Fever by Autumn Archer
18
With nightfall upon us, the animal chorus has settled while creatures get ready for a spell of darkness. The hum of insects fills the void of her unspoken stare—those eyes of onyx rush over my damaged flesh. Fingertips brush the exquisite length of her neck in contemplation. I’d give a million reais to step inside her mind again. To spear her truth and drag it out into the open.
She thinks they’re repulsive.
That I’m damnable.
Hideously spoiled.
I don't want pity, nor do I seek compassion.
These tortured hands are the element of my control. I have the ability to stalk, punish, kill, and burn my enemies to ashes with one tap.
They are a singular reminder of an agonizing personal vendetta.
Her silent scrutiny lights the fuse to my temper. It seethes of liquefied hostility and is ready to spew. Hissing beneath the surface, eager to unleash havoc. I won’t let her into my head.
Tumbles of wet curls pour over a pale shoulder as her head drifts sideways, and that charming accent I adore dances past colorful lips.
“Does it still hurt?” A silky voice, candor yet timid, rips my wilted spirit to shreds.
Of all the questions to ask, she chooses to find out if I’m in pain. There was no gasp of disgust, whirl of horror, or virtuous interrogation.
Fuck, this woman is breaking me.
My heart claws and burns for an affection I have no right to crave. I’m destruction, she’s rebirth. I resent the sincerity because she’s an illusion of perfection, even with a blemish. It gives her an edge, something we have in common. I've been lured by lust before. That’s all this is: innate sexual magnetism. Nothing more.
I promptly curtail the rankle of awe binding me to her. This woman has unwittingly unearthed hidden emotions inside me, so intense and terrifying. They clamor and scrape the venomous vines twisting around the wreckage of my broken heart.
She bites her lip, no doubt sensing the war holding me hostage.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” I say with a gravelly texture to my voice. A tone sandblasted with false nonchalance. “My palms and wrists suffered the most damage. Surprisingly, the nail bed wasn’t badly damaged, which is why my nails have regrown.” I shift in the seat and slide my hand off the table, suddenly unsure if I like her eyes on the ugliness of despair.
Why the fuck do I care?
Her intrigue drifts from my hands to the feast. She slips a sweet brigadeiro into her mouth, offering a faint mewl as the chocolatey sphere coats her lips. Volts of desire rocket up my thighs and shoot to my groin like unforgiving shrapnel. That glimmer of satisfaction stirs my cock to solid.
Lashes flutter, and her tongue skates between her teeth.
I shouldn’t be here, woven into a woman’s devious net.
“What forced you to take such drastic action?”
Thousands of spiders scamper under my skin. I clench my fist to stop the tremble. “It’s not story time. Bad things happened, and I’ve worked hard to recover the debt.”
Returning the journal was a truce. Giving a little back after taking everything away. The funeral spearheaded my abnormal change of heart. It was the moment I realized how sidetracked I’ve become with a fleeting infatuation. During the lonely chopper ride back to the oasis, I swore to unravel our intricate paths. And to do that, I have to put all this nonsense behind me. Now she can occupy her free time with research, and I can rest in the knowledge she’s content for a while.
My men retrieved various belongings from the campsite. Her passport with a teenage version of Iris, solemn and unsure, stuck beneath a laminated cover. A drenched laptop which I erased immediately and then destroyed. And her journal.
I stored her travel visa and notebook in my private quarters. Why I did that puzzles me even now. But I did, and the fucking journal has plagued me ever since. The weathered pages contain notes and diagrams, measurements, and doodles. Scrawly rushed handwriting. An inner passion scribed amid an exciting tropical expedition. A young woman enjoying life.
And that’s what she deserves––to live. Until she proves herself as unfaithful. Then and only then will I remove every privilege I’ve afforded her.
