BACK    CONTENTS    ABOUT

Page 54.

At some point, her teeth struck his teeth in a jarring, agonizing collision that made them both cry out in pain and back away quickly as if stung.

He and she eased off (just for a second) amid the stunning pain. She touched her mouth with her hands as if something had bitten her.

Rick felt throbbing pain and saw floating colors.

Each felt their teeth to make sure nothing was broken, and then started up again.

No amount of sex was enough to sate their starvation right now. She had blood on her mouth from the teeth collision and he tasted it—like raw liver. He licked blood off her mouth. She spat blood all over his face, deliberately, angrily, again and again. He licked her face until there was less and less blood and then only spit—gobs of it. They rolled over and over, drinking each other's spit. It was like eating raw, bloody meat, tartare. They were animals, rolling on the jungle floor. Spit never tasted so good, he thought as he possessed her and she gave herself to him from the dark caves of her soul, her need, her desire, her want, her hole.

Slowly, the fury of their sex and the madness of their love gave way to exhaustion.

They had seen death twice. They had run for their lives and now found shelter for whatever short time. It had been one insane day of terror, horror, unreasoning madness. Here, they had found intense, growing passion and redemption. At some point, in the darkness, when she lay under him—they were soaked with sweat and come and fluids—she threw her arms out and went limp. "Baby, I can't anymore right now." She laughed. "Get off me—you are heavy as a truck."

"I want more." He rolled over onto his back, taking her with him so that she lay straddling him. She looked down into his face with shining delight. She cupped his face in her palms and kissed him on the nose, on the lips, on the forehead, on the chin, on the mouth, all the while laughing and snuffling happily. They were mammals, grooming. It was all natural, healing, good.

"You have blood all over your head." She laughed at the funniness of it.

He laughed too. "Blood-flavored ice cream."

She growled like a long shoreman. "Lick me, baby, lick me."

"I am too fucking tired. Save some of that for later."

"There is lots more where this came from."

They laughed and laughed.

He hugged her roughly and kissed her, crushing her head and neck against him. She clutched him tightly, pulling herself into him as she wrapped her strong legs around him for a tight seal. He whispered in her ear, "My cock hound is baying for you."

She laughed. "My full moon is gazing on your dog."

They laughed as the metaphors ran dry.

It was his turn to throw his arms back over his shoulders in surrender. She could do with him whatever she wanted to. "I'm—powerless—to—resist," he panted in gasps. "You wore me out. Eat me quick, baby bear. Don't be cruel."

She licked his cheeks, bit his ear, kissed his forehead. "You're mine. All mine. I will take my time, drag you back to my lair, and slowly devour you one delicious pickle slice at a time, my sweet little hamburger meat."

"I am the hot dog. You are the bun," he informed her. "And you are mine," he whispered. He hugged her naked body close to his, enjoying the solid feel of her back against his wrists. He ran his palms over the curves of her buttocks, felt the heft of her thighs, pulled her as close to his flesh as possible. She pressed against him. It was their mutual desire and delight and passion and crazy love to want to squeeze together and become one person.

"Next time," she whispered sweatily, dripping onto his face, and he licked the salt of her sweat from his lips where it fell. "Next time, I am going to really suck your pickle, buster."

He pulled her close with his left arm and held her bouncing breast with his right hand. "I am going to lick that ice cream right off of your lips, bitch."

"Talk dirty to me."

"Both sets of your delicious little floppy lips."

"I will hold them open for you, prince. Talk more, sexy prince."

And talk he did, while she pressed herself onto him and shuddered with joy—until they passed out from exhaustion a few heartbeats later.

They made love again in the gray of dawn.

Then they passed out again and woke around eight a.m. when a woman knocked to see if they were alive and well.

Rick and Hannah both shrieked in shock until Mélusine fully poked her face in to show herself, to check if all was well, and to make sure they were who she thought they were.

They all laughed, Romain in the background included.

Hannah said to Mélusine, who hovered in the slightly open door, afraid to intrude, "You had me terrified there for a minute. I thought we might be in the wrong house."

"Would that not be a gas?" Mélu said in her melodious train station announcer voice, while she nearly collapsed laughing. Rick threw himself back on the bed holding his head and roaring. He heard Romain (whom he had met only in photographs so far) guffawing out in the hallway. So they were off to a good (roaring, literally) start, Rick thought.

Mélusine said as she pulled the door shut to give them privacy, "Come, I have some breakfast ready. Coffee. You like coffee, yes?"

"We'll be there as soon as we can!" Hannah yelled to the closing door.

"Yes," Rick said wryly when he got his breath and his strength back. "Yes. Please. I need some stimulus."

Hannah twisted his semi-limp pecker—gently.

He groaned. "Ow. I'm sore."

"I'm sorry."

"You did this. Now fix…"

She put her head under the sheets and surrounded him with the healing wetness and warmth of her mouth.

He lay back and moaned blissfully, "That's right. Just like that. Oh yeah."

She made a popping noise and emerged with a muzzy expression of delight. "Is that better?"

"Paradise."

"You want to keep me?"

"Forever."

"Promise?"

TOP