[Atlantean's Quest 01] The Arrival (6 page)

Eros pulled her down until her bottom hit the lip of the cot. She was exposed and dripping, her wet pussy longing for what he would give her.

She murmured, seemingly unable to form coherent words.

He slipped a finger inside her velvet sheath. “You like this, don’t you little one?”

A long, needy moan pushed past her lips. Eros worked his finger in and out of her. The muscles of her hungry cunt gripped him, beckoning him, pulling him back inside. He added another finger.

She was tight, very tight. She would need much preparation before she’d be able to accommodate his massive cock. He removed his fingers from her moist folds. He needed more. Eros lowered his head between her legs and stuck out his six-inch tongue, stiffening it in preparation for entry. His eyes met hers a second before he plunged inside her passage.

She gasped and whimpered. Her body rippled. He fucked her with his tongue, lapping at her folds in between each thrust, branding her. His thumb found her clit. He applied pressure to the hidden treasure with each circling pass.

She cried out softly, her heated flesh singing beneath his masterful touch. Her body began to tremble and quake, riding on the razor’s edge of desire. He continued to plunder for a few minutes more, lapping up her juices.

Eros paused, his muscles quivering. He met her eyes and waited for the word he needed to hear her utter.

She gasped, making keening noises deep in her throat, trying to tilt her pussy to his face. “Eros, please…”

There it was—his name. He dove back between her legs, twisting and spiraling his tongue, his mouth frenzied, drunk with the smell of her impending release.

Giving one last shudder, Rachel came hard in his mouth, her body rippling with aftershocks.

Eros fed deep from her endless well.

He licked her flowing juices, trying to catch every last drop with his tongue. Intoxicated by her taste, he savored her wetness, praying that the memory would last until he could feast upon her once again.

Mindlessly, he stroked the soft down between her legs, petting it for a job well done. His eyes followed her pebble-like nipples moving up and down, until her breathing slowed. The rise and fall of her chest mesmerized, lulling him with its calming rhythm.

His chin was wet from her release. Eros wiped it with the back of his hand and onto his loincloth. His cock grew so hard, he thought it would burst before he’d get a chance to fill her. How he’d last until after the ceremony, he knew not.

“Sleep little one.”

The creatures of the jungle were starting to stir. In a few hours it would be dawn. With great effort, he rose up, quickly buttoning her shirt and moving her back onto the cot.

Her eyes were drowsy from being sated. He placed a slow burning kiss on her mouth. His teeth nipped at her lower lip, until she allowed him full access, until she surrendered.

Eros’s heart leapt in triumph.

He plunged into her deep recesses, tasting the honeyed nectar within. In a dance as old as time itself, her tongue tangoed with his, turning, dipping and rotating, voracious in its demands for a deeper connection.

Reluctantly he pulled away from her, fighting the primal urges coursing through his body. He replaced the netting around her cot and slipped out the same way he’d come.
See you tomorrow, my Queen.

Chapter Four

Dawn’s pink tentacles stretched across the vast blue sky. Animals scurried in the underbrush, crunching leaves and small ferns beneath their clawed feet. Filling the air with a dissonant symphony, macaws and parrots sang out, each vying to outdo the other.

Rachel rubbed her bloodshot eyes, pretty sure someone had dumped a pound of sand in them sometime during the night. Her head pounded like a jackhammer, threatening to roll off her shoulders. Muscles ached as if she hadn’t slept a wink. The strange cry had echoed in her mind, refusing to let her drift off until the hour drew late.

To make matters worse she’d had the most erotic dream of her life, similar to the ones she’d had back in New York. Yet this one was different because last night she’d finally seen her dream man’s face.

The beauty of his features made him even more godlike than before. The dream had felt so
real
, sizzling flesh upon flesh. And that tongue, mmm. Just the thought sent a jolt of electricity slicing through her.

No more masturbating until I return to New York.

She shook her head, trying to clear the fogginess that had taken up residence. The tent smelled like a spice rack had been emptied in it. Awareness tingled at the back of her mind.