I’ve had my fair share of women. A lifetime ago when life was simple, and family was everything. I was blessed with looks that my sister referred to as killer. In my eyes, I merely resembled my father. No big deal. Through Gabriela’s teenage years, her friends spent more evenings at our place than she did at theirs. A gaggle of groupies would wait for her big brother to step out of the shower room in nothing but a towel. I played up to the adoring crowd with a wink and sly grin from time to time. It was only flirty fun. The real treat was taking the women who understood direct orders. They worshipped me. They desired a façade. A handsome face. It was superficial.
If only Iris realized how far I've slipped from those days. How my senses work tenfold now that my nerves are firing on all cylinders. That her body is the catalyst for its heightened return. How the cruel world beyond the rainforest ceases to exist when we’re together.
“I’ll leave you to enjoy the rest of your evening.” Chair legs screech as I push into the seat and prepare to stand.
“Before you go, can I ask a question?” Her forehead creases, and she stills, almost bracing for harshness. I pause, my reticence granting her permission to speak. “Do you love the woman you were with earlier?”
How do I answer that conundrum? Carina is the solitary thread of humanity attached to my soul. Her joy and laughter ground me to the earth when all I want to do is wreck and ruin. Do I love her? In my own way. As much as I hate to admit it. That unfortunate tug of love is a weakness. It’s not a connection I sought or wished to develop, but it happened over time.
An unhappy adolescent blossomed into a healthy woman. Every month she visits the oasis, has lunch with Sal, and checks in with her online counselor using my encrypted internet connection. We catch up over coffee and talk about her future.
“The woman you saw this afternoon is Carina. Salvador’s younger sister, and my . . .” What is she to me? A friend? I met the girl when she was a suicidal fourteen-year-old. Hexed by a birthmark on her lip. The wretchedness clouding her eyes spoke to me on a deeper level. Beyond my grief, it drove me to show the young girl how beautiful she was on the inside and out. I guess there was a similarity to the fourteen-year-old girl I raised from the ashes when our parents were killed.
“I arranged for Jackson, the onsite surgeon, to carry out a procedure that removed a growth from her top lip,” I continue. “He did an outstanding job and saved her life in the process.”
“Saved her life?”
“The girl was dying inside. She hid from the world. Sal found her on the bathroom floor with a blade and a sliced arm. I brought her here for a couple of weeks, arranged an operation, and flew in a discrete counselor who owed me a big favor. Jackson worked a miracle. She hasn't stopped smiling since.”
I can’t tell her Carina is like a sister because that admission would be too painful. Too cruel. Gabriela was my family, and now I’m off course, adrift in the universe with so few bonds to care for someone with a normal life. “I’m fond of the girl, in friendly terms.”
The odd whimperescaping her throat bumps the rhythm of my heartbeat. Misted eyes scrunch shut, and a shaky palm rests on her ribcage. She propels herself from seated to standing, fumbling with the corner of the table for support.
A petal-pink flush tints pearly white skin. Energized copper spirals bounce as she whirls around to the terrace. From behind, a moonlit silhouette stencils the loose cotton fabric flapping against her thighs. My pulse pumps faster, perplexed by her sudden glacial mood. “Beija flor?”
“Stop,” she begs, now clutching her stomach with both hands. “I’ve heard enough.” Angling her torso, I witness a droplet of fluid misery glide for freedom. “You can go now.”
My knees lock, securing me to the spot. I shouldn’t console her. That would make me weak. Then I might relent to the effervescent compassion fizzing around my heart. I’m the reason she’s here. She’s the reason I’m unbalanced.
A silver glaze kisses her wrinkled nose, highlighting peachy pouty lips. Those tempting lips I desperately wish to claim. If that day ever comes, and I actually kiss her properly, without a lesson of authority, it will be the worst downfall of all. The moment I stop lying to myself. When I own up to this overwhelming need and consider the possibility of a future without her. I’m an idiot to pretend she’s merely an employee or an insignificant woman. A heartfelt kiss would be like a crash of thunder from afar—lightning preparing to befriend the darkness.
