The Wellspring (10 page)

Yule collected the library crystals from the
coffee table and carried them into her bedroom, planning to spend
the night making her vacation plans revolve around her wardrobe,
but she dozed off in the middle of the fifth crystal.

She strolled along a white sand, sun-soaked
beach where azure waves lapped her feet and tropical birds called
noisily from the palms that bordered the jungle. This was Atlantis!
She thought ecstatically. I made it! I made it home! She laughed
and ran into the low surf, kicking playfully at the waves. When she
blinked she discovered she was standing in a garden, thick grass
tickling her bare feet, the heady scent of uncounted flowers making
the air as thick and sweet as honey. This was still Atlantis, she
knew, she moved through every part of it and it filled every part
of her. She fell to the grass, laughing and euphoric, magic
tingling along her nerve endings.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

She blinked into the golden glare of the sun
then the speaker stepped between, blocking the light. It was Marc
Woodmont, his cocoa brown hair glowing like burnished mahogany in
the sunlight.

"You look like a little girl rolling in the
grass on the first day of summer," the man said with a warm,
crooked smile.

Marc was here, teasing her? Impossible. She
didn’t know why, but she felt certain this dream was supposed to be
about Prosser Teomond. And yet here he was, Marc smiling down at
her, his whimsically handsome face alight with an affection she’d
never seen before. Yule could barely comprehend it.

"I—I can touch Atlantis," she stammered,
uncertain about how to explain what she felt to him. "I’ve come
home and it’s happy to see me—I can stand on all of it at once
and—I don't understand what's happened to me."

"Do you need to understand?" Marc asked,
grinning more widely now.

Yule returned the grin. "No, it doesn’t feel
like something I need to figure out. I think whatever is happening
will keep happening whether or not I understand, but that’s okay."
She was surprised when he dropped to his knees beside her, reaching
out to cup her cheek in one strong hand. Not expecting the gesture,
she flinched, but quickly relaxed into the caress of his warm
palm.

"You’re a fountain for thirsty eyes," the man
murmured fondly.

"What does that mean?" Yule asked, afraid to
believe what was happening, and afraid to acknowledge too soon that
it was a dream.

"Must you always have an answer for
everything that happens?" Marc teased. "Accept this for what it is,
even if you don’t know what it is." His thumb traced a gentle path
over the bow of her lips. "Enjoy yourself, Yule. I’m here for
you."

Then Marc did something Yule wanted him to do
since that first shared moment in a coffee house in Catahiti when
he’d spoken so fervently about the Reclamation Project. Cupping her
face in both of his hands, Marc simply looked at her. He looked at
her without the usual underscore of distraction for some new cause.
He looked at her with all of his attention—with love and longing.
It made Yule’s breath stop and made her want to shout her happiness
all the way to the lazy white clouds drifting above them in the
sea-azure sky.

"You’ve haunted my dreams every night since
we met, do you know that?" When Yule shook her head in disbelief,
Marc smiled. "It's true. I'm ensnared by the spell of your eyes. It
makes me want you more than anything else. If it’s magic I can’t
break the enchantment, I can’t even want to."

Marc began to lean forward and Yule knew what
was coming. She held her breath, terrified that even the faint
sound of exhalation might break the man's momentum toward her. She
closed her eyes as the last centimeter was crossed and Marc's lips
sealed over hers.

Marc felt like flames and desert sunlight.
The gentleness he’d always displayed was still embodied in the
calloused palms that held her face, but his kiss was pure, burning
passion. His mouth moved over hers with the sharp edge of
possessiveness, firm lips opening hers, demanding tongue pressing
for admittance. With a moan of surrender, Yule opened to him and
felt bathed in fiery radiance.

She reached up to bury her fingers in the
thick curls of Marc’s hair. The strands were heavy and silky soft
between her fingers. She caressed his head, delighting in way the
heat of the man's skull warmed her palms. There was so much
unexpected sensation in which to take pleasure. She sighed into his
mouth as her fingers traced the delicate skin behind the man's ears
then clutched at his shoulders when one of his hands slid
confidently between their bodies to cup the place between her
thighs. Her moan of apprehensive pleasure was muffled against
Marc’s lips as his talented fingers kneaded and stroked her through
the cloth of her swimsuit. The flat of his palm pressed over her
mound hard, his fingers curving down to lightly tease where it was
already growing damp with arousal causing Yule’s entire body to
shudder.