Rachel had detected the same odor last night in her dream. Rising, she slipped her pajama top over her head. As she folded the cotton she noticed the buttons were off by one.

Rachel shrugged. She hadn’t seen it last night, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d buttoned her sleep shirt the wrong way. Besides, she’d been all thumbs because of her scare down by the water.

Her black lace underwear was missing. Had she gotten so caught up in the dream that she’d slipped them off during the night? If so, then where could she have put them? She’d heard of wet dreams, but this was ridiculous.

She searched through the crumpled material in her pack, confused and slightly embarrassed by her lack of control. Rachel donned clean clothes and pulled her hair back, securing the mop under a New York Yankees baseball cap.

She rolled her sleeping bag and folded all her things into her pack, including the mosquito netting. She was set.

Pulling a rose colored lipstick out of one of the pockets, she applied it without the use of a mirror.
No sense roughing it too much.

She was about to untie the flaps on the door when a flash of sunlight out of the corner of her eye caught her attention. She walked to the back wall of her tent, and saw that a thin line of light shown through. Her brows furrowed as she examined the fabric. The slice was clean, as if it had been cut with a very sharp instrument.

Just like the back of the equipment tent.

Fear gripped her in a tight fist, sending the air rushing from her lungs. Rachel ran her hands along the rough edges of the three-foot opening. Her heart began to pound frantically, stampeding in her chest until she thought it might burst. With trembling fingers she pulled the area apart. It opened to the jungle.

She looked into the heavy underbrush. Her eyes scanned the thick growth, searching for anything that could put an end to her growing panic. Nothing.

He wasn’t a dream
, screamed in her mind with increasing volume.

She dropped the flap and turned to the entrance of her tent. She unzipped the door and exited quickly. Her hands refused to stop shaking.

People bustled around the fire. The wet jungle air surrounded her, enticing, beckoning, and thankfully calming her rising anxiety. She had to get a grip.

Last night she’d let a stranger caress her, kiss her, and make love to her with his tongue. Was it the same man who had watched her at the stream? Had she issued an unspoken invitation when she’d put on the erotic show? It had seemed so harmless at the time.

She shook her head in denial. Surely not. The jungle was already making her crazy. Making her see and do things she wouldn’t normally do in her everyday life. Or at least making her think she had done them. Rachel rubbed her forehead.

Was it possible to get jungle fever in a day?
Rachel didn’t think so, and besides jungle fever didn’t explain her missing underwear.

The smell of coffee brewing and bacon cooking permeated her senses, bringing her back from her reverie. Her stomach growled. There wasn’t much she could do about the dream man at this point. If he was real, he was probably long gone by now. She hoped.

Rachel walked to the table where breakfast had been laid out. She grabbed a slice of bacon and popped it into her mouth, eating it while she took in the rest of the offerings.

She spied a corn muffin, reached for it and took a big bite. It crumpled in her mouth, the sweet taste blending deliciously with the saltiness of the bacon. She found a mug and poured herself a cup of the black java and took a sip, testing the temperature. The bitter liquid washed the muffin down.

“Ah, Starbucks eat your heart out.” She laughed at her own joke. It was amazing how being out in the middle of nowhere changed your perception of what tasted good.

And changed your perception of reality.

Professor Donald exited a tent with his khakis on. A young native man peered out through the flaps behind him, shoulders slumped, a hollow look upon his face. The Professor shoved some money into the man’s outstretched hand, his lip curled into a sneer. The native raced from the tent and straight into the jungle without looking back.

Rachel glared at the ”talking walrus” and shook her head in disgust. The man was a parasite. The Professor just smiled, spreading his arms wide and patting his stomach as if nothing was amiss.

She took her coffee and walked to the fire. Already the jungle’s temperature spiked near eighty and it wasn’t even six yet. Rachel sipped her coffee, watching the rest of the camp come to life.

Men started moving belongings to the center circle and taking down the tents. Equipment was packed in heavy-duty crates and loaded, some into the plane and others onto strong native backs. Their busy movements reminded Rachel of an ant farm, coordinated, precise, and organized.