It will fucking destroy me.
We’ll never make it in this world as a couple.
Not with the sole purpose to terminate ingrained in my psyche—and wipe out anyone who stands in my way.
“I will never forgive you,” she spits out. “No matter what you’re trying to accomplish by being here this evening, I’ll always despise you.” Her shoulders hunch, and she stoops over. “I can’t do this . . . please . . . I’m begging you . . . set me free.” Swiveling to the pool, she scurries to the edge and dives straight in.
My hands curl.
Adrenaline surges to every nerve ending.
I feel alive.
Goddamn it.
Swaddled in a saturated nightdress, the scant translucent material reveals glorious breasts and dark nipples. Awry tendrils splay the lustrous surface like lost blood as she floats on her back with an oval of water lapping her face. Her body stills, and my lungs scream for oxygen. I’m instantly hard at the sight of her peaceful protest. The same method I’ve used for years to calm the turmoil wrestling within me.
I storm to the water's edge, scowling down at the motionless starfish glittering under trillions of stars. “Get out of the fucking pool, beija flor,” I bite out, angry that she’s affecting me with this mania.
My chest tightens, and my fists work as the starlit queen of my jungle ignores me.
Fuck, this woman.
Her lashes flutter open, and she studies the tiny pinpricks scattering an indigo canvas. I should punish her. Throttle her tender neck. Warn her of all the reasons not to turn a deaf ear on her master.
We aren’t soulmates.
Or star-crossed lovers.
We’ll always be on opposite sides.
Jailor versus prisoner.
This evening's objective was a discreet adieu. An informal dismissal. A parting of ways. So, unzipping my shorts and sliding into her tepid sanctuary is wholly unjustified.
Curbing my inner wish for a brutal approach, I swim to her side. Plunging backward into the fluid arms of the water, I kick my legs up. It holds my form the second all the anger tensing my muscles is forgotten. Buoyancy pulls us closer. Our fingertips skim, then part. We connect. We separate. We breathe. We keep quiet.
Lying beneath the universe, under the weight of an overcrowded heaven, never fails to bring me closer to Gabriela. However, not tonight. Instead, my awareness is with the Scottish woman who’s sharing a private experience with me.
“Why do you despise me so much?” she asks, breaking our momentary peace treaty. Feet sink to the bottom, and her head elevates from the aqua tranquility. Saturated spirals spill over her breasts, weighing down damp curls to waves. “I don’t understand. I haven’t given you any reason to be so unfriendly,” she says with a curious glance.
“I don’t trust you. There’s a difference. As for being friendly to someone who isn’t a friend, well, that's impossible.” My gaze settles on a cluster of stars. A graceful scattering of souls decorating the afterlife with jewels of memories.
Reminiscing is the one constant that feeds the highly strung beast in my gut––the monster primed to attack the enemy. As my thoughts meander to the past, I’m filled with a devastating sense of sadness. A somber regret for Gabriela’s life, and my own. The day she left this world, I ceased to live. There was nothing to live for. Losing my sister cut out an essential piece of me. My benevolence. And now, I bleed for war.
Droplets disturb the calm crystal water when she shakes her head. “So why haven't you locked her in a cabin? With one hand, you gave her a life worth living, and with the other, you’ve stolen mine away. She gets your kindness, and I’m treated with cruelty.” She cuts herself off when I lower my legs until our twilight gazes settle on each other.
“Carina was an innocent girl afflicted with depression. I saw someone in her. She was so young when I first met her.”
Unfortunately for Iris, she doesn’t remind me of anyone. She’s a complete anomaly of extraordinary. I grit my teeth when she licks her lips and drags her eyes to Heaven.
“I despise you for what you’re doing to me. It’s wrong. So very wrong and heartless. I . . . I . . .” she stammers, unsure how I’ll react.