"Groves and Grottos, Marc!" she gasped,
tearing her mouth free.

Marc wouldn’t let her escape so easily, his
hot lips searing a path across her cheek and along her jaw. He
kissed her frantically, as if addicted to the taste of her skin and
fearful of the withdrawal he’d suffer should she vanish. Yule felt
consumed by a ravenous beast and was stunned by her exhilaration.
She threw back her head, inviting the man to attack the bared
length of her throat, and to her delight every inch of her neck was
licked and suckled.

Marc wanted her! He wanted her so badly his
entire body shook from the force of it and Yule felt powerful, high
on the rush of being desired, but all it took was a flex of his
fingers between Yule’s thighs to remind her how completely and
utterly she wanted to surrender to the man’s desire. She was lost
on the waves of uncharted emotions. She felt eager hands tugging on
the shoulder straps of her swimsuit and raised up long enough for
Marc to strip her of the garment then eagerly helped Marc to shed
his swim trunks. Their bodies met—skin to skin—and Yule moaned,
hungry hands sweeping boldly over the curves of Marc's firmly
muscled shoulders. She traced the knobs and ridges of the man's
back, smoothed her palms over the sleek chest that rippled beneath
her fingers. He was lean muscle and grace, tanned skin shining like
gold in the sun. Against that nutmeg skin, Yule's natural skin, no
longer spell-tanned, was strikingly pale.

"You're like the inside of an ocean washed
shell," Marc breathed worshipfully, running a calloused palm over
Yule’s right breast causing the nipple to harden. His blue eyes
were bright when he watched this happen, like the deepest part of
the sky. "So smooth and perfect. You're beautiful, Yule. I’ve been
going crazy over how much I want you."

"We can take what we want here," Yule gasped,
reaching down to boldly grasp the man’s erection in her hand. He
was hard and dauntingly large in her small palm and she tried not
to let her apprehension show as she met his sea blue eyes. "Take
me, Marc. Here, on the grass, inside the beating heart of Atlantis,
take me."

Marc made a sound like a growl, deep in his
chest and he sat back, curving a hand around the back of Yule’s
head. She hadn’t released his member and now it was aimed at her
face and she knew what he wanted from her, daring her to do what
she just challenged him to do. She could smell Marc's arousal like
a pungent spice on the air and even though she’d never given oral
sex before, it made her hungry and desperate for a taste of the
man. Mouth watering, she hesitated only to take a breath before
pulling the heavy erection between her lips

Marc groaned like she’d punched him. It was
the only sound apart from the faint hum of industrious bees working
among the flowers. Yule lapped experimentally at the circumcised,
plum-shaped head then licked the strong flesh, tasting musk, salt,
and the indefinable essence that was Marc's alone. Marc tasted of
honey and iron and she licked a pearly drop from the tip of man’s
weeping member and decided she’d never sampled anything so
delicious.

Long fingers curled into her hair, guiding
her head into a rhythm with which she complied, sealing her lips
around the turgid flesh and sliding wetly back and forth along its
length. It passed hot and slick across her tongue, the leaking tip
pressing against the back of her throat with each swallow. She
could feel fine tremors passing through the strong thighs upon
which she braced her hands, but didn’t realize this was a sign that
Marc was getting close to orgasm.

Suddenly, she was pushed away and briefly
wondered if she’d done something wrong, but when her back crushed
the grass—releasing the clean, crisp smell of summer—her breasts
were quickly crushed by a sleek, sweating chest as Marc fairly
pounced her and she knew she’d done it right. Marc's ragged breath
stirred the long tendrils of hair that had fallen around Yule's
face.

"Do you have any idea how amazing you look
right now?" the man asked huskily. Yule shut her eyes as rough
fingers dragged down her spine and settled over the curve of her
buttocks. A large palm massaged the firm muscle. "Your naked body
sprawled wantonly in the grass like this— It makes me want to do
bad things to you. Open your eyes."

“I—I can’t,” she admitted, biting her lower
lip. “No one’s ever said anything like—like what you said.”

“How many people have you been naked
with?”

