Enthralled: The Sex Goddess (2 page)

A loud roar erupted from the audience as Cold Eyes gestured to her as if to say,
Behold! See what I have for you!

He fixed her with that cold, arrogant look and approached, standing directly in front of her as Guard One and Devilish Grin flanked her on either side. Jane tensed, trying to keep her expression calm and empty as he covered her breasts with his hands, molding and stroking them roughly. Then he slid them down to her pussy, plunging both sets of fingers into her thatch of hair and stroking over her full, moist quim. Jane couldn’t remain still, and she twisted and tried to shift away from those thrusting fingers—but she was helpless, for each of her guards held one of the vertical poles in position.

At last, with a sound of triumph, Cold Eyes withdrew his hands. The tips of his fingers glistened in the bright sun. He made a great show of smelling them, his eyes widening and his smile turning feral as he turned back to his audience and displayed them, slick with her juices, as if he’d acquired some great trophy.

Another roar came from his people, and then with a curt nod and a short, abrupt command, Cold Eyes gestured to Jane’s guards.

All at once, she was lifted from the ground as the two men hoisted her up by the vertical poles. Jane stifled a startled shriek as she was raised aloft.

Her strong two guards held each pole just below the midpoint, which put her feet at the height of their shoulders. With careful steps, they made their way down from the dais amid the roars and whistles of the audience, and as Jane hung there helpless, they began to make their way through the cluster of people.

Hands reached for her, grabbing at her ankles and legs as the tribal members began to chant and sing. They clustered about, making it difficult for the guards to navigate through the crowd.

Jane closed her eyes and tried to be thankful no one could touch her—though it wasn’t for lack of trying. Her perch swayed and dipped as members of the audience jumped up or bumped into her captors.

When her guards stopped moving, Jane opened her eyes to see them in the midst of the group. Cold Eyes stood on the dais just in front of them, and with a broad smile, he made a sharp gesture.

All at once, Jane was falling, face forward. She couldn’t stifle the scream, and closed her eyes as she plummeted toward the ground, her limbs imprisoned, helpless to catch her fall. Then she abruptly stopped in midair, jolting from the ties at her wrists and ankles. When she opened her eyes, she found herself face to face with a myriad of people, looking up at her.

They had hot, dark, avid eyes, and they were less than an arm’s length away…and she was suspended above them, just above their heads like a bird on a spit above the fire of the crowd. Her guards still held the poles above their heads, but now she was turned facedown as they paraded her through the crowd.

Her thick hair fell like a heavy curtain on either side, and the natives reached up to touch it, pet it, pull on it, brush it, smell it. Her breasts dangled just above their heads, but the hands could reach. They were grasping, pinching, slapping hands that touched her there, brushing her nipples and belly, and roved along her legs and hips and into the hot, musky hair at her quim.

Jane closed her eyes, for she couldn’t bear to watch the desperate hope and lust in the faces as she was paraded over them. The chants grew stronger, undulating through the crowd, now followed by the dull, incessant beating of a drum. She tried to ignore the touching, petting, and stroking, but there were so many hands…so many of them…she couldn’t block it all out. As hot fingers touched her, the sun blazed over her from above, cooking her buttocks and baking her along the length of her spine. Her wrists and ankles ached from the suspension, and her muscles strained and trembled as she hung in a gentle bow over the ground.

Jonathan
. Where was he? Could he do nothing to help her?

What would they do to her now?

Her bold thoughts of strength and power slipped away as she realized just how helpless she was, goddess or no goddess. She had to talk to Jonathan. At least he could communicate with the tribal members.

And so why wasn’t he trying to save her?

— II—

Zaren perched on a huge
tree branch, surrounded by heavy foliage and hanging vines. A thick green snake slithered down the trunk next to him, and he politely moved so the creature could make its way toward its prey: the fist-sized red and blue frog sitting below.

Once the snake passed by, Zaren returned his attention to the den-like nest where he’d first seen the fire-haired woman named Jane. She wasn’t there, hadn’t been for two sunrises. Something inside his chest hurt, sharp and yet dull at the same time. Where could she have gone?

Settled on the branch, he looked through a large opening and watched the nest’s current inhabitants. There were two of them, two creatures inside. Two just like him—with skin more pale than the other humans who lived in the jungle.

A
man
, he reminded himself, silently mouthing the word.
Woman.

The two were mating…but in a way Zaren had never seen before. The man was sitting, and the woman climbed on
him
, spreading her legs, fitting herself over his rod, and embracing him from the front.

“Oh, Everett…darling…” Her moans wafted through the air, mingling with the rustle of leaves and the twittering of birds, the nibbling of some creature on bark or plants below.

Zaren could not take his eyes away from them. She was large and soft and round everywhere. Her damp skin beamed, white as the moon. Each of her amazing teats would overflow his hands if he cupped them together—something the equally round man was doing with enthusiasm as he kissed and licked the huge mounds.

The man’s hairless head shone with perspiration, and even from where he perched on the branch, Zaren could scent the musky, titillating aroma of their activity. That smell, and the sounds, the sight of them rocking violently together brought back memories of Jane…of his mad thrusting into her glorious, wet warmth, of tasting her smooth white flesh, of burying his face in her sweet-smelling hair of fire.