This is a big mistake. A risk I’m compelled to take with no other reason than I want her to know. “My actual name is Dante.” The name spills out as I share the biggest secret of all time. My identity. My past. My ruin.
Her pupils flare as if danger is waiting. “Why did you tell me that?”
I shrug. “Jackson is the only other living person on this planet who knows me by my birth name. It’s your secret now. After tonight, you’ll not meet me again unless you break the rules.” Her lips pout. “You found your way into my life, beija flor. I didn’t pursue you or bid for your life at auction. There wasn’t a sign streaking the sky requesting the presence of a striking woman. I’d rather you weren’t here.” I almost convince myself of the bold statement as it vanishes behind the subdued buzz of restless creatures. “Once I’m convinced I can let you go without consequences, then you will be free.”
Her regal neck works as she swallows. Speckles of water glisten on high cheekbones, making her out-of-this-world and dreamlike. I swear she’s been sent to this Earth with a mission to test me.
“How long will that take?”
Her question impales my chest. So quick to run away. So ready to turn her back. An obvious response for a beautiful bird in captivity. I have no suitable answer. Only a question of my own. “Can I entrust you with my name?”
Lashes bat wildly. “Yes.”
“Then half a year. No less.”
“Six months?” Her brow creases. “That long?”
“One-hundred-and-eighty-three days. Twenty-six weeks. Six months. Half a year.” I overemphasize her prison sentence. “Until then, work hard, prove your loyalty to me, and earn your freedom. Can you do that?”
“Will you stay away from me?”
I reach out, brushing a rogue bead of silver liquid from her chin. A chain reaction of prickles dances from my skin to hers. “After tonight, I’ll let you walk this oasis without fear of ever seeing me.”
Her hand flies up, showering us with splatters like rain. She cuffs my wrist, nostrils flaring, eyes piercing. “Please tell me this isn’t a nasty joke. Don’t give me hope for a future outside of here if you’re only playing a game.”
The unsteady beat of my heart picks up pace at her trembling contact. “Six months. As long as you promise me something in return.” Her chest rises as she inhales a shaky breath. “Don’t venture into the forest alone.” My voice slips into obscurity. “And don’t have relations with any of the men here.”
“I have zero interest in those men.” She rushes to defend herself, and then, as if thinking about the meaning of that request, she frowns. “Why is that of importance––if you don’t want me here or care about me?”
My lashes lower, dragging my gaze over the luscious expanse of her mouth. “There are animals in the jungle that will kill you. And I’ll kill you myself if I find you with another man.”
Her voice shakes. “Why?”
“For every second you're in my oasis, you belong solely to me.” She gasps as I run my fingers through the kinks of wet hair framing her inflamed scar. “The thing is, beija flor, you and I know there’s a flicker of intrigue between us. In normal circumstances, life might be different.” My fingertips trail the breadth of her throat, mindful of the essence of coconut and citrus lacing her skin. “As much as you won’t willingly admit it, you feel it too. It’s suffocating. Neither of us can deny this hypnotic curse.” Visible prickles flourish over her exposed skin when I lean in and whisper into her ear. “Why do I want you so much?”
She fights the compulsion to tip into me, breathing in soft bursts of feathery air. A slight crease dents her brow. “And why do I want you?” The midnight shade of her pupils oscillates with her open-ended reply.
I hate the way my pulse drums so damn powerfully, as if she’s the only life source with an ability to reward me with energy.
Even after everything I’ve put her through, she links her dainty fingers with mine and cautiously brings my thumb to her lips. Slipping the digit into her mouth, she pins mahogany eyes to mine and sucks softly. My erection turns to steel. I can barely breathe as the tenderness of her tongue embraces the ugliness of my punished skin tissue.
“You have my word, Dante. I’ll do as you ask.”
She used my name.
A Scottish lilt flows with the syllables, teasing the title from her lips with a distinct sound. New. Fresh. My heart lurches in a mindless panic. I swore I’d never allow lust to blind me.