Yule’s eyes flew open at that. “No one else—”
And she broke off, blushing and trying to repress a smile when she
saw the mischief in his eyes and realized he was teasing her. “I’m
just—not the kind of girl that gets said to,” she finished.

“I plan to say even more, like how edible
your breasts are and how I plan to lick and nibble every square
inch of you then do things you’ve only read about,” he teased
further, the light of lust rising higher in his gaze.

She shivered at the sensual threat and at the
touch that possessed and demanded. "Do them," Yule whispered,
nerves alive with need. She arched her back, driving her belly into
his ramrod stiffness. "Do all of it, do everything! I'm begging
you!"

Her legs were abruptly pushed apart, knees
shoved towards her body to open her as widely as possible. She
didn’t have time to feel embarrassed at the position because Marc
was suddenly licking her there. She cried out, burrowing her hands
into the grass as the slick wetness of the man's tongue traced
trails of liquid fire around her sensitive opening then pressed
between her folds. She whimpered and tried to move, wanting more,
wanting less—she didn't know. Marc's strong hands tightened around
her hips, holding her firmly so that she couldn’t escape the
intimate invasion. Yule let her head fall back on the soft grass.
The heart of Atlantis throbbed against her forehead and filled her
already whirling senses.

She moaned softly as Marc continued to lick
her. Each slow, deliberate swipe of wetness made her body tremble
with pleasure. And when he curled his tongue into a point and
jabbed it into her drenched entrance Yule thought that she was one
step closer to death—or rebirth. She squeezed her eyes shut again,
unable to help it, gritting her teeth against the maddening
tickling—good sensation of that tiny, concentrated invasion. She
found herself involuntarily trying to push back, wanting him
deeper, needing him to satisfy the ache the way only he could. When
the tongue abandoned her, Yule collapsed onto the ground with a
combination of relief and disappointment.

Neither of which she was allowed to endure
for long.

Marc was above her again, the blunt head of
his manhood replacing his tongue, nestling just between her outer
folds. "Relax for me, love. I'm going to make you feel even better,
I promise."

Yule did her best, remembering the man's
considerable size, but fear still squeezed her stomach as the
pressure increased against her. Her thighs tried to close even as
she wanted what he was doing, but her held her spread and still,
hands gentle and commanding. With a harsh groan, Marc flexed his
hips and pierced the tight outer ring of yielding muscle. The slide
inside her slick channel was easy after that.

Yule shuddered at the incredible sensation of
stretching—of
fullness
. She felt taken over, breached,
invaded. Her body surrendered to Marc without the shock of pain she
expected and instead she savored the penetration. She pushed toward
him with her hips, needing to feel the thick flesh slide within
her, and when it pulsed against the confines of her inner walls she
moaned.

"Do you like the feel of me inside you?" Marc
asked with a raspy, barely controlled tease, his lips playing with
the curve of Yule's ear.

"Yes," she managed weakly, thinking that was
a silly question. "Oh, yes."

"You feel so incredible, Yule, so damned
tight around me. All I want to do is bury myself deep inside you
and never come out. How would you like that, love? Having me inside
your beautiful body ready to—" He flexed his hips hard. "Pleasure
you whenever you wanted it?"

"Oh, gods," Yule whimpered, pulling up
fistfuls of fragrant grass. "Please, Marc—I don’t know what I want
you to do, but whatever it is, do it now!"

Marc was laughing softly at her desperation.
"I might have an idea. Something like this?" Marc pulled back until
he was nearly free of her tight confines then surged forward in a
smooth, commanding stroke. His member dragged over her sensitive
nub then bumped into something deep within Yule that briefly turned
her vision white and sun-spotted. She cried out, arching against
that explosion of electric like ecstasy. "That's where the pleasure
hides," Marc murmured, his voice taking on a note of strain. "Let
me show it to you again."

He began to piston into her rhythmically,
slowly at first, each sure stroke striking that place inside her
that had Yule writhing beneath him as if she were trying to escape
the very thing for which she begged. Time and again Marc filled her
only to empty her once more, like the tide rushing onto the shores
of Atlantis. Each ebb and flow left Yule panting in an agony of
need and she returned the torture the only way she knew how,
tightening her inner muscles, trying to milk the hard flesh that
impaled her. Marc was relentless atop her, his rhythm calculated to
bring Yule to the peak of desire as slowly as possible, to draw out
the moment into eternity.