"Lost Boys?" Dee closed her eyes weakly, wondering if she was hallucinating. She'd been injected with something in Pietre's limousine and had lost consciousness in seconds. Could the drug have be influencing her perception?
"Come out, Wendee."
Her fur covering started to move and she came wide awake instantly. Clutching it against her chest, she slithered backwards on the wide sleeping platform until her back was hard against a rock wall.
They'd have to climb on to the platform to get her now, which they might easily do, but it gave her the illusion of safety and a moment to gather her wits. She scanned their faces, quickly, looking for clues to their intent.
Then more slowly, her gaze explored the breathtaking amount of taut muscular flesh their brief loin cloths revealed. They were all young, late teens to early twenties she guessed — and all, without exception, drop-dead gorgeous.
Her fear slowly dissipated as she stared open-mouthed from one to another. The sensation of lightheadedness she'd felt on waking returned.
The tallest spoke, and she realised he'd been the one addressing her in the faint French accent. "I am Xavion, leader of the Lost Boys," he said.
She nodded automatically. The proud tilt of his chin and the confidence in his voice marked him as a man who was used to being obeyed. Even his dark, short cropped hair added to the military air, but the whole was contradicted by a pair of bottomless blue eyes that oozed sensitivity. Was he also a poet, this warrior? His soul seemed to stare out at her from those eyes.
She couldn't imagine him as a rich woman's plaything like Roc. He looked too imperious for such a life. And what of the others? Where had DeMartande found these perfect specimens of masculinity? Were they explorers too? What had they been told about her?
Her brain flicked from one question to the next with startling clarity, and after a moment she realised she didn't feel any of the fuzziness she'd come to associate with the inebri-arousal of the previous few weeks.
Her obsessive sexuality, like that of an animal on heat, was still there. But it was diffuse now, an aura around her rather than the searchlight beam it had been, aimed at Roc.
This was clearly the little adventure Pietre had promised — his last words before she'd felt the slight sting in her arm. There'd been no time then to ask questions, Pietre had taken the initiative and in her drunken stupor she'd probably led him to believe this… smorgasbord was what she wanted.
An adventure. Six young men watching her every movement. Still, she sensed no menace in them, just curiosity and… eagerness, as though they were impatient to get on with it.
But what exactly did Pietre's adventure entail?
Her sex-fest with Roc had been bad enough, but this — six men all to herself. It was pure hedonism. How could she control it?
Did she want to?
Excitement swirled in her stomach and she had trouble focusing the logical side of her brain. Her body wanted to take over. She licked her dry lips and six pairs of eyes followed the movement.
She knew she should say something to break the tension between them but the silence heightened her sense of unreality and fuelled her lust.
Finally Xavion spoke. "Do you know why you're here?"
She knew, but was curious to see if they did. She shook her head.
"Peter brought you to see to our needs," Xavion said. "We have been long without a woman's grace and have become rough and uncivilised. He said you would… tame us." And the look in his eyes conveyed clearly that table manners wasn't what he meant.
Dee found she was breathing heavily and tried to concentrate her thoughts. What were the dangers?
But she couldn't focus inwards, she was all external, feeling the soft fur against her skin and scenting the fire and pheromones that surrounded her.
"I… have to think." She forced herself, closing her eyes to block sensory input, but it was hard. Where am I? and Can I leave when I want? were the most pressing questions.
She tried not to dwell on the fact that no-one apart from Roc knew where she was. If he knew. He'd said she would be safe with DeMartande, but what did safe mean — free will, self-determination, or just lack of pain?
It all came down to one basic question. Was this fantasy — this 'Never Land' scenario on her terms or DeMartande's?
She looked at Xavion. "Where is… Peter?"
"Dealing with the pirates, but you need not trouble yourself with that, Wendee. We will protect you here."
Protect? Or confine?
She looked at them again, carefully, but could see no hint of malicious intent. One of them, a stocky blond, had a knife at his hip but she felt no threat from it. They just looked like… Lost Boys waiting for their Wendee to tame them — a deliciously seductive thought.
