Page 95 of Dare
I gripped my cock harder, flung my hips faster. Wrathful, I vaulted my ass forward, jutting my cock into my fist.
I envisioned skewering that lover with a pronged blade and shearing them in half. I fantasized about Flare reaching for me instead. Her head slumped back, her mouth open, sounds only I could hear pouring from her lips. I imagined her arching in my medical chamber, with her limbs splayed around my flexing waist, sharing a new type of madness with me.
Fluid rushed up the length my cock and pushed into the head. My sac heated. My vertebrae tingled. I slung my dick until the pressure hit its breaking point and then tensed, my body so tight it might crack in half. Then I licked my lips, tasting the residue of her climax. Then I replayed the cacophony of her orgasm. Then I recalled those hands on me, that mouth yearning for my own.
With a violent shudder, my cock spasmed. I mashed my lips, blocking out the ragged groans that tore from my chest. I came hard and long, oblivion wracking me to the bone. Hot jets of cum spurted down my knuckles as I bobbed my hand, drawing out the final drops.
Not mine. She would never be mine.
My greatest error? Her name on my lips.
“Flare,” I rasped into the forest.
***
Instead of mending the chasm between us, time enhanced it. I could be standing a thousand leagues from Flare, and she would still dominate my thoughts. I could be standing even farther away, and my cock would still twitch at the briefest thought of her. To cope, we relied on buffers.
Work. Progress. Industry.
Cloistered in the medical chamber, I struggled to keep my mind off Flare’s thighs straddling my head and her cries of pleasure. An impending migraine brewed as I surveyed the botanicals and other natural resources I’d been cultivating. The blue fig I’d eaten with Flare—back when she’d restrained me on the beach—alleviated pain when combined with the juice of a chameleon leaf.
The mangoes also obtained by Flare—when she had cracked her ribs—decreased fever and nausea if boiled into a tea.
The sour-sweet flesh of recognizable guavas assisted with digestion.
The pulp of plantain stems treated abrasions.
The leaves I’d discovered on that first day exploring the ruins did well for infections.
Yet other cures had to exist, advantageous against sicknesses in The Dark Seasons. Though, such restoratives would never circulate if I remained here.
Prior to the night I had panicked, the reality of this place had already been haunting me. My disappearance could have had drastic effects on my parents. Either they believed me dead, or they were dead themselves.
The plausibility blunted my concentration. I strode to the opposite wall that had once housed a series of windows but now only brandished columns. Overlooking the rainforest, I gripped the pillars on either side, fighting to steady my respirations.
They were alive. They must be.
As were my grandaunts. Though, Silvia and Doria must have been forced to consider a new successor by now. I detested that notion, however imperative. I would not desert Winter without vetting my substitute. I wouldn’t leave the court vulnerable to an alternate heir—a sloppy ruler like Rhys, who exercised about as much restraint as a brutish lion and might disregard the people’s welfare.
The prospect set my jaw. Naturally, my grandaunts would not appoint someone like that. I’d do well not to underestimate their judgment.
Nonetheless. How quickly the mind overtook rationality. How powerfully the amygdala seized control of one’s faculties. If I dwelled, I would resort to hysteria. If the rainforest were compassionate, it would provide me with an ingredient for sedation.
Anything to keep from reaching for the safety of Flare’s arms again.
***
After the siren shark, I avoided the grotto. Although I did not say why I’d chosen an alternative cave pool in which to wash, I insisted Flare do the same. Because this woman was not obtuse, she guessed why and made no argument. Not even when I kept watch as she bathed.
While disrobing one morning, her shoulder strap dropped low. Like a tease, the material flashed the arc of a nipple, reawakening the memory of that disk quivering between my lips.
I swerved away, my life dependent on this motion. Narrowing my eyes, I scanned the pool’s depth, searching for a striped dorsal fin despite this being a different water source. No matter what, the creature would not get near her.
The whole time, my pulse hammered. But I could not say whether the palpitations escalated because of the shark, the flash of naked limbs in my periphery, or the deafening sound of Flare splashing naked into the deep.
***
When Flare rode that jaguar across the bridge to the ruins, the sight had drained my lungs. Fear came first. Protectiveness next, until I witnessed how the animal moved loyally beneath her.