Passion's Joy (57 page)

"Ah, every night is special," he agreed wholeheartedly. Every night was special when a man felt the force of unlimited desire, a desire that poetically might spring from his heart and mind but one he felt physically centered in his groin. The thought made him smile, one short lived as he had trouble concentrating past the beauty of her naked backside.

What was she going on about?

He didn't know, didn't care, not with the vision of those straight slender shoulders, the curves of that waist, the long lines of her legs. Never had a woman's backside been so erotic to him! With her name on his lips, he reached for her just as she turned back to him and shyly, holding her nightgown in front of herself, said, "I’ve waited for the perfect time. A night when we're alone and unhurried, just you and I."

Her words and manner spoke the very word seduction, and a tender smile lifted on his handsome face. "This night is special to you." He realized, willing to let her have her way— to a point. She looked startlingly lovely, standing there, her unclad beauty partially shielded by the folds of white silk.

"Yes, it is," she said earnestly. "Oh Ram, I just know you'll be unspeakably moved!'' "Unspeakably moved?" he questioned, then laughed, "Well, I suppose..."

"I promise!" "Indeed!"

He felt suddenly on the edge of his seat. He certainly did not need a seductive game, but the fact that she not only wanted to play one, but was initiating it brought amusement, delight and admittedly interest. No doubt, it would be tame by any standards, for she was still and always would be the innocent in so many respects, at least until the moment he touched her. Then an entirely different woman emerged...

She lifted the nightdress over her head. Smooth folds of white silk slid over her skin. He suffered a moment's confusion but reasoned undressing must be part of her game. He dropped his wet breeches and quickly donned his black cotton robe.

Joy pointed to the desk chair. "Why don't you sit there and get comfortable, while I pour you a brandy."

Smiling, Ram assumed his desk chair, watching as she moved about the room. She was such a constant surprise and delight, and the way his heart beat he might have just finished a run! How perfect she was for him!

She returned with a brandy, set carefully to the table.

Ram's brow rose as she knelt at his feet, looking up at him with wide innocent eyes, a deceptively angelic appearance in white silk. He was not going to last—

"Before I start, I want you to imagine something."

His imagination ran rampant with patently unchaste thoughts and amusement sprang in his gaze, but a thick velvet voice answered, "I can probably imagine anything at this point."

"Good." She smiled, somewhat surprised by how well her plans were going. "Imagine, if you will," she stopped abruptly, "why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because love"—he chuckled—"anticipation has simply never been so sweet. I am in fact on the edge of my seat."

"And I have not even begun!" She could hardly believe his interest. "Oh, just wait, just

wait."

His smile grew.

Joy cleared her throat. "Shall we begin?" "By all means!"

"All right. Now imagine if you will that you are a northern abolitionist, yet only in

principal. By day you are moved by the greatest evil, that of apathy. In other words," she said meaningfully, "you don't do absolutely everything you can for the cause."

So set was his mind on something entirely different, he didn’t think he heard right. "What?" "I just know Garrison's address will be more meaningful that way."

"Garrison's address?" he repeated but for a moment absolutely dumbfounded. He stared for a moment more in shock.

She took the letter in hand. "It's quite long—ten pages—" she began, "and if at any time you'd like to finish reading it yourself, just tell me. We can discuss it afterward."

"Can we now?" his voice dripped with sarcasm, barely contained, for the only thing he was willing to discuss was getting his head examined. He should be strung up for being such a fool! He should string her up for playing him so! Yes, revenge—

"Oh yes!" she smiled, completely missing his tone. "Are you ready? Are you imagining you're a northern abolitionist?"

"Oh, I'm imagining things all right!" He swallowed the drink whole, like revenge... "Good. I shall begin." She cleared her throat once again, and with a pretty smile, she began

to read, "'It may be inquired of me why I seek to agitate the subject of slavery in New England, where we all acknowledge ...'"

Her passion, that was the damn trouble, he thought. She had two separate and distinct passions, and he wondered if passion were measured like gold on a scale, which of hers would be greater?