As she pondered it, her attention settled on a lean boy who appeared to be the youngest of the troop. He was trying unsuccessfully to look at her, but every time his gaze slid across the rug it would touch on her bare arm or throat and he would glance away.
Dee became fascinated by his shyness, and forgetting her immediate problems, she watched him patiently. After a moment he must have sensed her attention and his cautious eyes finally meshed with hers, and widened.
In that instant desire stabbed her. He was beautiful, like a graceful dancer, and the vulnerability of his eyes drew her in until she thought she'd drown in them. Any element of risk seemed unimportant when compared to his allure. Age, circumstance — nothing mattered. She felt a sudden sexual infatuation as reckless as any teenager's, and yet she was filled with a woman's complicated desires.
The Lost Boys had desires too, she could see it in their eyes, even this youngest one. They needed her.
She knew then that she'd stay.
With Roc she'd been drunk and full of misplaced lust, not really knowing what she'd wanted — out of control. Now she was sober, and although being surrounded by so much hard-muscled masculinity had disorientated her body, her mind was clear.
She took a deep breath and shifted her gaze to address Xavion. "Then if you want me to, I will…" be your Wendee? "…stay," she finished awkwardly.
Xavion nodded, as though there could be no other outcome, but by making the choice herself she gained the illusion of control.
He gesture towards the fire. "Then let us eat, Wendee."
To Dee, her mind lasciviously dwelling on what was to come, the two words, eat Wendee, were a crude invitation. Her lips parted on a soft gasp that caused most of them to smile, and the dark haired pair who were obviously twins, to laugh. Her young admirer glanced away, blushing.
"We have fish and turtle, with papaya and coconut," Xavion said, "Come, Wendee."
She hesitated. "Where are my clothes?"
"You had none." He frowned, then added. "Don't be modest with us, Wendee. We were bored with waiting for you to wake, and curiosity drove us to explore your beauty in great detail. We know the hollow at the base of your throat, the curve of your high breasts, the silky down that guards your secret places. We know that even in sleep your body responds to a man's touch."
Dee swallowed tightly, her eyes locked with Xavion's. It was beginning already. She felt warmth uncoil within her but she strove to keep her surging emotions off her face. She mustn't let them know she was frightened by anything they might do. The spectre of having control taken away from her still lurked in her consciousness.
"We can make clothes for you," Xavion added, "but it will take time." He watched her patiently, but she could see the others were becoming restless.
It's only a fantasy, she reminded herself. Just be their Wendee. "No. It's all right." She pushed the fur away from her body and crept across the platform.
The Lost Boys moved back to make room for her as she slid to the floor, then there was a moment where they all stood in a semi-circle around her. None of them were looking at her face.
Another spasm of anxiety gripped her then, but she remembered Roc had been a stranger and she'd stood naked in his presence. There were six men now instead of one, but the principle was the same. Simple mathematics.
She pulled her shoulders back and stood tall, trying not to feel like an exhibit.
Xavion gestured again towards the fire. "Come," he said and touched her arm, only a slight contact but anticipation had made her hypersensitive and she felt tingles run up to her shoulder. She shivered, then tried to get a grip on herself. She must be assertive, confident.
"Before we eat you must introduce yourselves," she instructed as she followed them across the rough-hewn room, but with every step her breasts jiggled and her buttocks swayed, and she felt the eyes of the Lost Boys upon her.
By the time she'd reached the fire, her deliberate exhibitionism had aroused her terribly, and she wondered if professional strippers felt this sense of their own power over those who watched. In this cave at this moment in time, these young men were captive to her sexuality, and perhaps if she was bold enough, even to her whims. It was a boggling thought, and as it came, her nervousness fled.
