Fugitive (24 page)

***

Manx's eyes crossed as she reached for the rail, her beautiful backside gleaming in the moonlight, driving him to a frenzy of desire. He vowed to take her slowly, though he wasn't sure he could; already his balls were tightening as they threatened to fire. He closed his eyes for a moment in an attempt to regain control, lest he dive into her with one plunge—a plunge he knew would have her screaming in pain. And he didn't want her to feel pain—only pleasure.

   His cock was so hard it shone like glass; the thick syrup dripped from the shaft as he let it slide between her buttocks, coating her with his orgasmic elixir. The blunt head soon found her entrance and teased it, rocking the boat gently as he pushed against her. A powerful orgasm gripped her as he penetrated ever deeper until she thrust backward suddenly, driving him in to the hilt.

   Manx stole a glance downward as his cock disap peared inside her and he gritted his teeth in an effort to maintain control, but the sight of her was too much, and he emptied his balls into her.

   His own creamy snard enveloped his cock as he plunged into her anyway. It was impossible for him to stop, even after his own climax. He kept his eyes on that fabulous ass and kept right on fucking as Drusilla backed into him, pushing against the rail to brace herself for his thrusts. Her cries of ecstasy told him what she was feeling—the euphoria from his snard, the heat of his body, the grinding motion of his cock.

   "I never dreamed anything could feel so good," she gasped as tears poured down her cheeks.

   She was making sounds unlike any he'd ever heard before. Though Manx knew he was stretching her to the limit, she couldn't seem to stop—twisting her hips and riding his cock relentlessly while his scrotum teased her slit.

   Manx was fairly certain he wouldn't lose his erec tion with a vision such as that, but he reached down and coated his fingers with her essence and, bringing it up, he smeared it on his face, inhaling deeply as he felt his cock tighten in response. Then he went back for more, this time licking her juices from his fingers. With her scent in his head and his climax so recent, Manx knew he could go as long as he needed to; could fuck her until she'd had enough, and enjoying the view enormously, he hoped she wanted it for a long, long time.

   His balls were bouncing against her wet, swollen pussy as Manx reached for her breasts, teasing her precious nipples with his fingertips. He felt another ejaculation building and marveled that he had anything left when he felt his snard spurt into her, filling her with his sweet cream once more. The added lubrication seemed to drive Drusilla mad with lust, and as she ground her butt into his groin, Manx's purr became more of a growl— similar to the deep-throated guttural sound issuing from Drusilla. Manx came again, and knew it was his last, just as the boat bumped into the dock, loosening Drusilla's grip on the rail and sending her sprawling sideways onto the bench.

***

Manx's abrupt departure had Drusilla screaming in ecstasy; as though just pulling out set off a kind of fire works she'd never imagined. Gasping and writhing as every cell in her body seemed to climax, she lay shud dering as Manx dropped to his knees and gathered her up in his arms.

   While Manx's kisses rained down on her face, her paroxysms slowly subsided and her eyes regained focus as she gazed up at him. "I think that's something we should save for special occasions," she murmured. "Don't think I could take that very often."

   "Good, though, wasn't it?" Manx purred.

   "The best ever," she replied. "Who'd have thought I'd ever find a kinky cat in this jungle?"

   Manx shrugged. "I found a kinky bird painter. Like I said before, it has to be destiny."

   But what they didn't know was that destiny held all the cards and was about to play one that neither of them expected.

Chapter 14

DRUSILLA SAT AT HER EASEL WITH MANX BESIDE HER WHILE she painted. She couldn't remember a more perfect day. The sun was warm, the sky a crystalline purple, the clouds were puffs of lavender cotton candy, the birds were coop erating, and even the butterflies were being less persistent than usual. Zef was sunning himself in the shallows, sound asleep and quiet for once in his life. Manx had wanted to go bird hunting again, but she'd overruled him. "I want to spend this whole day with you," she said after breakfast, "never letting you out of my sight."

   "Going to paint another picture of me?" Manx teased. "Or do you want to do something else?"

   "Doesn't matter," she replied. "We could be crawling around in the sand digging for worms and it would be fun as long as we were doing it together. Do you know what I'm saying?"

