RESCUE MY HEART
Anya Richards
The corridor connecting my private lift to the pleasure balloon Ecstatica sways, and Ruiz de Cortez places his hand on mine as though to stop me stumbling. The motion is so familiar no assistance is necessary but I don’t pull away. Indifference will mask that; for me, the contact of skin on skin is both pleasure and pain. The landward breeze blowing across the harbor and through the louvered walls ruffles my skirts and hair but does nothing to cool my fevered skin.
Glancing sideways at him, I note the changes time has wrought. When he first entered my parlor the familiar stride and proud carriage made my heart stumble. He looks the same now, albeit more prosperous. His flight jacket gleams with gold buckles, and not many can afford supple roebuck breeches or patterned long boots. However, this close, I see additional lines fanning out from the corner of his eye and bracketing his hawkish nose. At his temple a swath of silver threads through the straight, midnight locks, which are secured at his nape with an emerald-green ribbon.
The captain has aged but, God help me, in ways that make him even more beautiful.
And he has come to finally collect on a promise I now wish I had cut out my tongue rather than make. But how could I know, ten years ago, he would ask of me something that would destroy what was left of my heart?
“I cannot ensure I will be able to achieve what you want,” I warn, as we enter the airship proper. “Hardwick may not let her go, nor even allow me to take her from the room. Be that the case, there is nothing I can do.”
“Better to purchase her outright than steal her,” he replies, slanting me an unfathomable look. “But if you can do neither, I’ll be content with the effort.”
Had he approached me even three months before there would have been ample opportunity for him to whisk Angelique van Groot away from my city. But then it would have been me, Beatrix Morgan, rather than Griffen Hardwick blocking his way.
That knowledge and this man, both redolent of unfulfilled dreams, make me inexpressibly sad.
Pausing out of earshot of the guards, I give Ruiz my hardest stare, and one last chance to change his mind. “Are you sure this is what you want? After this my debt to you is paid.”
Is it love? I want to ask, but the words stick in my throat.
The familiar sparkle is missing from his light brown eyes, and I never before saw him so grim. “Yes, your grace. If I had been there to help her bail her brother out of jail, she wouldn’t have fallen into Hardwick’s hands.”
I turn away, unsure of my ability to completely mask my ragged emotions. “So be it.”
The guard opens the door and we step into what will no doubt become my greatest nightmare.
People are scattered around the closed and stuffy room, indulging in myriad sexual acts—some in pairs, others in groups—many employing the mechanical devices still rare in the rest of the colonies. Here in Port Royal, the wickedest city in Christendom, nothing is forbidden and the automated f*ckers, suckers, attachments and personal pleasure enhancers are a common sight.
“Her Grace, the Duchess of Palisadoes, and Captain Ruiz de Cortez,” intones the major domo, and almost everyone stands, except those immobilized on the larger machines, and one woman who has been caught at the moment of climax. As we walk across the room toward our host I am saluted on all sides by erect cocks and nipples and accompanied by the high-pitched cries of the writhing spender.
Hardwick cannot stand, paralyzed as he is, unable to move anything but one hand and his oversized, balding head. A skull with flesh, sunken eyes and a bony nose, he is the stuff of nightmares and, watching our approach, a small smile tips the purple-hued gash that is his mouth. His lap is lightly covered by a cloth, leaving the rest of the emaciated, vaguely gray form bare. Beneath his feet, as a footstool, Angelique dares not lift her head to acknowledge us, deference to her owner trumping all protocol. Hardwick dips his head toward me, the degree of incline calculated to be within reason and yet still slightly insulting.
“Well met, your grace. Good of you to finally accept one of my invitations.” With a flicker of a glance, he acknowledges my companion, “Captain.”
The rasping voice sets my teeth on edge. He would, of course, recognize Ruiz’s name, for everyone knows the story of how he found and took me to England to claim my inheritance. Many hate him for it, either for his luck or for instigating the turning over of one of the world’s greatest fortunes to a woman, worse yet a mulatto.
I return Hardwick’s meaningless smile with one of my own. “My friend has not been in Jamaica for upward of five years, and I would have him enjoy himself…in whichever way he chooses.”
Hardwick’s eyes narrow, but it is the tightening of Ruiz’s arm beneath my hand that makes me realize my mistake. Insulting Hardwick means nothing to me. He, and others like him, will always resent my place in the world. Slavery may have been abolished, made pointless by the advances in mechanization, but it still lingers, insidious and unmistakable. My rise to wealth and power has left a bitter taste in many mouths. It is my duty to turn that bitterness to bile at every turn.
No, it is allowing Ruiz to know I have tracked his movements that is my greater error in judgment.
“Well,” Hardwick replies, his gaze moving around the room and then lingering on Angelique’s crouched form before returning to my face, “I hope you both will feel free to indulge with us tonight, Duchess. After all, it is only with your kind auspices this party can occur.”
With a lift of my eyebrows, I too glance around the room. The participants are still standing, awaiting the signal to recommence their orgy. They all stare, no doubt wondering at my attendance, for although I own the entire floating city I never mingle with those who come to indulge their peccadilloes.