She stood staring into the fire, allowing the atavistic heat to inflame her skin as her carnal thoughts had inflamed her body. The smell of their cooking permeated the cave and as the men ranged themselves around the fire she felt a sense of pre-history, as though this was the way it had been in times past. The elemental combination of food, fire, bare flesh and sexual desires. She looked across and met Xavion's knowing eyes. He had sunk on to a hide and now patted a spot beside himself for her to sit.
As leader of the group he would have the most rights. Would he use those rights to take her first? She shivered with anticipation as she stepped around the fire to take her place at his side, first kneeling, then sitting back on her haunches, not quite ready to expose herself by sitting cross-legged.
The Lost Boys were watching expectantly, but Xavion was busying himself retrieving leaf parcels from the coals. He unwrapped them to reveal two succulent pieces of fish and another pile of meat she assumed was the turtle.
"Christophe," he said brusquely, and the lean boy who's eyes had touched her so deeply, rose. "The fruit," Xavion ordered, and Dee watched Christophe flick her an unhappy glance before he turned to obey. He disappeared into the depths of the cave, then reappeared carrying a large rough-clay bowl containing papayas and coconuts, just as Xavion had promised.
He stood uncertainly across the fire from them before Xavion gestured for him to bring them around.
"Thank you, Christophe," Dee said as he laid the bowl in front of her, but he wouldn't meet her eyes, returning to his position across the fire where he sat with head downcast.
He was a beautiful boy, and the sadder he seemed, the more attractive he was to her. She didn't understand why, but it was so.
"These two," Xavion pointed at the twins, "are Tony and Nick. They're puppies. Harmless. But if they bother you, tell me," he instructed.
She nodded to them and they both smiled, or rather smirked at her. They didn't look like puppies to Dee. More like Greek gods, but with the sultry arrogance of born studs.
They were also confident enough in themselves not to be hurt by Xavion's remarks, and as they smiled at him in turn she could see there was a certain irreverence in their expressions. Yes, perhaps they'd be playful lovers.
"Mack," Xavion introduced the stocky blond, and he stood, nodding his head sharply in her direction before resuming his seat. "Norwegian. Doesn't speak English, but good with a knife," Xavion pointed out needlessly. Dee could see the piece of wood Mack was whittling although she couldn't tell by the shape what it was. She felt it unfortunate that she wouldn't be able to communicate with Mack. She sensed an underlying brutality in him, not aimed towards herself — but at life in general. It disturbed her, but she felt confident in Xavion's protection. He was so obviously in command.
"And last, is Josh."
Xavion's voice had taken an odd note, as though he were sharing a private treasure. Dee gazed across the fire at the man Xavion was introducing and was surprised that she hadn't noticed him earlier.
His physique was body-builder perfect, and with long curly black hair and a chiselled chin, he was easily the handsomest of the group. But not the most attractive, she decided, and it took her a moment to realise why.
She wasn't drawn to him sexually.
There was something in his eyes, or his smile that was vaguely feminine. The thought crossed her mind that he could be homosexual.
She turned to Xavion questioningly, but he was frowning. Dee followed his gaze and was disturbed to find Christophe still staring at the ground. His eyes were shielded by his long, dark fringe but his mouth was visible and it was set in a mutinous line.
"Problem, Christophe?" Xavion asked, echoing her own thought.
"No, Xavion," Christophe replied quickly, keeping his head down.
"Stand up and look at me, boy," Xavion ordered.
Christophe reluctantly stood and looked across the fire. "Now look at her," Xavion ordered, and Christophe obeyed, the naked emotion in his eyes burning Dee where she sat.
She didn't know whether it was shame, embarrassment or fear he was experiencing, but the combination of that lean, hungry body and those vulnerable eyes awoke every response in her body. Her nipples tightened with the desire to have him.
"I think Christophe has a crush on you, Wendee," Xavion said softly, and Dee watched in agony as the boy blushed, not game to tear his eyes away from hers for fear of retribution from Xavion. "He'd like to touch you. Wouldn't you, Christophe?"
Christophe swallowed, hard, his expression becoming even more tortured.