I’m so fucked.
Letting go of my hand, she wades deeper, keeping her stare entangled with mine. My precious little hummingbird doesn’t look fragile. She’s intoxicating. Stunning. I’ve given her motivation to trust me.
“And you will keep your word?” she asks. The cavernous gap from her body to mine is punishment for free falling into her eyes.
I nod. “Yes, you have my word, beija flor.” Her hand splays over her chest, and a timid smile curls the corner of her mouth. She has a special gift of seduction, an unintentional look that signals to me. A regard that tells me too much. Her bottom lip slips between her teeth, and I liquify, then harden to stone.
I can’t stop myself launching for her, splashing us with urgency. She shivers when I jerk her closer, reclaiming my gravity. Clement water softens the force. Her breasts crush into my chest. Green eyes to dark brown. Nose to nose. Entwined together.
In this idiotic instant, I’m sorely tempted to kiss her. Rather than bring my lips to hers, I rotate her petite frame. Her ass to my groin. My teeth to her neck. Hungry hands snatch her narrow waist, and I navigate her quivering body to the side of the pool.
With her attention directed at the shadows of nature, I peel the nightdress up and over her head, flinging the garment behind me. The damp material slaps as it lands, making her flinch.
Her fingers spread-out when I sandwich her body between the aching erection in my boxer briefs and the mosaic wall. Along with thoughts of owning her comes the cruel lick of fickleness. The malicious forewarning of pending deception.
She’s not my enemy.
Just once.
Then I’m done with her.
My fingertips explore the supple dips of her torso. Not with romantic, caring sweeps––they dig into her hip bones, jab into her plump breasts, and seize the hairs close to her scalp. Firm. Aggressive. Wild. She cries out when my cock prods her buttocks, and I snarl into her ear. The sensation of touch catapults to hyperawareness. Silky skin turns bumpy with hot chills. I sense it all. I feel every visceral reaction.
It's more intense than the first time I skimmed her flesh.
More damaging.
I’m barely clinging to sanity when she groans again, flipping her hands behind her head to delve into my hair. As she tugs the lengths, the sharp bite flourishes across my shoulder blades with bumps of savage desire. Her back arches, allowing me to secure her throat and nip her earlobe.
I have to fuck her.
There’s no coming back from this.
My hands withdraw. I jiggle my underwear to my knees and wrangle them from my ankles. She attempts to turn into me. I clamp the back of her neck, preventing her lips from taunting me, keeping her vivid gaze away from the king toppling from his gilded throne. Her shoulders rise and fall with frustration.
“Kiss me, Dante.”
“Believe me, beija flor. Neither of us wants that.”
Hysteria hisses in my veins, her body feeding the delirium. Gliding a hand to her navel, I levitate her hips and guide my dick to her opening. She tenses every muscle as my feet plant wide, and I tease pleasure with the tip.
“Are you ready?” Am I ready?
“I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t want this, Dante,” she pants. “And I won’t lie to you.”
I jolt at her statement. A thick grunt signals my struggle to breathe as I shunt inside her, unforgiving, unprotected, and violent. The precise moment her walls close around me, I lose it all.
What she wants in a kiss, I show her with firm hands. A grip so intense that it’s taken away my wits. She winces when I penetrate her cervix. My stamina slaps and smacks the lazy fluid encasing us from the waist down. No longer is there space separating me from paradise. It’s here. In this woman. Not in the jungle, where the animals hold their tongues and turn a blind eye to my actions. It’s in every spasm, every ridge, and every breath.
I cradle her chin with my palm, crashing her head back to the crook of my neck. My hands flame, trapped under hers, as I enter her body so vigorously that my teeth clench. The sparks from her skin to mine cause deeper burns than my injuries.
Her orgasm catches fire.
My spine tingles.
I sink my teeth into her shoulder as my balls cramp.
I claim this woman with my seed.
I own her with a possessive snare.
And then I let her go.
