Raised By Wolves 2 - Matelots (25 page)

“It is only sophism if it has no practical application,” he chided. “You make me saner than I can recall ever being. That is of more use to me than mathematics.”

“I am relieved,” I sighed. “I remember none of the theorems I was taught.”

He darted in to kiss me. His eyes sparkled with mirth.

“We can put it away now,” he said.

I noticed he was no longer allowing himself to look at the whip. I quickly returned it to its bag, and dropped it off the bed.

Once we were free of its presence, he pounced upon me. We wrestled about until I submitted to being beneath him on my belly. He anointed me with oil and gentle kisses until I lay quiet and still without the tightness of fear in my muscles, and then he covered me with his body, so that no part of me was free of his weight.

We had done this before. It was not a thing Shane had ever done.

And it was different than Gaston’s fingering me. That was a battle against old wounds; this was a battle against old fears. I thought it likely my dismay at his covering me thus was much like his agitation upon seeing a whip. It was not the thing, or the act, itself, but the phantoms engendered in our minds. I fantasized that Shane was the one pinning me down.

“Speak to me,” I whispered.

When he had done this on the beach in the morning, he had whispered sweet praise and endearments. Tonight, his tone was different: darker and huskier.

“You are mine, Will. I want you. I love you. I need you. I will possess you, so that you never remember another.”

My manhood was hard and dissatisfied with being trapped between my belly and the bed linen. I squirmed in little movements beneath him, and he shifted incrementally to keep me covered as he slid on my oiled skin. His fingers twined with mine. His breath was in my ear. I expected to feel pressure between my buttocks. My Horse stood with ears pricked and one hoof raised, ready to run, listening to the whispers from the darkened forest beyond the paddock, from the wild Horse that had come to find me again.

“Gaston,” I said nervously.

“Trust me,” he murmured. It was equally appeal and admonishment.

“Make love to me,” I breathed.

He stilled above me.

“Oh, Will,” he sighed. “I want to. I feel on the precipice, but it will not rise.”

I hurt to hear the sadness in his voice. I wanted him in ways I had never conceived of before, and could not even name or grasp.

“It will come, my love,” I assured him. “If not tonight, then someday soon. I want you. I am an aching pit of need that only you can fill, and I have faith you will fill me someday.”

“Thank you,” he said raggedly. “I am sorry to disappoint you tonight.”

“I am filled with wonder and pleasure that you appear to be as disappointed as I.”

He pushed up and off me and I rolled over beneath him. I found him smiling sadly. I clasped his shoulders and attempted to pull him down upon me. He resisted. I gave him a questioning look.

His smile became grim. “I wish to consummate our love before… you marry. And I cannot do the deed.”

“You do not have to…”

The patience in his gaze silenced me faster than any reproach could have. We did have to, and he was willing.

“You are not the only one empty with need,” he said reverently.

My breath caught. I nodded mutely.

He lay beside me, and I rolled to face him.

“I am yours,” he murmured.

“Then you are the most cherished possession I could ever imagine owning. We will go very slowly, as we have not been inuring you this last week.”

He nodded. “I trust you.”

His eyes held all the love I ever wished to see.

I trimmed and smoothed my fingernails and all the surrounding skin. Then I found a cloth and a jar of hogs’ fat to add to the oil already on the bed. I planned how I wished to proceed, and what position we would use, as I settled in beside him.

Ironically, I was so involved in the preparation that my erection dimmed considerably. As I have never doubted my ability to rise, I ignored it for the time being.

His eyes were closed. I kissed his temple and began to coat him in oil. I massaged every inch of skin until he glistened and I felt no tension in anything I touched. He was now on his belly. I rolled him partially onto his side with his leg cocked beneath him. He let me pose him, as if only I had control of his limbs. Finally, I knelt behind him. My manhood had returned to its full glory, yet my heart ached tenfold more.

I caressed his opening with a tentative finger, and he smiled. I coated my entire hand in hogs’ fat. I slipped a finger inside, and he blinked at the sensation. I found him truly as relaxed as he appeared.