"Wouldn't you, Christophe?" Xavion repeated warningly.
"Yes," Christophe breathed and Dee felt her thighs clench. The heat from the fire was making her skin burn and she longed for someone to touch her. For Christophe to touch her.
It was Xavion that did.
Without warning, he pushed her down on the rug and slid his body between her unresisting thighs. She'd wanted this, her body was aching for it, but she couldn't help casting a frightened glance across at the others who'd stood and were watching avidly.
Poised over her, Xavion said, "Don't look at them, look at me," then he slid into her, filling her so completely she gasped, and her eyes, staring into Xavion's, widened appreciatively.
She should have been ashamed, or at least self-conscious with so many eyes watching her, but if the fantasy was to become real, Xavion had to do this. It was the leader's right to stake claim on his property. And in Xavion's tribe, she was his property.
Staring up into his eyes she matched his rhythm, bucking against his downward stroke and feeling a delicious stab of pleasure each time his thick pubic hair slammed into hers.
He supported himself on his hands, holding his upper body high, denying her the stimulation of flesh against flesh. Her nipples contracted into little storehouses of pleasure, awaiting only a touch to release it through her body. But there was no touch, only the air vibrating between their bodies.
Xavion was all warrior then, taking his pleasure with no care of hers and yet she could see poetry in his eyes, the way they transformed her into an object of beauty. It didn't matter that he didn't touch her breasts, his reverent gaze made them untouchable, too perfect to be desecrated with the huddlings of sex. It was a disorientating contrast, this careless manipulation of her genitals while all the time those soul-deep eyes looked on her as though she were a goddess.
Then his jaw clenched and she could tell he was close to his climax. She was panting, squirming beneath him, forcing herself not to reach up to him, to run her hands over his hard chest and clutch at his shoulders. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides as he accelerated the pace, and the movement of her restless hips created a friction that brought her close to her own orgasm.
He lowered his head and said against her lips, "Kiss me."
So she did, her hands coming up to push into his spiky hair and cup his skull as she plunged her tongue into his mouth. His thrusts became harder and Dee writhed beneath him, bucking against his hips and making love to his mouth with her thrusting tongue.
Then he broke away from her lips and reared high above her, connected only at the hips where his piston-like lunges penetrating her deeply. Dee was in a frenzy, her hands clenching into fists again as the waves of sensations built inside her — and then they were crashing over her. Her head fell back and she trembled as the flood spread outwards, encompassing and exploding inside her breasts as well. And Xavion was still pounding into her, prolonging the spasm, creating a depth to the pleasure that forced a moan past her lips.
Suddenly, he stopped and hung silent above her, but she could feel the tiny tremors in his body through her cradling thighs and feel the unmistakable warmth of his seed flooding her contracting sheath. And she accepted it without fear. The dangers of the real world were not to be carried over here. This was a place out of her time and there was a rightness in Xavion's offering to her body that was tied in with the primitive surroundings. It could be no other way.
Her eyes were closed weakly as Xavion disengaged himself from her, and she lay gasping for breath, oblivious for a moment to their observers. Then she heard Xavion's voice.
"That's why you cannot touch her, Christophe."
Her eyes snapped open in time to see Christophe turn. She watched him walk slowly from the room. Even in defeat he was attractive to her, and she marvelled at the perfect curve of his hip, clearly visible at the side of his brief loin-cloth. His long muscular legs moved with unconscious grace and she felt the stirrings of arousal again, surprised her body could be awakened so soon after it had been sated.
"Wendee?"
She raised languorous eyes to meet Xavion's, then accepted his outstretched hand to lever herself upright. She had no qualms about sitting cross-legged now, and as the fluid evidence of Xavion's pleasure seeped from between her thighs she smiled to herself.
"Eat," Xavion invited, passing her one of the cooled fish parcels. "We must keep up your strength."
She looked across as the twins, Tony and Nick, snickered.
