Timeless Heart (9 page)

Her eyes widened in surprise, but they
glittered with interest and desire. She did as he bade and he got
behind her, on his knees. This is what he had wanted to do since he
first saw her, take her like the animal he really was. Not that he
wasn't capable of tender feeling and considerate lovemaking, he had
already showed Sandra that side of him, but he wanted to introduce
her to the lascivious beast he could be. A man who did enjoy all
the pleasures of the flesh, but kept a part of himself back with
women from his time, for a myriad of reasons. He wondered briefly
if that was why his fiancé, Ruth Coverack, had thrown him aside for
a viscount. It would not have worked, he saw that now.

But Sandra? As passionate a woman he had ever
had the pleasure to know intimately. He reached down and fisted his
cock in his hand, air hissed through his clenched teeth. He
squeezed it tighter. He didn't even wait to see if she was wet,
somehow, he knew she was. Rolling on another sheath, he pushed into
her without any preamble or foreplay, no caresses or kisses to pave
the way, soften the invasion. He slammed into her welcoming, hot
cunny, grabbed her luscious ass, and began to pound, holding
nothing back. It wasn't him, surely. Behaving like a crass,
oversexed monster.

But it was. He grunted, he moaned, he was
beyond all control. He did not see to her pleasure or release at
all, just banged away. Through the sexual haze, he saw she was
gripping the headboard, and moaning herself. God's blood, she liked
it! That just fueled his own unrestrained lust. She gripped him,
her inner muscles contracting around him. An embrace so intimate,
so deep, he felt his heart contract with the sheer volume of his
passion. The crescendo of his climax was coming. His bollocks
tightened, the savage ache beyond anything he ever felt. His arm
slipped around her waist, and he brought her upright with him, on
her knees, in front of him, tight, so tight, like they were one
body. They had meshed. Entwined as one flesh. Still he pounded.
Sandra reached behind him and grasped his ass, her long nails
digging deep, searing their connection.

"Awww....God...Sandra!"

He blew apart. He roared like a lion lording
over a fresh kill. To his surprise and delight, Sandra was right
behind him, crying out his name as she shuddered her climax. Both
could barely catch their breath. Rivulets of sweat ran down both
their bodies as they stayed joined, upright on their knees. Jerrod
lowered his head, almost reverently, and began to lay tender kisses
on her neck. "My sweet, are you alright? Can you forgive
me?"

She turned her head slightly. He could see the
puzzled look on her flushed face. "For what?"

"For showing you...the beast. I will understand
if you are revolted."

Sandra moved, his semi-erect cock reluctantly
let her go. She turned to face him, her hands cupped his face. "Oh,
Jerrod. Never. Where is this coming from?"

He couldn't explain it now, like this. Instead
he took one of her hands from his cheek, brought it to his lips and
kissed it tenderly.

"I feel quite famished, food, and then we will
talk."

****

After a light supper, they sat in Sandra’s
living room on large toss cushions on the floor, entwined in each
other's arms. They listened to some classical music, glasses of
white wine at their feet.

Jerrod told her about Ruth Coverack, and his
numerous, meaningless sexual encounters with women of questionable
reputation.

"You are truly the first woman I have
ever...taken the time to explore tenderly, to see to your pleasure.
I felt I could trust you enough to show you what seemingly
disgusted Ruth."

Sandra took a sip of her wine. "You had sex
with your fiancé?"

"God's blood, no. She barely let me kiss her. I
made the mistake, during one rare passionate embrace, to voice my
expectations of our marital bed. I believe that is when she threw
me over for a viscount."

Sandra smiled over her wine glass. She was the
furthest thing from disgusted. Wild animal sex. She liked it. Ah
hell, who was she kidding, she loved it. At least, with Jerrod.
What a mix of a man he was. Affectionate and passionate, wild and
savage. Carnal tenderness. What more could she want in a lover? It
deepened her feelings even more, if that were possible, that he was
so concerned he had hurt her in some way.

