Chapter Fifteen

The wind blew in erratic gusts. I felt each gust as a caress of Navarre’s hand, the touch of his lips upon my cheek. I swore that I could almost feel the trembling of the earth beneath my feet. And still I waited, until with each sensation a tiny bit of fear followed right behind. I was nervous. If only I had turned the page of the ancient book, I would already know what was about to happen to me. And what would be revealed when the blindfold was removed.

If only Navarre would hurry. I would feel his touch and be reassured.

My skin grew chilled with the morning dew. Blind as I was I only knew the sun was rising when I felt the warmth of it tickling my skin. Doubt crept over me. Was I naive? Was I so foolish and needful that I had fallen into some sort of deception? Far away I heard the seagulls calling, laughing at me.

A razor-sharp fear sliced through me. I pulled on the rope with all my weight. I tried to fall to my knees, to yank the rope free, but it was useless. I found myself tossing about like a bound animal, wild and heedless of injury. My senses were so highly wrought that I magnified every one. The wind became painful.

The ground…the ground…moving. The motion was slight, but I felt it more powerfully than a thousand earthquakes. I stilled, paying close attention to the strange sensation. It was so different that I focused my whole being on trying to understand what was happening around me.

The movement rushed up from beneath me again. A rumbling like an approaching thunderstorm that originated from beneath the very earth. A great cracking noise sounded out. I turned in time to see the northernmost standing stone of the circle crack in half and topple to the ground. I felt an ominous sense of foreboding.

Then I felt it. His presence. Navarre.

My body went completely still but my heart took flight. I peeked beneath the edge of my blindfold. Only pinkish-gray light colored the sand. But I knew. I knew.

“Navarre.”

He touched me then. His strong, warm hand lifted my chin. Then his lips over mine, claiming me. Owning me. My arms pulled at their bindings. I was awash in pain. In pleasure. He traced a finger along my painted body. I felt the searing outline of his touch over the rays.

“See nothing,” he said. “Only feel.”

His hand was now at the base of my neck, grabbing me. He pulled me closer and roughly kissed me. The stubble on chin rubbed my skin. I felt his strong hands behind my head, and gave in to it, loving the feeling.

He was demanding, entirely male.

His hand behind my head held me perfectly still, he slid his mouth lower, settling on my nipple. He bit and sucked and rolled it in his mouth. I couldn’t move at all, his hand a vice on my neck thrusting me forward. I endured the exquisite agony.

He rose and kissed my lips again, deceptively gentle. He grabbed me by the waist, pressed his hardness against me, and then rolled my figure from side to side. Both of his hands dropped from my hip bones suddenly, slid around my backside and grabbed my cheeks. He shamelessly spread them, sliding one hand between my legs until he encountered my wetness.

I moaned and tried to wrap my legs around him. To climb him and draw him inside me. I entwined my legs around him only to have him roughly rip them apart. He then dropped to his knees and put his mouth upon my wetness.

Wet. All round me I was wet. I could feel myself swelling beneath his tongue. Opening to him, needing him. I moaned and begged him to please end my suffering. But he only dragged it on by slipping a finger inside me, and pushing it in and out. Swirling always with his tongue.

I had enough. “Now, Navarre, now,” I said.

He stood. Lifted me, held me aloft at the hips by my buttocks. I wrapped my legs greedily around him.

He stepped backward denying me yet again. It was enough to pull my arms taught and deny me what I wanted. I responded, clamping my legs tighter, bringing him back to the heart of me. He kissed me deeply. I tried to pull myself back onto him; my body was painfully stretched, my arms tight, hands swelling beneath the rope.

He was ruthless. Sliding his hard cock against the most sensitive part of me and then pulling it away. Giving pleasure. Denying it. Never entering me. It was a wicked dance that he alone controlled and brought me right to the edge. Where the mere touch of him threatened to release waves of pleasure over me.

“Now. Now. Now.” I repeated over and over. “Now, Navarre, now.”

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“I’m ready.”

With a tug of his hand the blackness, the blindfold, was torn away. I could see. I saw the sleepy dark ocean. The pink morning sky. And the blue afternoon eyes of Navarre as he lifted the knife above my head. Then with a flash of silver he brought it down, slicing the rope. I was freed and fell toward Navarre, impaling myself upon him.

Tight. Sharp. Both of us breathing.

I will always remember that moment. When first pain and first pleasure mixed. I had to choose one sensation to focus on and I chose pleasure.

I moved. He slid slick and tight farther inside me, until I swallowed all of him. And thus we began. I put my hands on his shoulders and moved as I wanted. He wound his arms around me. Kissed me. I was too wild, pushing and riding him. We fell to the sand and without separating our bodies he thrust inside me. I closed my eyes again, losing myself to the sensations. My body accommodated him tightly, perfectly, and I moaned in pleasure as his thrusts grew faster and faster until finally with a roar, he stilled.