They'd resumed their positions before the fire, and stilled as Xavion shot them a quelling glance. Mack had gone back to whittling and seemed totally unmoved by the entire performance, but Josh was watching her. He was lounging on his side, and his strange smile hinted at shared experiences — the sort of smile two women give each other in a supermarket queue when their children are misbehaving.
Dee frowned. Was this an experience Josh knew? The ambiguity of his sexual orientation worried her. She thought she had a fix on the others, but what would be expected of her with Josh? His gaze had dropped to encompass her breasts, then slid lower to her moist pubis. Was he jealous? She couldn't tell.
"Eat, and I will show you our stream," Xavion said, dragging her attention back. "You can bathe and then sleep again."
Dee realised she was tired and didn't understand why, but the prospect of seeing outside the cave kept her alert as they ate.
With the meal finished, Xavion took her hand and led her through the same doorway Christophe had used. She found herself in a smaller cavern, about ten metres across, but in this room the subterranean stillness was broken not by the crackling of a fire, but by the sound of splashing.
"A waterfall," she breathed. Sparkling liquid erupt from head-high on the wall to cascade into a sunken pool and exit noisily through a hole in the cavern wall. Flickering torches attached to the rock walls lent the water a rosy glow, and as she stepped past the quietly watchful Christophe to crouch and dip her hand into its coolness, the bubbles danced around her fingers like pink champagne.
It was magical, but she couldn't help a small pang of disappointment. She'd hoped to see the outside world.
"Christophe will guard over you here," Xavion said, casting the boy an imperious glance. "Then he will return you to your bed. Safely," he added with enough emphasis to make Christophe blush and edge from one foot to the other. Xavion left them.
Dee sat on the edge of the pool for a moment, playing with the water, not sure how to relate to Christophe. She didn't want to encourage him, as she was sure Xavion would be merciless if the boy defied his authority. But he was staring at his feet and she felt obliged to do something to set him at ease.
Perhaps her nudity embarrassed him? She slid into the waist deep water and it swirled around her body, the myriad tiny bubbles stimulating the sensitive areas Xavion had tenderised. The soft tickling was inordinately erotic and the aphrodisiac sensation Christophe's vulnerability evoked in her created a restlessness she knew would be dangerous. If she couldn't dampen her desires she might cause him more pain than he was already suffering. She couldn't bear that. Not after…
Staring down into the frothing water, Dee felt her body go still. Her mind was completely blank. After…
It was a closed door, she couldn't remember — and didn't want to. Not in this place, not at this time. That had been another life, but it was gone. In this world, Pietre was God, and he'd reincarnated her here, into this tribe. That was all she needed to know. No future. No past. Just the now.
She looked up at Christophe, and was reminded of the problem at hand. To set him at ease. She decided to ask him a question she was sure would take both their minds off sex.
"Christophe?"
He looked at her through strands of fringe and bit his lip. Just like… There was a moment of memory-spasm, an instant of deja vu, but no pain, no faces to haunt her. The moment passed and then there was only Christophe and she felt the swirl of arousal grip her stomach. He was so beautiful.
She forced herself to go on. "Where is the toilet?"
He blinked, jolted by her question, as she'd hoped he would be. After a moment, he stepped forward and pointed down into the stream. It wasn't the answer she'd expected.
"But isn't it reticulated?" Pietre must have built this place, or at least borrowed it. Surely he didn't expect her to bathe in water that contained effluent.
Christophe was frowning. "It goes out." He pointed to the hole in the rock wall where the water exited.
"I see that," she agreed patiently, "but does it come back?" and she raised a dripping arm to gesture at the water erupting from the wall.
"Water runs down, not up." The look he gave her made it obvious what he thought of her mental capabilities, and for a moment Dee felt cast adrift. Christophe was certainly acting in character. Was she really in Never Land? Perhaps she was lying somewhere lost in a drug induced dream.
She skimmed her hands through the water. It felt real, but how could she be sure? She had no experience with drugs.