I shrug, and allow Ruiz to lead me toward a chaise lounge. “Parties like this would occur whether Port Royal existed or not,” I reply, sitting and fanning out the silk of my skirts, knowing the white velvet upholstery is a perfect foil for my red dress and chocolate skin. “In fact I wonder at your making the journey here, rather than entertaining at home.”
Another dig, and Ruiz, in the midst of sitting beside me, sends me a sideways look. Hardwick’s mother, a woman of impeccable and unassailable rectitude, would have a conniption should he hold such a gathering in London.
“Ah, but where else can I find such convivial company and delightful weather?”
And where else could he try, in every way he can, to seek my weaknesses and hopefully a way to blunt my power?
If not for my ingrained suspicion, he would have already succeeded. Believing Angelique my friend, I harbored hope she would be the companion and lover I so yearned for. On learning she was his slave and spy I thought my heart shattered. Now, seated beside the only man I ever loved, in the company of the woman I still hunger for, I know I have but sipped at the cup of pain.
As though reading my thoughts Hardwick gestures and, as the entertainers return to their activities, one of his lackeys lifts his feet from Angelique’s back. She does not move, but remains on elbows and knees, legs drawn up beneath her, face tilted down, hidden by a swath of golden hair. Although still keeping my gaze on Hardwick, from the corner of my eye I glimpse the pale, enticing skin, the beautiful curves of arse and planes of back. I refuse to look more closely.
“Please, feel free to participate in any way you desire.” Hardwick’s eyes glitter, fever bright.
It is tempting to walk around, if just to escape the proximity of these three people. Ruiz has settled close enough that his heat and scent enfold me, reminding me although I had thought him part of my past I now must admit he has never been far from my thoughts. I am fighting desire and hurt, for I had dreamed when he came to collect on my debt what he wanted would be me, not a lover lost to Hardwick’s machinations.
Pain stabs at my chest, forms a cold ball in my belly. I won’t survive the night if I cannot master these emotions. Locking them away takes all my will.
“Ruiz expressed an interest in attending,” I send Hardwick another meaningless smile, “for he heard no one surrounds himself with more beautiful women than you.”
The caw of a crow, his laugh is harsh and disturbing. “And surely you concurred?”
“Of course,” I force amusement into my voice, holding his yellow-tinged gaze with ease of long practice in the art of dissembling, “’Tis a well-known fact.”
“I am glad you think so. Come, Angelique, sit up. Interesting as I am sure the view of your arse is, I would display you in a better light.”
Like an automaton she rises, shuffling on her knees to face him, the ruby-clad collar around her neck flashing like wet blood. On direction she spreads his legs and turns to sit, the back of her head against his thigh, her gleaming hair a waterfall over his sickly flesh. I should not look, but having never seen her naked, I do, allowing myself to follow the contours of throat and peach-tipped breasts, slim torso and flaring hips. Downy hair shades the juncture of her thighs and I long for her to open, reveal her sweet cunt, so I can carry the memory forever.
I look to her eyes, longing for the remembered softness of her gaze, the hint of laughter and lust, even though I know it to have been a lie. She is expressionless, and the breath sticks in my throat—the heat of the enclosed room and stench of sex suddenly overwhelming.
The urge to run makes me turn away, pretend interest in the antics of two women sharing a floor f*cker of immense length and girth. They are laughing, one trying to mount the phallus while it is already switched on, while the other holds her friend’s labia open, trying to align her properly with the up-thrusting cock. They are probably slaves but I envy their freedom and familiarity, affection and unselfconscious touching.
When last have I enjoyed another’s body, freely given, with no thought of what gains could be had from lying with me?
With shrieks of laughter the women achieve penetration, the one on top bouncing about for a few moments before settling deeper onto the juddering phallus, taking half its length. It stretches her almost comically and laughter wells within, until I see her obvious delight. When her friend presses an open-mouthed kiss to the wet flesh between her thighs, making her moan with pleasure, heat floods my belly and, for a moment, I allow myself to dream…
Ruiz stirs beside me, and I glance over to see him also watching the women, a distinct bulge forming at the front of his breeches. Like me, is he imagining us f*cking, me on top, with Angelique’s tongue dancing from my *oris to his sac, back and forth, until the combined power of our coming together and her caresses drive us both to dizzying completion?
He turns, and although he is impassive I read concentrated desire in his hooded eyes. The heat shimmering beneath my skin travels inward, shudders through my veins and drips, like the finest wax, down into my cunt. Should any other man stir these feelings in me, I would take him to my quarters and f*ck him until he begged for mercy, secure in my ability to walk away thereafter. But Ruiz would be the one to leave, and I don’t know if I could bear it.
Yet there is something in his eyes that will not release me—a promise or a dare—and he shifts almost imperceptibly closer. My hands almost itch with the need to touch and I clasp them together on my lap so as not to give in. Hardwick’s voice murmurs but, still captured by Ruiz’s darkening gaze, slowly giving in to my heightening desire, I ignore it.