As a second digit joined the first, his gaze and breathing did not waver, but his smile tightened until it was nearly a grimace. I played with him for a while until he relaxed again. When I added the third, he shifted his leg a little to open himself more. I slowed my gentle manipulations further still. His eyes had narrowed and his breathing slowed. He reached for me and I leaned forward to kiss his fingers. Then his eyes closed again and he rolled his shoulders away from me. He sighed and any tension remaining in him departed with the air.

I coated my member with my left hand. I put a fourth finger in. His breathing was shallow. I shifted my position. I rooted the head of my manhood in the palm of my busy hand. As I withdrew fingers I entered him.

Pleasure blossomed inside me such that I felt I might come at that moment. I could not remember it feeling that wondrous. I knew all of the canvases of my memory relating to this act had now been painted over.

There was only Gaston.

We exhaled, and I smiled. I had not realized we were holding our breath. I pushed all the way in, and eased myself down to lie beside and partially atop him. Then I did not move. There was a moment when he lost his concentration, and he contracted spasmodically around me. I held him and waited. He calmed himself, and slowly relaxed to accommodate me once again.

“Are you in pain?” I breathed.

“Non.” He took a deep breath. “There is discomfort, but it is not unpleasant.”

I smiled and nuzzled his shoulder. “That is good.”

“Do you need to move?” he asked.

“Not immediately, and when I do, I will come very quickly. It is…

very good to be within you. Words are inadequate.”

“I know,” he breathed. “Do not move for a time. I wish to feel this for a while longer.”

He reached back to caress my face, and I kissed his fingers again.

“I understand now,” he whispered.

“What?” I asked.

“When you described why you enjoy receiving.”

“Ah.”

“I am at peace,” he murmured.

“I love you.”

I could hold still no more. Either my heart or my cock would explode, and as one was designed to and not the other, I began to rock against him. As I predicted, it did not take me long at all. I throbbed inside him for a time, and when finally empty, my cock was still reluctant to leave but I pulled free anyway.

I crawled over him so that we could lie face to face. He was crying.

“What is wrong?” I asked.

He embraced me. “I am sorry. I am not distraught over this. Non.

This was quite wonderful. Non. It came to me how horrible it would be to be hurt as you were.”

“Hush, hush,” I murmured. “Tonight wiped away all memories I have ever had of bestowing upon another. I am quite sure that, once you are able to take me, all of the ugly memories will be reduced to ghostly things, and robbed of their ability to do me harm.”

He smiled. “That is my hope.”

I held him and we slept.

I woke to weight on my back, and fingers about my hard cock. It was as it had been during the storm. Except this time, the world was quiet and peaceful and morning light flooded through the lace curtains.

“Gaston?”

“Hush,” he hissed.

He shifted, one hand going between my shoulder blades to keep me pinned, the other moving to toy with my opening.

“Gaston, let me up for a moment,” I said as calmly as I could manage.

“Non. Trust me. I will be nice,” he whispered. There was menace in his tone.

A finger slipped inside me.

Fear knotted my bowels.

“Gaston, how are we?”

“I am fine,” he said with annoyance. “I will not have you marry that bitch until I have had you first. You want me. I want you. Let me do this as I must.”

My Horse was running, with terror in its eyes and the demons of fear and need spurring it on. I hung on. This was not how it should be, but perhaps it was the only way it could be. I wanted him. He wanted me.

Could I not just submit? Might this allow him to do it as himself?

Another finger had joined the first, and I was not relaxed. I squirmed with the discomfort and in anticipation of the pain.

“Be still,” he said huskily. “Relax. You want this.”

You want this. The world exploded, and Shane’s ugly words were echoed a million times, to slash me like shards of glass.

“NO N!”

I rolled under him, and found a knife at my throat. I was not deterred.

“Damn you!” I roared. “You will never say that to me! Never! I do not care how mad you are. You will not say that.”

His eyes were wild, like those of a cornered animal. I felt the fingers of his other hand at my throat, beneath the knife.

