Enthralled: The Sex Goddess (6 page)

Jane’s legs jolted free, and the next thing she knew, he flipped her roughly onto her belly in a swirl of hair. Her arms were tangled, her curls caught painfully beneath her, and the bonds loosened the positioning of her wrists so she could see the dirt floor just below her, while the rest of her vision was obscured by the rest of her hair. Her breasts dangled just over the edge of the altar, swaying and bouncing with his forceful movements.

With rough hands, he shoved her into place, spreading her legs so that her quim rested snugly against the flat surface. She throbbed against it, somehow her arousal even more pronounced when smashed against the altar. His moans of frustration were mingled with gasps of air and curse words that could only have come from his days with the British Army.

Grasping her hips, he pushed and rubbed his flaccid cock against her, sliding it along the crack of her arse. Jane shifted, stifling a groan as she was pressed into the table, trying to grin her needy, swollen pip onto the surface. She could hardly breathe from behind the thick curtain of hair that fell over her face, tickling her skin.

Just then, a loud noise came from outside. Jane heard shouts, and the hut walls shook as someone slammed into them—or, more likely, the door. Hazy with confusion and arousal, Jane tried to look through her hair toward the entrance as Cold Eyes sprang away from her as if burned.

He shouted something in his native language, and Jane recognized apprehension and something akin to mortification in his tones. Then he added something angrier, stronger, and she felt the air swirl as he went to the door—which sounded as if it were shuddering and bowing in its place.

The door opened—whether by Cold Eyes or not, she couldn’t tell—and more men came in. They were angry, accusing, and the group of them descended into an argument. She couldn’t tell precisely what they were saying, but she got the impression that Cold Eyes, though he was tribal leader, had somehow overstepped his bounds—and he, in turn, was desperate for the others not to know of his deficiency.

For it had become clear to Jane why he, in particular, was in such need of a fertility—or in his case, sex—goddess.

Whatever they were arguing about seemed to be resolved quickly, for the voices settled into more civil tones. The air in the hut moved; she couldn’t see any of them, or tell what they were doing, but it seemed as if some or all of them were leaving.
Leaving!

And there she was: belly-first on the altar, her full, needy quim rosy and bare, her full breasts dangling, her arms and legs trussed too tightly for her to move to a comfortable position. She couldn’t see anything but the floor directly below her, and although until now she’d been silent, Jane wasn’t certain if they meant to leave her like this…and whether she dared chance drawing attention back to herself.

But who could ignore the image she must make?

The door closed and the bit of fresh air that had been wafting in ceased.
They’d left her!

Before she could decide whether to cry out or try to free herself, the door opened again. A pair of large, dark-skinned feet came into view beneath her face. Whoever he was, he didn’t speak. Instead, he moved to the side of the altar. An arm slid around her torso, gathering her breasts up into an embrace, mashing them back up against her chest. His hand cupped her far breast, gently sliding over the taut nipple there. He pinched gently, rolling the jutting tip between his fingers. Jane shifted, her breath quickening as he fondled her, and then abruptly, she felt something probing her slick, swollen quim.

A finger. Jane froze, holding her breath, as he slipped a finger around her opening…and when he slid it home, all the way in, she couldn’t control a gasp and a little pulse around him. Pleasure sang through her veins, centering and circling down to the full, wet center that hugged his finger. He slid it slowly out then back in again, and Jane quivered, shifting against the altar in an attempt to angle him deeper.

Tight with arousal, she clamped herself around the finger, and whimpered when he withdrew, aching for more…then gasped when two fingers slid in, and then three…

Tears ran from her eyes as he filled her with those three digits, sliding them in and out, faster and faster. Jane moaned and shifted, her quim dripping and swollen. The sounds of slick suction and the scent of musky juices filled the air, mixing with his rasping breathing and her own panting sighs.

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

Her body tightened, swelled, and then suddenly exploded. Jane cried out in relief as the hard-fought orgasm surged through her. His fingers continued to move, slipping wildly in and out of her tight sheath as she shuddered and trembled against the table, coming in one long, undulating ride of pleasure.

At last, he withdrew completely and released her breasts. Jane sagged, gasping, her body still pulsing in slow, dull waves. Her pip was big and full, pressed against the firm surface, still throbbing weakly as those large feet came back into view.

With quick movements, he loosened her ties, flipping Jane onto her back slightly more gently than Cold Eyes had done. She was still bound, but loosely, and her legs remained spread as he faced her. Her breath caught, for she was sure he meant to fuck her now. Her body drew up in anticipation once again.

Panting, Jane looked up to see Devilish Grin, gazing down at her with an expression filled with heat and something like mischief. His erection made a huge bulge beneath his loincloth, and when her eyes went there, he flipped the fabric aside. His rod sprang free. It was the largest, darkest, thickest cock she’d ever seen.

“
Oh
!” Jane snatched in her breath, her quim surging hot and wet in expectation. But Devilish Grin merely raised his glistening hand—the one that had slid up inside her—and, eyeing her with a hot, heavy expression, he eased one finger into his mouth. She shivered as he sucked on it, watching as his cock quivered, a drop glistening on the end of its massive length. Jane could hardly swallow. She suddenly wanted nothing more than that huge cock inside her.

