her slide down to the ground again, I was met with a gaze that made me wonder if I were next. ‘I didn’t mean to stare at —’

  ‘Yes, you did.’ His voice was as sultry as a Louisiana midnight. ‘You loved every minute of it. You were wishing Tommy Jon Beaumont would do you that way!’

  ‘All in good time, non?’ Monique laughed. ‘At least give Miss Eve a chance to eat before you stalk her like the wolf you are.’

  ‘Wolf’ did not half describe the lean, male face and the feral intent in dark eyes that penetrated my defences. I didn’t think wolves roamed this far south, but Tommy Jon’s gaze was changing all my previous, naive beliefs. It was a predatory hunger heating up his features, from the set of his square, shadowed jaw to the subtle shifting of lean hips in black pants a size too tight. That cock Monique had mentioned formed a blatant ridge along his fly, and I swore it throbbed as I tried not to watch it.

  ‘All right, I’ll give you ladies time to prepare yourselves,’ he said with a quirk of his thin lips. Dimples danced alongside his mouth, making him appear even more audacious as he ran his fingertip along the side of my face.

  I sucked air, mesmerised — although his bravado was for show, for Monique was clearly his lady of choice. And after another sensual kiss for her, he joined a group of men gathering on the cabin’s gallery with their instruments.

  We sat beside Monique’s mama, a sturdy woman with features her daughter would inherit over time, and sisters-in-law who chattered amiably in their rolling Cajun dialect. I took one bite of the fragrant food and attacked my meal as though I hadn’t eaten in weeks. So many spices and textures. Such a contrast to the formal fare Mrs Frike served up. I was soon doing the unspeakable by dragging a crust of bread through the last spicy drops of that alligator concoction, eating with the wild abandon of my companions.

  The band began to play then, with an older, nearly toothless fellow strumming a battered guitar while his friend chimed in on a fiddle. It moaned at first, and then got caught up in some catchy syncopated rhythms, duelling with the guitar. Then Tommy Jon picked up a concertina.

  ‘A squeezebox is the perfect instrument for my beau, non?’ Monique quipped. ‘In and out, in and out! He’ll make that thing wheeze like a bitch in heat.’

  Another man stepped up then, and when he began to sing, I sat in awe. He wailed in a high, clear tenor like a human siren, in a catchy cadence only a Cajun could master. The crowd clapped in time, nodding and singing along, letting his voice soar above theirs.

  I took a long draw on my wine punch and felt it tingle all the way down, felt the happy music swelling inside me until I laughed out loud and joined in the back-beat clapping. It was contagious, this harmony — this happiness borne of simple times and simpler means. I envied the love these Picabous shared, and decided to enjoy it while this magic moment lasted.

  As the moonlight spilled through the treetops, some of them jumped up to dance. The song now was a driven, spinning thing, where the men whirled their women so quickly it made me dizzy to watch them. Monique grabbed my hand.

  ‘But I don’t know how to —’

  ‘What’s to know?’ she called out above the music. ‘Let your body go, cherie. Here on the bayou, there is only the laughter and the song — the wine and the food.’

  She spun me around and let go, aiming me towards a young man who released his partner and caught me. The clearing was filled with couples and small groups of children, who danced in a ring, all of us riding high on a wave of sheer delight. Hand to hand I was passed along, sometimes grabbed around the waist and sometimes I twirled like a top in a clutch of women.

  More wine…more of that Cajun whine — lyrics I didn’t need to understand to love — and more of Tommy Jon’s suggestive squeezebox ringing out with the fiddle and guitar. Two of the older women took the children’s hands to lead them in a line that snaked towards the house. Bedtime, but how were they to sleep? The musicians paused to swill their beers, but showed no sign of letting up.

  And then the dancers began to peel off shirts wet with sweat and the colourful dresses that swirled above the ladies’ knees. I caught my breath, to be sure the wine punch wasn’t affecting my eyes. They were taking off their clothes! Along the edge of the trees, pants and skirts and underthings piled
up, and then the dancers filled the clearing again, answering the siren cry of the singer and the fiddle that vied for second place.

  Thank goodness they got so caught up in their dancing they didn’t press me to disrobe as well. It was one thing to show myself to Monique, but another thing entirely to cavort in the all-together among total strangers. I watched their glistening, moonlit bodies, trying not to stare at bobbing breasts and jiggling hips and coarse, dark hair curling around sex lips or emerging erections.

  ‘See anything you like, sugah?’

