Garden of Desire: 1 (14 page)

Martha’s bound hands pushed at her shirt clumsily until both lush breasts quivered into view.

His gaze followed a path down her belly to her open cunt. Her sex was fragrant and glistening. “Raise your knees.”

She did so, whimpering. “Wh-what’s my punishment this time?” she asked in a small voice.

He stared at her pussy for a long moment, and then lifted his gaze to hers. “I’m going to cram my fist into your cunt. Do you think you can take it?”

She licked her lips. “Oh God.”

“I just realized that in all our previous…encounters,” he said slowly, skimming his hands along her inner thighs, “I’ve never gotten a taste of your pussy. Martha, do you think I’ll like it?”

Her lips parted and her gaze pleaded for his touch. “I hope so.”

“Lift your hips to me.” He leaned forward on his hands and knees.

Martha planted her heels on the ground and slowly raised her hips until her pussy was level with his mouth.

He liked that her legs trembled. “If your ass falls down, I’ll stop. You got it?”

“Y-yes.”

He blew air over her open cunt and fought a smile when Martha sobbed. Then he leaned into her and lapped at her slit, licking away the juice that coated her hot flesh. She tasted like sex—dark, juicy, dirty sex. He rubbed his face in her, inhaling her musky scent.

Martha’s thighs hugged his cheeks, holding him in place as he continued to learn her textures and flavors. He stroked her plump outer lips, delved between to tongue the edges of her furled inner lips, stabbed into her cunt.

Martha shivered and moaned, and her hips gently undulated while he plied her pussy with deeper kisses and strokes. Judging her ready for more sweet torture, he slipped an arm around her hip, and his hand crept over her belly to comb through her silky down.

“Please, my clit hurts,” she said, her voice sounding raspy with strain.

He lifted his mouth from her cunt and parted her lips with his fingers, pulling back the hood that guarded her slick, red pearl. He blew air over it. “How bad do you want it?”

“I’ll do anything.” Her hips circled, inviting him closer.

“Will you obey me—whatever the command?”

“Anything…please…suck it!” Her belly and thighs trembled.

“You beg so prettily, love.” He kissed her clit. “Will you apologize to the men when we meet up with them?”

“Yes!”

A flutter of his tongue caused her knees to buckle and her ass to fall.

“Don’t do it,” he warned.

She raised her hips again and he swirled the flat of his tongue over the distended button, his arm now supporting her shuddering frame. “Are you ready for your punishment?”

Martha sobbed. “I’m already dying here, just finish it!”

He nipped her inner thigh. “You don’t tell me what to do.”

“No. No, I won’t.
Please
…finish it.”

“Good girl.” He kissed her clit and inserted three fingers inside her vagina. Immediately, her inner muscles constricted around them. He worked them in and out, relaxing her cunt.

Martha groaned and pumped her hips.

When his fingers detected a fresh wash of pre-come, he judged her ready for the next step. “Can you take more?” he asked, and tongued her clit with short, sharp strokes.

“Yes! More.”

He inserted all four fingers, curving them to work them inside.

Martha’s vagina clasped him tight. She whimpered and pumped her hips. Her breaths were jagged—edged with sobs.

“Going to take all of me, baby?” His teeth closed on her clit and he bit.

Martha screamed and her hips jerked wildly. “All of it, damn you! All of it!”

Cantor soothed her nubbin with his tongue and fisted his hand. Starting with the knuckle of his forefinger, he pushed inside, twisting, pulling, and driving into her until her hot pussy swallowed his hand.

Her legs widened and her hips strained, shaking with the effort to hold herself high. Her breaths were loud, ragged sobs that racked her chest.

The arm curved around her hip lifted her higher, until he fully supported the weight of her lower torso, her feet dangling above the ground. She was at his mercy. He held her firmly, as he rubbed his whiskered chin on her clit.

Martha bucked and jerked, her widespread legs kicking out, but he kept the torture going. “Cantor! Stop! It’s too much, too much!”

“Are you mine, Martha?”

“Yes!” she screamed.

“Mine to command?”

“Oh please God, yes!”

His lips closed around her clit and he sucked hard while fisting her, her vagina slippery as butter, as he pushed and pulled his hand inside her. Then she came screaming his name, the walls of her sex convulsing on his hand.

He loved her with his mouth and hand until the last, faint pulses passed. Then he withdrew and lowered her bottom to the ground.

Martha’s eyes were closed, her legs splayed wide. Her cunt, still stretched from his hand, was open and awash with her white cream. He crawled over her body to lie on top of her and cradled her face with his hands.

Her eyelids drifted sleepily open and she stared at him. Her eyes were moist with unshed tears, and he had the sudden desire to comfort her. He kissed her mouth, softly at first, then deeply when her bound hands clasped the back of his neck to pull him closer.

Finally, he lifted his mouth. “The others are waiting for us. You need to dress.”

Martha wrinkled her nose. “Can I borrow your cloth? I’m a bit sticky.”

Cantor rose and searched for the cloth. He rinsed it with water from the canteen and brought it to her.

“You’ll have to untie me, first,” she said, holding out her bound hands.

