Never: an erotic retelling of Peter Pan (46 page)

For his part, he appeared to enjoy the burden of caring for her and the anticipation of her needs.  He fed her by hand.  Soup at first, then small delicacies - bite-sized pieces of unidentified meat in an oystery sauce.  Protein to help her regain her strength, he said as he slid them into her mouth.

It frustrated her that the only physical contact he'd allow was with his hands, and she found herself increasingly lascivious with them, especially at mealtimes.  She'd lick his fingers and capture them with her mouth, sucking them if he'd let her, and all the while imagining what was happening to his body - the body she was denied.

But her body was not denied to him and within the boundaries he'd set himself, he gave her every pleasure she could imagine.  First it had been only his hands.  Then when he discovered she responded to the feel of his hair sliding over her trembling skin, that too was added to his repertoire.  A simple feather became the pathway to indescribable ecstasy, and when on the fourth day she felt his lips against her breast, she knew they were close to a breakthrough.

Yet she held herself still, wary of disrupting his concentration.  The culmination of his excruciatingly restrained courtship meant more to her now than merely another physical pleasure - a different orgasm.  It would be proof that he could no longer deny the connection between them.  

His gentle touch and soft voice were disguises for the conquering warrior she sensed within him, the man she wanted as her mate.  She'd felt it in the tremor of his hands and the strained edge his voice sometimes assumed. 

It could only be a matter of time before that fierce demand broke through, overwhelming her with its potency, and she would be ready then with her own passion.  She wanted no other.  Only this man.  And she'd not be satisfied with the mere capitulation of his body.  She wanted his heart and mind as well.

But she didn't let herself think on these strange longings as she lay still as death, allowing herself only the occasional sigh as his lips, soft as the feather that had preceded it, brushed over her quivering skin, his tongue emerging to savour the taste of first one tight nipple, then the other. 

His breath was hot on her throat as his lips trailed kisses up to her chin, then on to the edges of her mouth.  She held her breath as his lips brushed fully against hers.  Then she sighed, her breath easing into his mouth as it became one with hers in the deepest, most fulfilling kiss she could have imagined.  A kiss that made her forget the taste of every other man.  A kiss that spoke of love even as it inspired her to lust.                The moment had come. 

She reached up and removed the compress.

                                   
Chapter Twenty-Seven          

Deep inside a US warship cruising the Pacific, two men listened a male voice issuing from a bank of equipment against one wall.  The tender endearments sounded incongruous, given the gun-metal grey environment but neither man was embarrassed.  In fact, both were frowning.

Eventually one spoke.

"I told you he was too young for this, Max," the general said.  "Fresh out of Quantico -"

"He had to be young or he wouldn't have been hired," the other replied, holding a hand up for silence.

The general's frown deepened.  He listened for a moment longer then shook his head.  "The kid's got his brains in his dick.  He's going bad."

"I'm his control," the other man argued.  "Unless they burn him, he stays in." 

"And what if he goes over?"

"He won't."

"Jesus, Max.  It's his first field assignment.  You would've had trouble picking a pro for this.  The place is fantasy, fucking island.  It's covered in pussy.  He'll never get past it."

"Yes he will.  And the longer he's there, the better our chances of closing this deal."

The general shook his head and stood, shoving his chair back with a jarring scrape.  "If they burn him, you'll never get another one in," he warned.

"I know.  Don't worry, he'll nail it."

"He better," came the gruff reply, then the door slammed and Max Sark was alone.  He slumped in his chair and stared at the speaker. 

The kid was still sprouting mush interspersed with silences that reeked of sex, but Sark had no complaint with that.  Sex was part of the job.  It was the emotional gush that worried him.  He knew the kid wasn't that good an actor. 

He shook his head, too despondent even to be angry.  The general had been right, of course.  The kid was too young.  But they'd had no other choice.

Damn.  He closed his eyes.  They'd waited so long for this one.  They were so close.

"Come on, kid," he whispered, wishing their communication could be two-way.  "You're not a Champion.  You're a spook.  Fuck the girl and get on with the job." 

But would he?  Realistically?

Sark covered his eyes with a deceptively steady hand.  He suddenly felt old, a hundred years older than this kid who was about to blow five years of painstaking preparatory work on an emotion Sark didn't believed existed. 

"Fuck," he said again.

From this point on, all they could hope was that training and duty would ultimately over-ride libido.  Because if it didn't, Sark knew as sure as the general liked a little
poon-tang
on the side, that this kid's life wouldn't be worth the price of a bullet. 

On either side of the fence.

                                    
Chapter Twenty-Eight

"I have to go."  Long Shadow said for the fourth time, lifting his head.  Then he lowered it, his hands tangling in her hair, holding her still for his kiss.  Another long, deep, desperate kiss. 

Lying beneath him, Dee could feel the resurgence of his recently depleted erection.  She reached between their bodies to stroke it, encouraging its growth.  "But I want you to come," she teased, capturing his eyes, drinking the adoration that burned in them.  "I want you to live inside me like this forever," she said, and despite his anxious frown, she guided his solid flesh inside herself again, where it was slippery and still hot from their last coupling.

"I'm going to die like this," he sighed, bending his head to kiss her as his hips, naked and glistening from the exertion of their lovemaking, started to move against her. 

"So am I," she whispered against his lips.  "We can die together." 

He paused, his hands tightening in her hair.  "You're not going to die," he told her, and kissed her fiercely.

She kissed back, her fingernails biting into his firm buttocks, then spreading to stroke the skin in tiny conciliatory circles.  "Did that hurt?" she breathed.  "Will I kiss it better?"  She stretched, her hands dipping lower to stroke the insides of his thighs as her tongue slid wetly across the top of his chest.

He groaned, his hips moving with new urgency.

"I love your taste," she said, her tongue working its way back up to his throat.  "I love what it does to me." 

Her head fell back and she stared up into his eyes, the silky curtain of his hair enclosing them in an intimate world of their own.  A world where there was no 'outside', only the sound of their breaths, the taste of each other, and eyes.  Dee found if she gazed into his eyes as he made love to her, something built inside her.  Not just the orgasm that eventually shook her body.  But something else.  The thing that made her never want to let him go - that made her want to touch him all the time, to stroke his body, to run her fingers through his long hair and to hold him as she was now.     

Her hands moved up to his shoulders, her fingers testing the strength of the bunched muscles beneath his burnished skin.  "I love the way you feel," she said, still staring into his eyes.  "I love the feel of you inside me." 

His mouth lowered to touch hers but he didn't kiss her.  He was straining to hold back the orgasm she could feel cresting inside him.  But she wanted him to come - wanted his pleasure more than her own now.  It was tied in with the feeling.

Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she pulled him down onto herself, his broad chest rubbing against her breasts as she ground her pelvis up into him.  "Conquer me," she whispered into his hair.  "Make me your woman, Long Shadow."

"
Yes.
"  His back arched, and with a final satisfying thrust, he filled her with the very stuff of life itself.  And she clung to him, with her hands, her thighs, revelling in the feel of it pulsing into her.  Exhausted, he slumped against her, his lips at her throat.

It should have been a joyous moment, an acceptance of the ultimate gift of his love, but for the first time she felt a pang of sadness intrude on their lovemaking.

This precious seed - genetic template for the beautiful man who lay in her arms, was wasted in her barren womb.  She could give him her body but she could never give him a child, and in a flash of insight she understood this feeling that had grown in her with the touching, the caring, and the longing. 

A tightness constricted her throat and when he raised his head to kiss her goodbye she could only manage a wavering smile.