  I jumped when someone squeezed my shoulders, as that voice registered in my mind. ‘Dewel! You scared me half to —’

  ‘There’ll be nothin’ halfway about it, once I get you warmed up.’

  He turned me in his arms. His face was shadowed by the trees, but those eyes…sparks danced in them like the bonfire’s flames, which sent heat surging through me. ‘You look so free and easy in those clothes, Miss Eve. Even if you are overdressed.’

  ‘You’re fully clothed yourself, Mr Proffit,’ I replied, grasping at any straw to remain sane. His hands followed the tops of my shoulders, as though he might tug my blouse down over my breasts. ‘Do you always wait for this crowd to get carried away before you appear? Afraid the plantation master might dampen the night’s activities?’

  ‘I was dancin’ with these people before I was born,’ he replied, lowering his face so I could see every flicker of his lips by the firelight. ‘It didn’t matter that Mama carried me out of wedlock, nor did they think less of Daddy for it. Even if I hadn’t inherited Bayou Belle, I’d be welcome here.’

  I lowered my eyes, feeling stupid. ‘I stand corrected.’

  ‘Stand closer instead.’

  Dewel’s hand found my hip, pressing me against a body hot with animal desire. His mouth covered mine, driving away my protest, for I’d longed to feel this moment — this man — again, in something other than my dreams.

  I leaned into him, letting him fill me with his longing. His moan resonated in my throat and the kiss deepened, becoming more carnal. It was the wine, I told myself, for my rogue brother-in-law had nothing but trouble to give me, and I’d had enough of that. His lips burned into mine, parting them for a tongue thrust so disorienting I had to grab him to keep my balance.

  Dewel released my mouth with a savage sigh, running his lips down my neck to burrow into the top of my blouse. Did I let him claim my breast, or did it offer itself up? When his teeth teased my nipple, I came back to my senses.

  ‘Dewel — we mustn’t! I can’t give Chapin any more fuel for the…He saw us the other day!’

  He released my breast to look me in the eye. ‘Saw us what? Spyin’ on him?’

  ‘You, swatting me on the bottom. He must’ve come around the corner at just the wrong moment.’ My body throbbed, recalling my guilt. Or was it something else at work here — perhaps the ridge Dewel was rubbing against my front?

  ‘And what did we see him doin’, sugah?’ he drawled. His dark hair fell forward, casting a rakish shadow over a face alight with wicked intent. ‘You’ve done nothin’ wrong, Miss Eve. You’re still a wife faithful to her vows, and I’ll respect that — until you tell me not to.’

  It sounded like a foregone conclusion; only a matter of propriety cast to the wind. I clung to his muscled arms, shaking. I had nowhere to go, nor did I have the inclination to escape.

  Behind us, the music shifted into a mellower waltz, where the singer let the instruments woo us. Tommy Jon was stepping off the porch, too. He took the outstretched hand of his naked lover and they slipped into the trees.

  Dewel chuckled. ‘Ah, young love. Bodies rushin’ to fulfil their needs, only to create more. I want to dance with you, Eve, but you’ll have to be naked. Only skin-to-skin will do on a night like this.’

  He unbuttoned his shirt with efficient flicks of his fingers, never letting his gaze leave mine. White silk gave way to skin, dark and smooth in its mystery, more tantalising for the swirl of black hair on his muscular chest. His trousers drifted past his hips and by the time I realised he wore nothing under them, he’d stepped out of his boots too. Naked and unashamed — no, downright brazen — Dewel stood before me, ruler of all he surveyed.

  And he’d never stopped looking at me.

  He untied the ribbon in my peasant blouse, which he gently shoved past my shoulders. I didn’t try to stop him, for every thrum of my pulse told me it would do no good — and that I wanted what he was doing to me. I watched, spellbound, as the rest of my clothes drifted down my bared body into a puddle on the ground. When a couple dancing past us paused so the man could hoist his pretty partner, impaling her on his erection, Dewel grinned. His ravenous kiss left no doubt about what he intended to accomplish tonight.

  Then he moved us into the graceful sweep of that Cajun waltz. His steps were confident, accommodating my shorter strides and leaving me in no doubt about how to follow his lead. Few men were so easy to dance with the first time, and I found myself stepping closer, revelling in the heat of our bare bodies as we moved among the others yet remained in our own alluring little world. His skin ignited mine. He smelled like wine and desire, and a light sweat that intensified his musk.