“No. You’ll stay like that for a while.”

Her expression turned mutinous, and her mouth opened to protest.

He raised an eyebrow.

Her lips thinned. “Then you’ll have to wash me…
please
.”

“Certainly, love,” he said, smiling inwardly. “Open your legs wide for me.”

Martha slammed her heels into the ground and opened her legs. Her breath hissed between her teeth with the first touch of the cool cloth.

Cantor cleaned her quickly, ignoring Martha’s naked loins and his reawakening cock. If they didn’t hurry, the men would come looking for them. He didn’t want to share the picture of Martha’s splayed thighs with them.

He tossed the cloth into the bushes and hooked his hand between her bound ones to haul her to her feet, then helped her dress.

She remained silent throughout, her face white and a little drawn. Exhaustion shadowed her eyes. The long hike from the settlement, and his “punishments” had taken their toll. He didn’t think the party would make much more progress this day until she’d rested. Besides, the shadows were growing longer in the waning daylight.

Cantor led the way back to the path and retrieved her bag, slinging it over his shoulder along with his. Without a backward glance he started up the trail. He could hear her behind him, her footsteps heavy, and he slowed his pace to allow her to keep up with him.

The trail continued longer than he’d remembered and he realized his men had forged ahead through the dense undergrowth. Martha cried out behind him and he turned to find her on her knees, struggling to gain her feet.

Cantor fought the urge to lift her gently, the woman had caused a lot of trouble today, and he hadn’t heard the end of it yet, he was sure. Instead, he grabbed the tongue of his belt that hung from between her bound hands to haul her up. When she was on her feet, he kept the belt looped in his fist and tugged her behind him.

“I’m not a beast. You don’t have to lead me.”

“You need to be broken to the saddle, love. This is just a little harness training.”

She dug her heels in the trail and pulled back, but he yanked the belt and she stumbled after him.

“You sound like you know something about horses.”

“I do. My father kept a few.”

“Did you have a ranch?”

“No. A small farm in New Zealand.”

“However did you wind up as a pirate?”

“The Dominion needed more parking lots,” he said, old bitterness boiling like an ulcer.

“What about your father?”

Cantor kept walking. The subject was closed. “How’d you become a thief?”

“I was born one.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

Martha grinned. “Family business.”

“Your family was thieves?”

“Thieves, forgers, second story-men,” she shrugged, “professionals. It was all I knew. I didn’t take to school.”

“What kind of parent would raise his kids as criminals?”

Martha’s gaze dropped. “He did his best. He tried straight jobs, but he had too many kids to feed.”

“You have brothers and sisters?”

“Mmmm-hmm. Four. Two sisters, two brothers.”

“Are they all in the business?”

“No, just me and my brothers.”

“Did they manage to keep out of jail?”

“No. Same bust.” She took a deep breath. “They’re likely rotting on some other prison ship. Maybe they’ll get lucky and some female pirates will free them.”

He looked back again. “Do you miss them—your family?”

“Yeah, but I can’t ever go back.” Her smile this time was sad. “And I don’t really want to.”

“Can you be a farmer’s wife? Seems like that would be a little tame.”

“I can be a farmer’s wife—or a pirate’s wife.” She lifted her chin. “If I loved him.”

He pulled the belt, jerking her behind him. “Let’s catch up.”

Cantor heard the sounds of his men up ahead. He entered a clearing, pulling Martha with him. One by one, his men turned to stare, their gazes dropping to her bound hands. He felt his cheeks heat and scowled around the clearing. The men quickly looked away, grins twisting their lips.

Only Darak continued to pay them any mind. He strode toward them, one eyebrow raised. “I see you’ve bagged a doe. Is she dessert?”

“She’s not on your menu.” He glanced around the encampment. “Is Akron not back?”

“No.” Darak’s face broke into a wide grin. “We had to move down the trail. The noise was ear-splitting.”

Martha knew Kirsten was apt to exaggerate her torment, but she resented the pirates laughing at their punishment. “Is he hurting Kirsten?”

“It was difficult to tell who was doing the inflicting,” Darak said, his gaze taking in her disheveled appearance.

“Or who’s on top,” another of the men said.

Still another turned to say, “Kirsten has a set of lungs on her.”

Darak grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Akron was doing some bellowing of his own.”

The men laughed and Martha frowned, grateful her bellowing had been out of the range of their hearing.

“What I want to know,” Darak said, “was how you managed to get my Mary to stay behind.”

“We didn’t tell her,” Martha murmured. “She’s the one person who could have stopped us.”

Darak shook his head. “I almost feel sorry for you. She’s not going to be happy.”

Cantor tugged at her “harness”. “Don’t you have something to say?”

Martha looked up at him, his expression was stern and she stared blankly for a moment until she remembered. “Oh. You want me to apologize now?”

“Now’s as good a time as any.” He turned to the men. “Gentlemen, Martha has something to say.”

Martha wanted to kick him. With her hands bound and her appearance no doubt tousled, Martha wanted to hide. The men’s smirks indicated they knew damn well what had occurred in the forest. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, mortification heating her face and chest.