His honesty made her want to talk about things
she had never discussed before. Sandra began to speak. She felt
closer to him at this moment than anyone in her life. She told him
the reason she was on a leave of absence. He listened, did not
interrupt. When the tears began to spill down her cheeks, he pulled
her closer to him.

"My sweet, it was not your fault. It was an
accident. The person driving the automobile car, must feel the same
as you, but it was not his fault anymore that it is yours. It is
tearing you apart."

"Until you came into my life, I felt like I
would fall into a pit of despair, but you rescued me, Jerrod. I
will never forget you for that. Thank you." She reached up and
stroked his cheek tenderly.

He kissed her hand again. "And you helped me as
well. I swore I would never expose my heart to a woman again, for
her to smash into bits, but you let me open up, feel. I am
eternally grateful."

Sandra sighed. He did not speak of love, but
perhaps that was for the best. Maybe he didn't love her, but if she
helped thaw the frost around his heart, then she was
thankful.

And into the wee small hours of the morning,
they made love as if they both knew the end was drawing
near.

****

Jerrod watched as she slept, curled in his
arms, naked and smiling. She looked well sated. Well loved. He must
be insane, ready for Bedlam, for planning to leave this luscious,
lovely woman. He had been convinced he would never find the woman
for him, but he had. In the future, of all bloody places. A future
that still was a puzzle to him, one he knew he would never truly
understand. He had only been here ten days, and already he was
getting used to the hot and cold running water, the flushing
commodes, the electricity. Hot food in an instant. The
overabundance of goods and foodstuffs. He had never seen the like,
not even at a fair or market back in Cornwall. Anything you could
want, available. For a price.

If he stayed, what would he become, a kept man?
He would be wholly dependent on Sandra for his very survival. It
was not something he could readily accept. It was not the way he
was raised. He was, and would always stay, a man of his time. He
was of the gentry, a rich country landowner, a man many looked up
to, counted on. Whose family could be traced into antiquity. How
could he become one of those pathetic men who latched onto a woman
for money and comforts? He had seen a few in London. Male whores.
Escorts. A cicisbeo. Men paraded about the ballrooms like a poodle
on a leash.

He glanced at Sandra, who sighed contently in
her sleep. Sandra was not like those painted matrons who kept
pretty young men as pets. She would not degrade him so, he knew
that, instinctively. But he would feel that way, nonetheless. He
had no means, no identity. He was a nobody in a strange
world.

He would be a kept man, repaying her the only
way he knew how, with his body. Even though now they were caught up
in the discovery of newness, and maybe even love, it would be
destroyed, ultimately. They were too far apart, the chasm of time
too wide. He would grow to resent her. And he did not want that.
His feelings were raw, exposed. If he spoke aloud what he truly
felt, he knew he would be lost.

So he would try to stay removed emotionally, as
hard as that was. He obviously could not stay removed from her
physically. For each time they made love, he fell deeper. The more
they shared, expressed, spent time together, the more the iron
bands closed about them, enmeshing them almost as one being. It was
bloody frightening, the intensity. He reached and gently lifted a
long strand of her golden hair off her flushed cheek. He did not
think it possible for one to feel so much, in so short a time.

Time
. That was the crux of this whole
thing, after all.

What flummoxed him even more was what had
happened to the other occupants of the carriage? Why had he alone
traveled through those ribbons in time? Perhaps, he didn't travel
alone, perhaps, the others went into different...ribbons, as
Sandra's science friend hypothesized. He had no other words to
describe what he went through. When lightning struck the carriage,
were they scattered through time? Different places, different
years? Just as a lightning bolt branched, perhaps they did too. Did
they each have a carriage? Wherever or whenever they were, he
silently hoped they found peace and happiness. Those graces so
often sought and too seldom found were elusive in life, as well he
knew. His hand went to his forehead, which he began to rub in
irritation. He was getting a massive headache, as he always did
when he tried to reason out what had happened to him. Perhaps,
this...all this, Sandra included, was a dream. He would awaken in
his own bed, the unfortunate victim of a tragic carriage accident,
where he alone survived. Brought to his home to die. Perhaps, even
now, he was teetering on the threshold of death, the grim reaper
taking great delight in showing him the woman he would never have,
never possess, never love.