She looked at Christophe. "Are you real," she asked seriously. Perhaps he was a composite fantasy of every sexually defenceless young man she'd ever met.
Standing above her, Christophe had gone very still. "Are you?"
He was looking at her as though he expected her to vanish at any moment — as though she was a water sprite he'd found and didn't want to frighten.
On impulse she slipped under the surface, listening to the eerie underwater sounds of the cavern. The timelessness was lulling, but the need to breathe, to be, brought her back up.
She stood before him, head up with water pouring down her body, slicking her dark hair down her back and coursing over her breasts. Her eyelashes were heavy and clumped together, giving her a completely different perspective on the cave, on Christophe. He looked blurry, stunned. She wondered how she appeared to him. Was she a mermaid? There were mermaids in Never Land, she was sure. Perhaps she'd transformed while she'd been beneath the surface.
"I think I'm dreaming," she said, her hands rising through the water to slide up her belly and cup the undersides of her breasts. Her skin was alive with the movement of the water, tingling in a way she'd never experienced before. But it was more than the water, and it was tied in with Christophe. She stared at him, letting her eyes taste the lithe perfection of his form and feed on his wide-eyed apprehension. Finally she said, "You're too beautiful to be real."
"No… it's you…" Christophe said, stumbling backwards.
Dee stepped out of the pool and followed his retreat, suddenly convinced she was in a dream. She would have him. "What about me, Christophe?"
"You're the b-beautiful one," he stammered, then abruptly came to a halt as his back met the wall.
Dee stopped in front of him, a hand's-breadth away. He was actually trembling, and she felt a wave of tenderness come over her. He turned his head away shyly as she leant in to breathe his scent, her lips brushing the sensitive skin behind his ear. Then she sniffed a little higher against his tousled hair.
"You smell of innocence and mystery to me, Christophe, you with your pale skin and your black, black hair." She paused, listening to the sound of his irregular breathing. "You're a gypsy boy, and you've stolen my heart," she whispered, pulling back a little. At that moment, she believed her words to be true.
Slowly he turned his head back. "Are you teasing me?" There was such anguish in his eyes that Dee reached out instinctively, placing her palms flat on his quivering chest. His heart pounded wildly inside.
"Kiss me, Christophe."
His eyes widened in terror.
"Just one kiss," she coaxed, leaning in again to brush her lips against his. He was so tender, she could almost taste his sweetness, and the way he trembled against her hands like a frightened creature melted her insides. It would be so good with him, so slow and erotic.
"Just… one… kiss," she whispered and then they were, his lips moving softly against hers as her fingertips gently caressed his chest. His soft groan vibrated their closed lips. She wanted him to open to her, to let her delve into the sweetness within, but he was like a virgin to her and she knew she must be tender, patient.
Her hands drifted up to caress his shoulders, to glide over his neck and tangle in his hair. She wondered if she dared press her body against him. He was making soft, inarticulate noises in his throat as she pursued the kiss, gliding the tip of her tongue along the crease where his lips met and then tilting her head sideways to lick softly across them.
"Kiss me, Christophe," she whispered, "Pretend that you love me."
He groaned in earnest then, his hands rising uncertainly to touch her dripping hair. Dee took the opportunity to press her damp body against him, pinning him to the wall, thrilling to the hard bulge that pressed against her belly.
"Kiss me," she demanded — and he did. His lips parted and his tongue slid softly across hers. The taste of him, the delicacy with which he explored her mouth and the tentative way he touched her face were exquisite.
She felt enraptured, as though the sensations would build over hours, not needing to rush, until eventually she'd orgasm from the pleasure of his kiss. She'd never experienced this innocence, or if she had as a young girl, she'd never appreciated its sensuality.
He pulled back for a moment, dazed, staring into her eyes with such wonder. "I never — " then his eyes flicked sideways at something over her shoulder.
" Christophe?" She heard from behind her.
He gasped, pushing her away. "Xavion!"