He listened for a moment. The musical lift to her voice alone would have sold him the package, he realized as his lascivious gaze rested on the package itself, wrapped in white silk and kneeling before him. "Joy love," he abruptly interrupted, "come sit on my lap. The light's better up here."

"So it is." Obediently she rose and sat comfortably on his lap. He smiled. Immediately she realized it was a mistake. His great warmth flowed like a current through her. He smelled deliciously of the salty taste of the sea. The rough hairs of his thighs tickled her bottom through the flimsy cloth of her gown.

"Go on, love."

"Yes." She forced her consciousness away from the hard lean body beneath her. "I shall try to do it justice."

"Justice... by all means."

"This evil has preyed upon the very vitals—" "What?"

She blushed. "Vitals," she repeated. "Vitals." He nodded.

"Vitals of the Union, and has..." As the words sounded in the quiet room, Ram caressed a braid of her hair, casually as though he wasn't aware of doing so. Yet, as he stroked her braid, his thumb, just his thumb, lightly stroked under her arm on her side, inches from her breast. At first, she was only vaguely aware of it, but the sensation mounted, growing. A pleasant tingling sensation spread from the spot and she squirmed. Somehow the squirm brought the heat of his fingertips closer to a place she simply couldn't think about and keep on reading. She stumbled, stopped, and looked at him. Only then she saw what he had been staring at. "Ram." Her arms partially crossed over her bosom. "What are you staring at?"

He seemed only then to realize it. "Oh ... well, you know how one stares at a spot while listening to another read? Well, there's my spot." He pointed to a small red jam stain on her gown, just over the tip of her breast. She looked down, but all she could see was the shocking transparency of the White silk. She blushed, looked back at his face, but saw only innocence.

"Sorry love," he smiled. "I distracted you. Go on. This is just getting interesting.”

Flustered somewhat, she cleared her throat and resumed, "But it may be said the miserable victims of the system have ..." As she resumed reading, he resumed the caressing of her braid, the movement of his thumb. The maddening tingling sensation returned, somehow increased by the brief absence. A not unpleasant kind of congestion grew in her chest, growing until—

Her nipples tightened like tiny buds beneath a spring rain. She stopped abruptly.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "You're blushing love," he noticed. "Are you warm?" "Yes," she said too quickly.

"Here, I’ll get you a glass of water." He reached for the pitcher of water, set on the desk with two glasses, and the movement brushed his arm across her breast. A lick of fire shot through her. Her breasts, as though called to attention, rose like erect toy soldiers.

He seemed not to notice as he handed her the glass. She took a sip, shocked at her wantonness in the face of something so terribly important. More determined than ever, she took his hand and laid it safely across her lap before resuming. "No! Let the truth on this subject, undisguised, naked, terrible as it is, come, come before us—"

"Naked truth," he interrupted, "now there's a pretty metaphor." He seemed to be contemplating the poetry of the words, yet his unwavering gaze remained firmly fixed on a spot.

She bit her lip, looking up at him, wondering how those words could remind her of the night they spent at the Marquis de la Vein's great house in a bedroom that had gilt framed mirrors over the enormous feather bed, and when he had made love to her—

She squirmed in discomfort again, her heart beating much too fast and her voice curiously shaky as she forced herself to continue. For a paragraph, things—with the noted exception of her heart beat—seemed to settle down. Just when she thought herself all right, clearly owning his undivided attention and moving along fine, his hand resting over her lap stirred. She felt his fingertips moving ever so slightly just above her thigh, on her hip.

So slight, yet she felt heat rising in her abdomen as she mechanically mouthed the words that suddenly had no meaning. She could not steer her mind from those fingertips, caressing so softly, surely. A throbbing grew at her most secret point, and she felt an urge to twist, moving those fingers a few precious inches over—

She shifted again, squirming like a small child in the pews of a church. The mischievous fingertips moved a good inch closer to that precious point of need. The paper suddenly trembled, and she stopped briefly to clear her throat, resuming quickly, only to realize the tingling in her breasts continued, a jealous demand for equal attention. She flushed, feeling warm, so warm, and she felt herself losing it, her voice quivering with the paper as she forced herself to read on.