“You have time to go down to the stream if you want, Dr. Evans,” Dr. Donald called out.

Rachel shuddered.

She didn’t know if she wanted to go back to the stream after what had occurred last night. It would be like returning to the scene of the crime, a painful reminder of her one wild hair that had gotten out of hand. A picture of her gun flashed in her mind.

On second thought
…

She finished her coffee and headed in the direction of the stream. In the daylight the trail was much easier to traverse. Soft vegetation and century old trees all wrapped around each other trying to choke the life from one another in a fight for survival. She reached the water’s edge and looked around—the pistol was nowhere to be found.

Rachel skirted the rim of the trees, pushing aside plants and shrubs, but still no gun. She was about to turn and head back up the trail when something caught her attention.

She crouched and moved the lush grass aside. In the mud, as plain as day, was a smudged footprint. A very large, oversized man’s bare footprint. She stood and placed her own booted foot inside the impression.

The print dwarfed her foot by at least eight inches.

Chills rolled down her spine and up her arms, leaving goosebumps. She felt blood drain from her face as she gazed at the deceptively peaceful looking jungle. The giant shadowy figure from last night flashed through her mind.

She glanced down at the print.
Someone
—
or something— is out there…

And now it has a gun.

Rachel returned to the camp, her nerves on edge. She walked straight across the clearing to Dr. Rumsinger.

“I need to have a word with you.” Rachel pulled off her ball cap and ran a shaky hand through her tangled hair.

Donald scowled. “Can’t it wait, Evans? I’m busy.”

“No, Professor it can’t.” Her voice firmed as she eyed the ruddy-faced man with disdain.

He waved his hand in an impatient gesture. “Well then, out with it and make it snappy. We should have been gone from here an hour ago.”

Rachel took a deep breath before launching into her cause for concern. “I found a footprint down by the water. And last night…I think someone entered my tent.”

The Professor shrugged his heavy shoulders. “Really, Dr. Evans, that’s no surprise. A dozen or so men have already been down by the water doing their morning ablutions.” He curled his thick lips back and sneered in disgust. “As for your personal habits, I don’t want to hear about your secret liaisons.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “This isn’t a joke, Professor. I’m serious.”

“Was it an animal?” He glanced over his glasses. “You know there are a lot of species here in the jungle.”

“I realize that.” Her voice rose in pitch as her patience fell away. “It wasn’t that kind of print…at least I don’t think it was.” Rachel brought her hand to her forehead, rubbing it back and forth as she considered the possibilities. The print had been smeared. Was she overreacting?

“Would you like to know what I discovered?” Donald’s eyes sparked fire, then he frowned and pulled Rachel’s pistol from one of his pockets. “You’re irresponsible, Dr. Evans. And you are wasting my time.”

Rachel flushed with embarrassment. Just her luck, of all the people who could have found her gun, Donald was the one. Before she could reach out and grab the pistol, the Professor snatched it up and slipped it back into his pocket, patting the barrel for good measure.

“You were saying?”

Rachel cleared her throat. “The p-print was large.” She twisted her fingers. “About two and a half to three sizes larger than my foot.”

The Professor glanced down at Rachel’s feet, then back at her face and sniffed. “It wouldn’t take much to be larger than your feet, Dr. Evans. Now, I really must get back to work. We’re out of here in ten minutes. Stop acting like a hysterical female. I expect professionalism on this expedition.” With that said, he turned on his heel and left her standing with her mouth agape.

“Asshole,” she muttered under her breath.

“What was that, Dr. Evans?” he said over his shoulder.

“Nothing.”

“I didn’t think so.”

Rachel’s palms hurt from her nails digging into them. She gritted her teeth until her jaw ached, then returned to oversee the dismantling of her tent. But not before flipping the bird at the bastard’s arrogant backside.

* * * * *

They had been hiking through the jungle for three hours when the Professor called for a break. Rachel was grateful, but would never tell him. She couldn’t stand the ”I told you so” look that would cross his pudgy face.