Orfeo (3 page)

The music had stopped, and Ardyce—her hands still positioned on her flesh which seemed to her eyes to glow very faintly in the night air, as though phosphorescent with its own lust—strained to hear any further sound. Her moans transformed into a groan of disappointment as she wondered if he had gone already, if this was merely a prelude to more bitter failures.

She did not know how long she lay like this, her head raised slightly from the pillow, the muscles of her neck and shoulders strained with tension. Before her head could fall backwards, however, she caught another sound, a rustle beneath her window.

Then he appeared at the open frame, his head and shoulders silhouetted as a darker shadow against the blue-black sky, blocking the faint stars that shone in their constellations. For a second she felt fear: what was she doing? Why on earth was she letting a complete stranger come to her like this? But he was not a stranger. Though she may only have heard his song for the first time barely a month before, she felt that in those words were lifetimes of recognition, and in her fear was a desire.

She did not lift herself up from the bed but instead let her head sink back into the downy softness of the pillow, allowing it to embrace her as a premonition of harder embraces to come. His strong arms pulled him up onto the sill of her window and the panes of glass flashed with light from the sky as they swung back and forth. She had not moved her eyes from his face and body as he climbed up, and now she was able to dimly perceive details: a flash of pearl from eyes and teeth, a faint ripple of cotton as his shirt moved across his muscled body. As his leg descended to the floor of her bedroom she realized that her own hand still lay between her thighs and, for a second, she was convulsed with a pleasure that made her hips buck upwards.

His guitar had been strapped to his back and, when he stood by the window
—fully in her chamber now—he removed the instrument and laid it beside the sill. His smile was clear, his teeth illuminated by starlight and silver.

“Your song,” she said. “It was beautiful.”

“It was
your
song,” he told her. With a slight shock, she realized that this was the first time that she had heard him speak: when talking, his voice was as deep as when he sang and it rolled through her body with a thrill. “Your words. I was simply the vessel for them. When I sang, it was your voice singing through me.”

“And are you the moon?”

He nodded at this, and for a moment she glanced across his shoulder toward the bright disc in the sky.

“But it’s silvery white, and you’re so dark.”

His grin broadened and, as he moved slowly toward the bed, he placed his hands on the edge of his shirt, lifting it above his head with one swift motion so that she could truly appreciate his dark skin, his muscles moving across his chest and arms, the flat tessellations of his stomach. She almost whimpered at the sight of him and wondered how she appeared to him, naked and pale on the bed, her legs spread a little, her breasts swelling and nipples as flushed and pink as her cheeks, mouth parted slightly as she breathed.

“When I descend to earth, so I drop my silver cloak and assume my proper shape.” As he spoke he knelt on the bed, close to her now. She let one hand move toward him, gripping the edge of his jeans, the fabric so coarse and thick compared to his sweet, sweet words. The wetness between her thighs was becoming almost unendurable.

“And what is... your proper shape?” She almost couldn’t speak, her breathing choking in her throat as a climax began to rise inside her.

“A black ram, come to tup this white ewe.” His eyes glittered fiercely as he bent toward her, and she could smell the musk of his body, a perfume as bold and rich as his voice, invisibly caressing her as he placed his lips softly on her neck. That single touch made her cum, a soft ripple between her legs which she squeezed together about her fingers, holding in the sensations of sweetest ecstasy.

He did not rush her, and as her other hand moved from her breasts to his neck, holding him tightly to her, he simply let his lips drink up her scent, his nostrils breathing her in as his mouth kissed and caressed her neck. And when that orgasm, brief and delicate, subsided it was she who became greedy, her mouth wet as she opened her lips, sucking his tongue into her, biting it less than gently and grabbing him with both hands, feeling the warm perspiration of his body as she pulled him onto her.

Her legs were open and she was breathing heavily as he kissed her again and again, pressing his mouth like the softest bruises on her lips, her neck, her shoulders, lifting himself up so that he could dip his head down to her breasts. The pale skin of her bosom looked so tender, so fragile in his strong, black fingers. When he kissed her nipples, taking first one and then the other in his mouth, gently holding them between his teeth and flicking his tongue across them, she felt herself flowering in desperation, unable to stop herself striking him across his back with her small fists.

“Fuck me,” she moaned. “Please... fuck me.”

His face tilted up toward her and his smile flashed silver, his eyes wide and white as glowing pearl set with blackest jet. He said nothing, however, but simply lifted his body up, almost making her scream in despair.

“Didn’t you hear me?” she said, kicking out at him as he pulled backwards, lashing out with her legs. “Fuck me!”

As she tried to strike him, careless now as to whether she hurt him, he easily caught her delicate ankles. For a moment she felt a pressure that was almost painful as his hands wrapped around bone and skin, then he yanked her legs apart and, more gently now, placed her feet across his shoulders.

He moved those shoulders down so that her legs folded back upon themselves, her thighs tensing like pistons and the toes of her feet stretching in anticipation. Reaching forward with both her hands, she took hold of his short, thick locks between her fingers, digging her nails into his scalp, forcing him down toward the luscious prize that awaited him—though never was Orfeo more willingly forced toward his desire.

As his lips came into contact with her, she began to moan and once more convulsions bucked through her hips. His own hands gripped her waist as tightly as she held onto him, and if he had kissed her so softly on her mouth above he was less merciful this time with that down below. Instead he pushed his tongue deeply into her, licking up her wetness, savoring her salty sweetness, burying his face into her and entering her so deeply that she almost screamed, her bellow at last becoming a deep and desperate groan.