   "Yeah," he replied. "I'm feeling it too."

   He hadn't been with her the entire day, of course. He had played his flute for a time, the melodies echoing across the lake, but after a bit, he had walked along the shore, finally disappearing from view. When he returned with a large, gnarled chunk of driftwood, she was diverted from her painting for a time as he began carving it with his knife. At first, she thought he was just idly whittling on it to pass the time, but after a bit, something seemed to be taking shape.

"What
is
that?" she asked finally.

   Drusilla's heart nearly stopped as he flashed a mischievous grin at her. "You'll see," he replied.

   It took her a moment to recover, but she did her best. "Ah, a man of mystery," she said knowingly. "I like that."

   "Not sure I do," he said. "Did you ever meet someone and you wanted to know everything there was to know about them, down to the most insignificant event of their life?"

   "You mean before now?" Drusilla asked. "No, I never have."

   "Me either," he said, carving off another long strip of wood. "But right now, I want to hear everything. What you think, how you feel, what you want, what you've done… Everything."

   "Hmm, that might take a while."

   Manx grinned at her again, stealing even more of her breath. "Got anywhere you need to be?"

   "Nope," Drusilla replied. "Start talking."

   "No, you first."

   "Manx, my life up until now has been completely boring!" Drusilla insisted. "I'm sure you've had a much more interesting life."

   "Well, maybe," he admitted. "I mean, I don't know that much about your life to be able to judge, but I've been lots of places."

   "And had a girl in every port, I'll bet."

   "Some," he said hesitantly. "The trouble was, I knew I might have to go on the run again at any time. It didn't make for a very lasting relationship."

   "Knowing what I do now, I'm surprised they aren't chasing you all across the galaxy." The vision of an army of his ex-lovers banding together to track him down popped into her head and Drusilla began giggling uncontrollably.

   "Well, believe it or not, I've tried to prevent that," he said, trying to remain serious in spite of her infectious laughter. "I didn't go around chasing women on every planet. They had to come after me, and I had to like them really well—but all the same, there were some things I just couldn't do in good conscience."

   "Such as?"

   "Well, I haven't left a trail of children behind me," he replied. "That would have been the worst, but I also haven't let many of them have… you know," he paused and Drusilla could have sworn he was blushing, "the, um, full effect."

   "The joy juice?"

   "Yes," he said with a nod, seeming relieved that she understood him. "I learned how to stop it. Believe me, it's not easy—and I always used a condom so they wouldn't get the snard effect either. No one ever complained—they didn't know about it, so how could they?—and under the circumstances, it seemed best."

   Having felt the "full effect" and the resultant attach ment to Manx, Drusilla realized just how kind it had been not to get a woman hooked on him, knowing he had to leave. "That was very thoughtful of you, but you didn't do that with me," she said. "Mind telling me why?"

   "Because you're different," he replied. "I just couldn't hold back with you." He flashed a sly grin at her. "That, and the fact that I don't have any condoms."

   "So, I'm either very special or just incredibly lucky," she said dryly. "Any idea which?"

   Manx laughed. "Very special," he replied. Sheathing his knife, he pulled another tool out of his pouch and began carving holes in the wood.

   "Still not gonna tell me what you're making there?" she prompted.

   "Nope," he replied. "It's still a surprise."

   Chuckling softly, she reached down and rummaged in her box for a smaller brush. "I like surprises," she said.

   "Do you?"

   "Only the good ones," she stipulated. "I've had a number of surprises that weren't so hot."

   "Tell me about them," he urged.

   "The most recent was having a homosexual boyfriend."

   "Ouch!" Manx said. "That hurts."

   "No kidding," she agreed. "The worst part of it was that I was too busy painting and promoting my work to notice."

   "You've
definitely
been working too hard," Manx said forcefully. "You need me around to make sure that doesn't happen again."

   "With you around, I doubt I'll ever go looking for another boyfriend, so that's a moot point, but it's nice to know you'll be there to watch out for me."

   Manx's eyes narrowed as he leaned over to study her canvas. "You're painting me again, Drusilla," he pointed out. "You're supposed to be painting birds."