Or maybe, just maybe, all this, Sandra
included, was real. He grunted aloud, his hand reached down for his
hardened cock. This was certainly real. He had been hard and aching
since he arrived here, since that first day he met her. He glanced
at Sandra, she was asleep. Dare he give himself release, with her
laying next to him?

He closed his eyes and began that familiar
rhythm, one he had used since he sprouted a few hairs on his
bollocks. He knew just how and where to apply pressure, how fast to
thwack it to achieve maximum pleasure. Yes, he did this often.
Almost nightly, whether he had fucked a woman or not. He was of an
amorous nature. That was the polite way to say it. In truth he was
just terribly debauched. He could not deny his base nature. His
hand moved faster, and he bit back a moan on his lips. He could
feel his sac tighten.

He opened his eyes and glanced at Sandra again.
She was awake, leaning up on her elbow, watching him. Her eyes
almost golden with lust. He stopped, his hand dropped automatically
to his side, his face was flushed. Never had a woman seen him pull
on his cock like this before.

"Don't stop," she whispered, her voice husky.
"I love it, watching you pleasure yourself. I’ll do the same for
you. Anytime you want, just say the word. To you, or to myself."
She reached over and took his hand, placing it back around his
cock. "Do it. Jerk yourself off, shoot it. Now."

Oh, sweet Christ
.

"As you command, my dear lady." He threw
himself into 'jerking himself off' as she so deliciously called it.
He gripped his cock, and pulled, slapped, moving his hand faster.
He groaned, moaned and cried out through his clenched teeth.
Yes. God, yes.
He watched her, as she watched him. It was
incredibly arousing. The muscles in his legs tightened, the cords
in his neck strained. With one final, agonizing, guttural shout, he
climaxed, a violent spurt he had never seen before when he was
alone. Sandra’s eyes, glittering with satisfaction, never left him.
Damme, who was a performing fair animal now? All his previous
thoughts about being a kept man crept back into his mind with
greater intensity. He looked down at his messy stomach. He went to
stand, but Sandra reached out and grabbed his arm.

“What is it, Jerrod? You look angry. Was that
uncomfortable for you? I’m sorry.” She reached over by the bed and
reamed off several of those disposal handkerchiefs and began to
gently sop up his seed. “I suppose it is not something that’s done
in your time.”

Dear God, she thought he was ashamed? Far from
it.

“My sweet, everything has been done since the
beginning of time. I am sure Adam pulled on his cock in front of
Eve in that damned garden. I merely,” he exhaled, “as much as I
have been enjoying our sexual congress, I find certain distaste for
an act a trained monkey could perform. I don’t want to be beholden
to you. For your kindness, I could pay you with what is left of my
sovereigns, however, my cock seems to be proper barter.”

He winced as soon as the caustic words left his
mouth. He sounded bitter. His words hit their mark. Sandra stopped
in mid-wipe and looked at him incredulously.

“Payment? Sex as payment? For what? The
clothes, the food, the warm bed, my willing body?”

He stood suddenly, his hands balled into fists
at his side.

“Yes! This is why I cannot tarry here. Can’t
you see? I would become your whore. With no means of my own, no
life of my own. It would kill me. I have been here almost a
fortnight, and already I feel a part of me has died.”

Her delicate hand clutched her throat. “I see.
Time with me is killing you. Sorry you feel so used and abused. I
thought we shared something, made a connection. Turns out you were
paying me for the fried chicken.” Sandra stood, reaching for her
robe. She angrily punched her arms through the sleeves. “Take the
bed, I’m sleeping in the spare room.” She marched out and slammed
the door.