Now that he had demonstrated how easily he could command her, how helpless she was beneath him, he moved more softly on her, taking the bud of her clitoris into his mouth and suckling it so that tingles rippled through her mons veneris and the pit of her stomach. Her cries became staccato gasps, a syncopation more erotic than any drum beat that had slid across the harmonies of his songs earlier that night. In response to this music, she closed her thighs even more tightly about his head, almost suffocating him as she lifted her buttocks from the sheets, allowing him once more to finger and lick her more deeply.

His lips were slick with her and she flooded him, releasing all her desires with an energy she had never known before. Only one hand gripped him now, the other flailing along the bed, clawing at the sheets as she ground herself into his face, gasping while he took her. At last her climax subsided and, as her thighs softened and parted, he pulled away. She could see her own juices glistening on his mouth and chin as he pulled himself up, and his smile was wild, his eyes flashing as he looked down at her.

And when his hands moved down to his trousers and began to unbuckle them, when she saw what was contained behind the fabric, she began to tremble uncontrollably.

“Oh god,” she whispered. “Oh, please, dear god... have mercy.”

Letting the fabric slide across his muscular buttocks and lowering himself forward so that he was arched between her open legs, the heavy weight of his length levitating softly across her mound, he brought his mouth close to her face and said in a low, deep voice: “No. No mercy.”

She lifted her hand at this, threw it around his neck and dragged his mouth onto hers. She could smell her own perfume, primal and redolent, on his lips, tasted herself on his tongue as she sucked him into her. With her other hand she reached between her legs, felt the hot, thick surge of blood as she squeezed his cock with her fingers, drew him toward her.

“Oh god, oh gods!” she moaned repeatedly as he began to penetrate her—a simple, pagan blasphemy, a hymn to spirits who had lived in the swamps and rivers of Louisiana long before any man had ventured there. She felt herself stretching, splitting almost, as the girth of him nailed her to the bed, helpless, and his strong, powerful arms pinned her down. She could no longer fight even had she so desired.

He raised himself up on his arms, glaring down at her with eyes full of lust. His hips bucked and swayed, buttocks rising and falling as he plowed into her. At first an inch, and then another entered her. Her thighs convulsed at this and she thought she could take no more—but more there was. He was relentless, unforgiving, knowing only that she needed and deserved more pleasure yet than he had given her: he would show her no mercy because mercy was not what she needed that night.

At last he was completely inside her and Ardyce groaned loudly, her hands grappling across the broad swathes of his back, pulling him closer to her as her legs slid across his buttocks and his thighs, locking him in a tight embrace that refused to let him go. She could feel the neck of her womb swelling around the tip of him, and had it not been for the river between her legs she would have been unable to accommodate him inside her. This time, however, all her pain became pleasure and she gripped him strongly as he moved rhythmically, each thrust causing another gasp, her eyes screwed up tightly as she moved closer toward her orgasm.

He said nothing, but she could feel the intensity of his body as he controlled himself, refusing to allow his own climax to rise too quickly while he mastered her body. Sweat formed on his face and across his shoulders in the hot, humid air, drops of it falling like liquor into her mouth and across her neck. Her own body was slick with perspiration as she relentlessly clawed his back, crying out as she came again and again.

But even this was nothing when she felt that huge cock twitching and growing inside her, making her eyes open even wider as she couldn’t believe that such a thing was possible. The length of him seemed to ripple and pulse while flashes of light passed before her eyes. Her ears were full of a terrible roaring, as though a storm was raging inside her head, and finally she screamed, unable to take any more as he filled her with his own joys.

She lost count of her own orgasms that night, of the number of times he mounted her, took her pitilessly,
reveling in her whimpers and cries for a mercy that she never desired. When sleep came at last, she sank down beside him and finally found a blissful benevolence in the dark. She only wakened when the sun had risen high above the fields, marshes and waters of the Blind Lagoon.

Orfeo and his guitar were gone.

When Baptiste came to visit her, Ardyce was sitting in her orangery enjoying the sunlight as it shone through the glass panes over her head. She was dressed in an embroidered silk
ao dai
, the yellow jacket pulled negligently across her chest, its long skirts flowing over the flared pantaloons as she crossed one of her slender legs over the other.

The air in the room was humid, with tall, lush-colored Siam banana trees and gigantic ferns casting their dappled shadows across the room. Removing his hat and wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, Baptiste smiled at her warmly and gestured to the sun blazing overhead. “Another fine day in paradise,” he remarked ironically.

“Is it ever any other way?” Ardyce asked, lifting herself on those elegant legs and reaching up with a hand to his cheek, bending him slightly so that she could kiss him. Her eyes sparkled as she did so and, when she returned to her chair and Baptiste seated himself across from her, he could not help but remark: “Yet this one seems particularly fine.”

She smiled at this, her copper-red hair shining brilliantly in the sun as she moved her head, but she did not respond immediately. Instead, she took the hem of her delicately patterned coat and rubbed it softly between her fingertip and thumb, enjoying the sensation of the smooth fabric.

“Do you like my
ao dai
? I bought it from some Vietnamese woman in Algiers. I suspect it was intended for her daughter and at first she tried to convince me it wouldn’t fit but I knew otherwise. As soon as I saw it I had to possess it.”

Baptiste smiled at this. “Thus it ever was. And yes, I do like it. You look... radiant in it. For some reason, however, I suspect your radiance today has less to do with a pretty outfit.” Leaning back in his chair he watched her with amused eyes.

Lifting one of her bare feet into the chair beside her thigh, even Baptiste could not resist her charms for a moment. The arch of her foot was so small and delightful, like her slender torso half-hidden, half-revealed by the silk jacket pulled across it, that part of him wanted to kiss her. He shook his head at this and put the aberration down to the fact that these Vietnamese clothes made her look more boyish than usual. When he looked at her face he saw that she was smiling at him while she teased one of her auburn locks and dangled it against her lips.