I did not stop. “And you will not do this. You know damn well you court disaster. I will not let you destroy us out of fear and…”

He hit me. I saw stars, and then nothing.

When I came to, he was gone. I dove from the bed and cast about.

He had left all of his weapons, but his clothes were gone. I quickly threw my breeches on and ran for the door. I could not know how much of a head start he had. I also could not know where he was going.

I found a surprised Theodore and Hannah in the dining room.

“Did you see him?” I yelled.

They nodded and pointed toward the front door. I left them.

Once on the street, I did not know which way to go. He could be heading to the Palisadoes. There were people across the way, and they were looking and gesturing toward Lime Street.

“Did you see a red-headed man?” I called to them.

They nodded and pointed in the direction they had before. I cursed.

He was going toward people, not away.

“Will! What is going on?” Theodore yelled from his doorway.

“Go to my house!” I called back over my shoulder as I ran. “Get Striker and Pete! Gaston has gone mad!”

I ran toward Lime. At that corner I found others who had seen him.

He was not heading toward the Hole. He was heading up toward the taverns and shops. I was soon able to follow the surprised and curious faces of everyone he had passed. Then I heard the ruckus in a tavern.

I charged inside and found him taking on nearly all of the occupants. I was damn glad it was morning and not midnight: the place was mostly empty. Still, there were surely a dozen of them. He was fighting unarmed, and I had a scant second to thank the Gods for it, as men surely would have died otherwise. As it was, he was a whirling fury, and they could not take him. I screamed his name and he paused to glare at me. In that moment, the barkeep hit him from behind with a club. I had almost reached him. I threw myself atop him as he went down under a hail of blows. I could do nothing but curse and gasp.

Then they realized there were two of us beneath their fists and feet and they backed away.

“He is mad. He is mad,” I gasped over and over again, once I thought they might hear me.

Gaston was stiff with rage beneath me. His eyes were hard and glittering, but he did not fight me.

“I love you, even now,” I whispered.

And then familiar hands and faces were on us and about us. My vision was blurred and the room spun as Striker pulled me to my feet.

Theodore was panting and asking me if I was well. They held me away from the scuffle that ensued as Cudro and Pete bound Gaston. And then I was suspended between Theodore and Striker and out in the street.

I kept passing into blackness, and in my lucid moments I was minded of our escape from Doucette’s. Pete was even carrying Gaston again. Of course, this time Gaston was hurling French curses at the world.

We reached our room at Theodore’s, and they bound Gaston to the bed. Striker and Theodore were discussing which surgeon to send for. Gaston was growling that he would not have me treated by some ignorant fool.

I was dizzy and the ability to speak seemed distant. I finally managed to grab Cudro and get him to kneel beside me on the floor.

“How badly injured am I?”

He shook his head with a sad smile. “Will, you got a gash on your head that will need sewing, your lip is split, your right eye is swelling closed, and you seem to be somewhat addled. Your matelot’s in better condition, but he has a nasty cut on the back of his head, too.”

“Will!” Gaston hissed.

I crawled to the head of the bed.

“You have taken a blow to the head,” Gaston said. “Do not sleep. Do not let them put us to sleep.”

“No sleep. I understand,” Cudro said from behind me.

“I love you,” I whispered to Gaston.

He cursed and pulled at the ropes binding his wrists to the headboard. “Will, you damn fool. Why did you let them hurt you?”

“I was trying to protect you.”

Gaston gave a ragged sob, and then he snarled in English. “Someone put pressure on the gash on his head.”

“We’re going to try and find a surgeon,” Striker said.

“Release me, and I will tend him,” Gaston said.

“Like Hell,” Striker replied.

Gaston returned to swearing in French.

I turned until I could see Striker speaking with Theodore at the door.

“He can tend me,” I called.

“Will,” Striker said with exasperation. “He’s raving mad.”

“Aye,” I sighed, “but he is a fine physician nonetheless. He will tend me. He is always able to control himself to do so.”

Cudro cut Gaston’s bonds. This set Striker and Pete to swearing.

“He’s lucid enough,” Cudro said. “I speak French. He’s not raving, just swearing.”