He finished the first finger, then slid in the second one between his full, red lips, sucking on it, swirling his thick, red tongue around it as Jane watched, lightheaded and needy once again. She panted in short little breaths, damp and hot everywhere, as he licked all of her juices from each finger while that tempting cock teased her…just out of reach.

And then, his expression filling with bold promise, Devilish Grin bent forward to press his face into her quim. Jane nearly shot off the altar at the light, teasing touch of tongue…just at the tip of her little bud.

Shockwaves jolted through her, and her sensitive little pip pulsed with erotic pain…and then he stepped back…stepped
away
…and left her alone.

Hot, wet, and swollen.

— V—

Zaren lifted his face
and sniffed the air again.

Yes, that was it—the scent he recognized. A surge of hope leapt in him as he quickly climbed lower to the ground, disturbing a group of palm-sized orange birds as he descended the thick trunk of a tree.

For a day, he’d been following the trail—the scent, the footprints, the movements—from the nest where Jane and her friends lived, but then it was gone. A small river cut through the jungle near the area he lost the trail, and Zaren knew she must have gone somewhere in a boat. What disturbed him the most, however, was the clear signs of struggle that were left in the area. At least six men had been there, and Jane and her mate as well.

Gad and Darling were right: something bad had happened to Jane.

After losing the trail late before sundown, Zaren searched frantically through the night, taking only an hour of rest on two different occasions. He traced the jungle along the length of the river in search of some sign, some lingering smell that would tell him where she’d been taken. And finally, just now, he’d at last found something: a familiar smell.

Not the one he’d hoped for, but at least he had found something.

The scent grew stronger as he drew nearer the base of the massive tree, his strong feet curling around the uneven segments of bark that acted as steps.

It wasn’t Jane’s scent that he followed, but that of the man. Jonathan was his name.

Zaren knew if he found Jonathan, he would find Jane.

A rustle in the jungle below had him pausing to listen. It was a two-legged creature, making an awkward, fumbling noise. A man with little skill at moving throughout the jungle.

Curling his lips in a determined, feral smile, Zaren launched himself to another tree, catching a thick vine in the process. He swung silently and smoothly from branch to branch toward the sound, avoiding a massive brown spider that he knew had a dangerous bite and the particular bulbous green growth on a branch that would turn his skin red.

Zaren saw the thick greenery moving below, and with one last swoop, he landed in a branch above the man, then dropped neatly to the ground in front of him.

Jonathan staggered back in surprise, his eyes wide and arm upraised to shield himself. But once he recovered from the obvious shock, he straightened and whipped out something sharp and silver. Half crouching in front of Zaren, the pale-skinned man gave off the stink of fear mingled with determination. He waved the weapon in front of him and said, “Get back!”

“Where is Jane?” Zaren demanded. He’d practiced saying those words to himself, over and over, and now he spoke them with more confidence than he’d spoken any words as long as he could remember. “
Where is Jane
?”

“Who the bloody hell are you?” Jonathan replied, still brandishing his weapon.
Knife
, Zaren reminded himself.
Knife.

“
Jane.
Where is Jane?” Zaren said again, eyeing the blade while keeping watch for any tension on the other man’s feet and body. Jonathan appeared skilled with his weapon, and Zaren remained on guard, as he would be when facing any wild animal. He would not underestimate this creature any more than he would a hungry lion or a coiled snake.

“Jane’s gone,” Jonathan said, but Zaren didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered oh-so slightly in the direction of tonight’s moonrise. “I don’t know where she is.”

Liar. The weak man in front of him spoke nothing but falsehoods, and Zaren read him as easily as Jane had read his picture book. Fury filled him, dark and quick, and his hand shot out with the speed of a snake’s strike. He had Jonathan’s wrist in his fingers in a trice, the knife falling harmlessly to the ground.

“
Where is Jane
?” he said again. This time, Zaren punctuated his demand by whipping Jonathan around by the arm, slamming him into a tree.

This knocked the breath out of the other man, but Zaren had no sympathy. He kicked the blade into the thick brush as Jonathan squealed, “My knife! I need my knife!”

“Tell me…where is Jane?”

“She’s…she’s…they have her. I was going to send for help when I got back. I was going to get Darkdale, and we were going to bring help.” Jonathan’s eyes were wide and pleading. “They made me leave. They have her.”

Zaren dredged the word from deep in his memory, from some long-lost time: “Bastard.” He tightened his hand around the man’s throat. “Where?”

“That way.” Jonathan pointed, then babbled out more information. His words were too fast and ran into each other as if they too were terrified—but Zaren only needed the direction. Now he could follow the trail the white-skinned, cowardly man had made when he left behind his mate.

Jane. Zaren would
never
leave Jane.

He would die before he abandoned her.

The very thought made his vision burn red and dark as he looked down at the cringing man before him. “You leave Jane,” he growled. “You
leave
her.”

“No, no, they made me go, they sent me away. They won’t hurt her.”

Zaren had heard enough. With a roar, he flung the insulting weakling of a man away, tossing him into the brush with a great heave.

And then, without another thought for the man who’d left Jane, Zaren leapt up into the lowest branch of a tree and went to find her.