Heat kept rising. She felt tiny beads of-perspiration line her upper lip. Those fingertips were maddening! With some horror, she felt herself moistening, and her voice quivered. She shifted again, only to bring her thigh against hard hot pressure of him—

"Now what?"

She looked at him with what could only be described as alarm, a question as she looked down at the subject of her thoughts. The magnificent sight was shielded in black cotton, though she felt its heat in force. "Ram... I—"

"Joy." He chuckled. "I cannot even think of you without wanting you, let alone have you sit on my lap. Just ignore my state of affairs. I know I am," he lied outright. "Go on. This becomes more interesting by the minute."

She nodded, blushed profusely, feeling foolish and embarrassed both. He obviously had no trouble separating base physical needs from the exalted moral purpose. How could she? Again, she resumed. "Why are we this willing to believe a lie? Bound by the United States Constitution..."

The trouble was she could not ignore it She felt him! Thoughts intruded. How eagerly she learned the pleasure of roaming her hands over the hard, lean body, kissing, touching, playing, of taking and holding that hard, hot part of him—

She stopped. "More water please." Ram handed her the glass.

She took a sip, struggling to compose herself . "Where was I?" She stared blankly at the

paper.

"Bondage," he replied immediately. "You were just after his poignant reminder that we can

never know the agony of bondage."

"Bondage," she repeated, the word triggering another erotic memory. She had overheard one of Ram's men telling another about this woman he had been with the night before, and when she had asked Ram what that word meant in the context, the very devil had sprung in his gaze. All he said was that the principal was best demonstrated, and before she understood, he had lifted her to the bed, gently pinning her arms with one hand and her legs with one of his. She first thought it was funny and had tried to fight him, only to discover the futility of it. Once she was still, held helpless to his will, she felt a twinge of fear, until he kissed her in a way he never had before. The kiss was hard and hot but with a slow lazy quality to it that made her writhe, made her want more. Only she couldn't move…

She wanted him to kiss her like that.

She licked her lips. Distressed, confused, she brushed stray wisps of hair from her flushed face. He never wasted an opportunity and his hands came under her arms as though to hold her balanced, lending his support, yet his thumbs slowly began to caress the beckoning mounds of her breasts. Then she knew she would die—

"Kiss me," she didn't know what she was saying. "Please, kiss me."

Ram allowed the laughter in his heart a brief moment's triumph over the desire coursing through him. She no longer cared. All she knew was that she would die if she didn't feel his lips on hers, and with that knowledge, her arms went around his neck and she found his lips. Softly, shakily, seeking, she kissed him, and in that kiss his question of passion was answered.

The kiss broke as the thin strings of her gown were pushed around her waist and his hands brushed over the sensitive bare peaks. Shuddering little shocks bolted through her.

"I was testing you, you know," he told her.

She didn't care what he was doing so long as it was to her. All she knew was that she wanted him, all of him. She wanted to feel him everywhere and all at once. She wanted him to love her until she begged him to stop. Yet it occurred to her to ask, "Did I fail?”

"Quite the contrary love!" He chuckled, as his calloused hands covered her breasts, measuring their softness against the hard palm, massaging gently until her breath came in shaky uneven gasps and waves of pleasure washed over her. "You passed with flying colors."

Her reward was his love, played out endlessly that night. Gently and then fiercely, his love brought her soaring to passion's ultimate height where he followed her with the wondrous winged creature he knew as his love.

Yet, as they finally lay exhausted and spent, wrapped in the warm afterglow of their love's expression, she felt a familiar sadness fill her. "I love you so much," she whispered into the darkness. "Sometimes after you love me like this, I remember when fate separated us ..."

"Shhh." His lips gently brushed her closed eyes. He knew what she felt, for he often felt the same. Even now, with the privacy and leisure of the ship's voyage, he sometimes felt he could not get enough of her. He wanted to take her away to some faraway place where they could be alone, laughing beneath the warmth of the sun. "The past is behind us, over and through," he said. "Joy, my love—" he kissed her tenderly. “We have only just begun the long book that will be our lives." The thought let her drift into a deep dream-filled sleep…