“Effie! By
gad
, Effie!” cried the man suddenly. He sounded as if he were dying, or in distress. His head tipped back, his neck and arms strained, and his face was red with effort.

But Zaren knew better. That was no distress. He remembered the hot, glorious feeling of mating—and so did the heavy, pulsing rod that had risen between his own legs. His member was so tight and sensitive that it was painful to the touch, with a dull throb of need that could hardly be sated by the grip of his hand—and even then, only temporarily.

For every time he thought of Jane, and when he remembered her lovely eyes—the color of the sea beneath a cloudless blue sky—and recalled the way her skin had trembled the first time he reached to touch her, how reverent he’d felt, how awed by her beauty and taken by her scent, how kind and funny and patient she’d been when they were in his own nest in the trees…every time he thought of her, he grew short of breath, and hard, and his muscles tightened everywhere. And that dull ache inside his chest blossomed into something warm and fierce.

The first time he’d seen her, walking off the long branch from the…what was it?
Boat.
No,
ship
. He nodded to himself, remembering the pictures in the book, and how Jane had sat with him, practicing many of the words. His head didn’t hurt so much anymore when he looked at that book. The words were coming back.

He was
remembering
.

As if awakening from a long dream, shaking off the last bit of sleep, he remembered. Knowledge, long buried, had begun to flood his mind; words returned, thoughts clarified.

And now, as the mating man and woman disengaged themselves from each other, he could hear them speaking. In low murmurs, punctuated with sighs and smiles.

But when the man said, “I’m worried about Jane,” Zaren stilled and listened, every hair on his body lifting in recognition and interest.

Jane
.

The woman was shaking her head in a way that made Zaren understand she was concerned too. “I don’t trust that Mr. Darkdale, an’ I’m not even sure as I trust Mr. Jonathan. Man disappears for three years and then returns all-a sudden…and now Miz Jane is gone too.” Her yellow hair stuck out in tufts all over her head, but her eyes were filled with worry.

Jane. Gone.

Mr. Jonathan.

Zaren felt an odd, curling tingle in his belly. Jane had called a man Jonathan, the man whose sudden appearance in the jungle had caused her to faint.

He was the man who mated with her in the bubbling hot pool…and then allowed another man to mate with her as well—while he
watched.

Zaren’s body tightened with disgust and fury. If Jane were his mate, he would
die
before he allowed another to touch her. An unfamiliar, bitter taste filled his mouth as he remembered his first impression of Mr. Jonathan.

He wanted to maim him.

And now Jane was gone, and so was this despicable Mr. Jonathan. And the mating man and woman—he wasn’t certain if they were called Effie and Everett or Gad and Darling—were worried about Jane. They wouldn’t be worried about her if she was safe, would they?

As the tuft-haired woman looked out into the jungle, right in his direction—almost as if she could see him—Zaren became as still as the bark of the tree. He knew how to meld into the sun-dappled leaves and vines, becoming invisible to prey and predator alike.

“Someone must find ’er, and bring Miss Jane back,” said the woman, staring at Zaren’s tree. “Get th’ girl away from the snakes and bad ’uns in the jungle. Someone must bring the poor chit back to us, Everett. Someone must bring her home.”

Zaren’s heart pounded hard. Surely the woman wasn’t speaking to him. Surely she couldn’t see him…could she? Could she know he was there?

After one last look into the jungle, right at him, the woman turned away. But not before he saw her nod in his direction.

— III —

Jane was taken to a
small structure—a hut, really—and released from her bonds with surprising gentleness. Her two guards, Devilish Grin and Cold Eyes, helped her upright, their hands warm and absurdly reverent, except for when Cold Eyes skimmed a palm down the curve of her arse.

As Jane staggered to her feet, rubbing her scraped wrists, she gritted her teeth wryly. Of course they would be gentle with her. She was a
goddess
. Heaven forbid they anger—or injure—the goddess, she thought with an edge of hysteria. Jane pushed the thought away and straightened her spine.

“Jonathan,” she said, trying to sound demanding and goddess-like. “Bring Jonathan to me.”

He was her only hope. At least he could understand what their captors were saying, and find out what they meant to do. She had no way to communicate and little chance of understanding what was to happen.

You must do as they wish…for both of our sakes.

To Jane’s surprise, her two escorts each gave her a deep bow and turned to leave the hut. “Send Jonathan to me!” she cried again, reaching for Devilish Grin’s arm. He, at least, seemed friendly.

Perhaps too friendly.

He looked down where her pale fingers closed over his dark arm, then allowed his attention to skim along her body, which at the moment was nearly cloaked by her hair. His eyes turned hot and he said something to his companion. They both laughed, low and lasciviously, and Jane dropped her grip immediately.

“My man,” she said, desperate to make them understand. She gestured to the outside, trying to use hand signals to show she was speaking of the Englishman, the foreigner. “Jonathan.”

Devilish Grin nodded, and hope rose like a burgeoning flame. If she could at least speak with Jonathan…

The guards went out of the hut, leaving Jane alone.

Blessedly alone.

She looked around the space. Though it was dim and small—hardly the size of a private parlor back home—she could make out what seemed to be a raised, thick-covered pallet in the corner. It was covered with furs and other, lighter material, and appeared almost comfortable—though anything would surely be comfortable after spending the night on the ground, tied to a tree.