   "Sorry," she said sheepishly. "Can't help it."

   "There are some perfectly good birds over there," he said with a gesture toward the lake. "Paint them."

   "Oh, all right," she grumbled, reaching down for a rag to wipe the canvas. With a gesture toward the driftwood sculpture, she asked, "Where'd you learn to do that?"

   "I was always pretty handy with a knife," he said with a shrug. "I used to make toys for my sisters, and I made other things too."

   "Such as?"

   "Spoons, boxes, bowls… things like that—along with the flutes."

   She watched him working; his strong, capable hands coaxed the shape from the wood with a level of skill that made it look easy. "With a full set of tools, you could make some pretty nice stuff," she commented. "Hand carved items always sell well—on Earth, anyway." The pleasant vision of being with him at art fairs came back to her then. He was just the kind of man she wanted—a gentler sort of man, an artist or a musician who would be content to create beautiful but practical things rather than going off to pursue some high-powered career.

   As they continued to work in companionable silence, she stole glances at him from time to time, realizing there was something about being near him that simply made her feel complete; a serenity she had never felt with anyone else. She closed her eyes and could almost see the rest of their lives stretching out before her: endless blissful days and long, passionate nights.

   The sound of Manx clearing his throat brought her out of her reverie, and Drusilla began dutifully painting the birds again, becoming so absorbed in her work that she didn't notice when he finished his project. However, she
did notice when he began gathering up her painting gear.

   Glancing up at the sky, she said, "What's the matter? Is it going to rain or something?"

   "Nope," Manx replied. "I'm just putting this stuff where it belongs."

   "It doesn't
belong
anywhere," she said. "I just set it wherever I—" She broke off as she saw what he was doing. His piece of driftwood now had a place for her palette, holes for her brushes, a compartment for her cleaning fluid, a shelf for her box, and a hook for the cleaning rags. It even had a cup holder for her tea.

   "Oh, Manx," she began, but the lump in her throat and the tears welling up in her eyes slowed her down. "I—I don't know what to say—I—"

   "You don't have to say anything," Manx said with a lopsided grin, "but if you'd like to kiss me, you go right ahead."

   "That's worth a whole lot more than a kiss!" she protested.

   "Not to me, it isn't," he replied, pulling her to her feet and into his arms.

   With the first taste of his lips, she felt her bones turning to jelly, and the erotic warmth of his tongue stroking hers soon had her body clamoring for more. His skin was hot from the sun, but as her hands gripped his shoulders, the thought of the mess she was making distracted her. "I'm getting paint all over you."

   "I don't mind," he murmured against her lips before renewing the kiss. "It won't hurt me."

   "It is non-toxic paint," she agreed, "but I should prob ably clean it off."

   "That sounds interesting," he admitted, "but you can do that later. Right now, I don't care if you get paint all over my whole body."

   The thought of painting designs directly onto his hot, nude skin set off an explosion inside Drusilla not unlike one of the orgasms his joy juice elicited. "Oh, Manx," she sighed, melting into his arms. "You say the most amazing things…"

   Her mind took flight, and before long, he was lying spread-eagle in the sand while she painted emerald green wings on his arms and swirling masses of tail feathers across his hips and thighs. She'd seen body paintings before but had never done any herself—wouldn't have wanted to until now—but at the moment, it seemed like the best idea she'd ever had in her life.

   She was engaged in painting his scrotum when his cock began to ooze its fluid. Wiping it dry with her hand, she said teasingly, "Do you think you could stop that? It's messing up the paint."

   "I'll try," Manx gasped, "but I'm not sure I can do it right now. You're driving me insane here."

   Drusilla smiled seductively. "That's the idea."

   As she painted nearer and nearer to his stiff cock, his entire body quivered with anticipation. "Suck me," Manx begged.

   "Nope," she replied, shaking her head. "I'm not finished yet."

   Gritting his teeth, Manx let out a long, tortured groan. "How much longer?"

   "You can't rush these things," she said, moving around to kneel between his outstretched legs. Lifting his testicles by the softly curling scrotal hair, she began painting the underside.