  Yes, he was rock-hard, and when his cock brushed my bare midsection I closed my eyes against a surge of need. When had a man ever seduced me this way — in a naked crowd, all of us swaying like lovers about to fall on to a bed? I was vaguely aware of couples disappearing into the trees or simply sinking to the ground around the clearing, but Dewel danced until the last note floated away to blend with the gentle lapping of the bayou’s waters against the shoreline.

  Then, with a sorcerer’s grin, he guided me towards the woods. ‘Tell me what you see,’ he whispered, ‘and tell me what you want. What Chapin doesn’t know won’t hurt him.’

  When Dewel turned me to face away from him, hugging me against his hot, hard body, my eyes widened: on the ground, not fifteen feet away, my maid Monique lay with her legs and arms wrapped around Tommy Jon. They were humping so furiously they didn’t notice they had an audience — but then T-Jon raised up, as though to give us a better view.

  ‘Oh, my,’ I murmured, for his attributes were every bit as impressive as Monique had hinted.

  ‘Describe his cock.’ Dewel’s breath warmed my neck, in rhythm with Beaumont’s forceful strokes.

  ‘It’s so long and thick, I don’t see how she takes it all,’ I wheezed, aware of another erection prodding my back. When his hands came up under my breasts to cup them, I found myself thrusting forward, greedy for his touch. ‘Are they always that dark at the top?’

  ‘When a man’s aroused, sugah, he goes from pink to red to purple. Just imagine how her sweet little cunny must feel, gettin’ filled and then emptied. In and out, like a piston, he’s pumpin’ it.’

  My own cunny — for I could think of it that way now — burned with the same longing I heard in Monique’s moans. I clenched and became very wet. When Dewel moved one hand seductively down my stomach, I shuddered.

  ‘Part your legs, darlin’. I’ll give you a samplin’ of what you see — unless you want me to take you full-on.’

  I closed my eyes with the effort of refusing him, for his own tip was thick and insistent as it slipped between my thighs. ‘No, we’d better —’

  Two fingers eased through my curls, to find the folds that so needed their attention. ‘Now look how he’s anglin’ her ass on to his lap, so he can dive even deeper inside her.’

  ‘And when she puts her heels on his shoulders —’

  ‘Our young stud not only gets a fine view of her bouncin’ breasts, but he’s got a straight-on shot. I’m guessin’ he’ll explode any minute now.’

  Indeed, Tommy Jon was clasping his lady’s ankles and throwing back his head as he thrust in a desperate rhythm. Dewel, meanwhile, had slid his shaft into my outer wetness and was holding it against my slick slit, with his hand completing the sheath. He bent his knees behind mine, bumping forward, creating an
illicit friction…so close to sliding inside me that my slightest shifting would’ve captured him.

  The thought of that coupling, going at it like dogs in an alley, excited me beyond belief. Chapin had never…or at least not with me, he hadn’t.

  As though sensing this break in my concentration, Dewel rubbed against me with unmistakable need. ‘You’re drivin’ me crazy, Eve. I’ve wanted you for so long, sugah. No one would be the wiser if we —’

  Monique babbled in wild French, her body shaking crazily. It spurred Tommy Jon to climax too, and their bodies made wet, slapping sounds that had me reaching between my legs for Dewel’s cock. I held it between my palms, rocking my clit against it to reach that same sweet surge my maid had given me with her tongue…pressing frantically against the shaft that poked in and out beneath my springy hair.

  The sight of his purple tip, coupled with the bumping of his large, male body, carried me off the cliff. I doubled over with the first spasms, and Dewel slipped his fingers deep inside me until I gushed, mindless with the pleasure…oblivious to everything except the sensation of flight. When I looked down again, his seed was spewing from between my thighs, white and shiny in the moonlight. Two long spurts and then a third, and then he held me hard to catch his breath.

  Monique and T-Jon grinned and gave us a little wave. A few days ago I would’ve felt filthy, ashamed to show my face, yet this open sharing of passion gave me ideas about what might happen among the four of us at another time. Something in Beaumont’s expression as he stood and helped his lover up, and something in Dewel’s possessive kiss, told me I was branded now. A wanton — at least until I got caught at it.

  A sobering thought.

  ‘I’d better get home,’ I fretted, struggling in vain towards my clothes. When had the music stopped? When had the others disappeared into this night I would never forget?

  Dewel held me against himself, spreading my honey up my stomach. ‘And I’ll take you there, sugah, as soon as —’