“Your grace, master suggests I offer myself to you and Captain de Cortez for your pleasure.”
Angelique’s whispered words are a dash of iced water, and I look down to where she kneels before me, head bowed.
“Do anything you like, your grace, barring penetration.” Hardwick is goading me, and rage rises with each of his words. “That privilege is mine alone.”
Without thought I reach out and lift her chin. Emotionless and quiescent, her face reveals nothing, but in her cerulean eyes is a shimmer that can only be tears and, as I watch, her lips quiver in an ephemeral cry of pain before firming once more.
Often, in the lonely stretches of night, I wondered if her slavery was of necessity or choice. Did she thrive on his twisted possession, devoted to a man whose cock cannot rise without mechanical assistance and whose altered flesh is, by design, horrific?
Perhaps it is a falsehood to believe I have found the answer, but now I know what I must do, and the decision leaves me relieved and resolved.
“Perhaps I shall indulge, just a little,” I say, and my fingers drift down toward Angelique’s breast. It is a delicate game I play, and it must be timed to perfection. “She is a delicious morsel, although…” I slant a brief glance at Ruiz. “…I had my heart set on rather more substantial delights tonight.”
Fixated on watching my fingers slip down to her collarbone and rise again, Hardwick hesitates, licks his lips and, in the silence left by his lack of response rises a sudden cacophony of moans and sighs, as if the entire room climaxes at once. A flush stains his sallow cheeks and his hand twitches convulsively.
“No need to deny one pleasure for another, your grace.” The rasping voice quivers with excitement. “Here you can safely indulge both.”
Agonizing laughter wells in my chest and is suppressed. If only he knew how much I wished I could. But even with the possibility laid out before me I will not chance the exposition of yearning such an encounter would create.
Cupping Angelique’s breast, feeling her nipple tighten against my hand, I turn to Ruiz. In his eyes lie too many questions and I avoid them by twining my other arm around his neck, urging him closer, letting my lips soften in mute invitation. There is a moment of resistance, and then he surges forward.
The first commanding touch of his lips, his almost feral growl, causes desire to become a molten army marauding through my blood, twisting in my belly, flooding my cunt. Accepting the hard thrust of his tongue, the soft yielding of Angelique’s flesh beneath my hand, I am slave and master, seducer and seduced and, with this dichotomy, complete.
Ruiz deepens the kiss, thrusting his tongue between my lips, demanding my response. I freely, joyously give it as Angelique moves closer, parting my legs so as to nestle between them. Only the silk of my gown separates our bodies, and I feel the brush of her fingers on my calf just as Ruiz slips his hand into my bodice.
I am lost, as though broken from the tether of my life and floating away—a casualty of a hurricane-force wind. Not even the now-vague memory of Hardwick’s presence can lessen my pleasure at being surrounded by the touch and scent of the two people I love best. Lust is the physical manifestation, the only one I dare express, but my heart sings to have received this one chance to experience their attentions.
Forcing myself to break away is the hardest action I have ever taken, but if I do not I will forget all in their arms, and my plan will go awry.
Pulling back, I look across at Hardwick. His gloating, lascivious stare causes a chill to trickle down my spine.
“Indulge me, Hardwick. Let me see the mighty cock I have heard so much about.”
Ruiz stiffens and a shiver cascades through Angelique as at Hardwick’s barked command the cloth is whisked away. Only years of training stop me from recoiling from the sight of the monstrous appendage lying between his stringy thighs.
Red and lived, flaccid it is at least a foot in length, bulging with implanted rings and studded with knobs, some with sharp, squared-off edges. With a movement of his hand a pump springs to life, and the phallus begins to rise, not stopping until it stands, like a hideous caricature of all that is depraved, a full fifteen inches into the air.
Angelique presses closer, the frantic beat of her heart a match for my own.
“Madre de Dios,” Ruiz murmurs, horror deepening his usually almost imperceptible accent, and I tighten my fingers on his nape in warning.
“Magnificent,” I breathe, hoping Hardwick doesn’t notice the underlying revulsion, or the motion of my hand on Angelique’s breast. “Let me see it in use.” Looking down at Angelique, I order her to him with a gesture of my head. “Go.”
“Geliefde…”
I do not understand the word, but the plea in Angelique’s whisper, in her eyes, is almost my undoing. There is no way to reassure her. All I can do is briefly squeeze the tender flesh still nestled in my fingers and gesture once more. “Go, now.”
Ruiz moves, whether to stop her or to pull away from me, I cannot tell. I hold him still and although the pain in Angelique’s eyes slices through me, I nudge her urgently with my knee. Finally, just as I am close to losing my composure, she turns and crawls to Hardwick.
From all accounts, there is a ritual Hardwick employs with each sexual encounter. He feels no sensation below his neck and now depends on degradation and pain to find his twisted form of satisfaction.
Belly writhing in agony, I watch Angelique straddle his lap and reach between them to grasp the dreadful appendage, her fingers unable to meet around its girth. Even from this distance I see her trembling. She offers him her right breast and my heart lurches.
“No,” Hardwick says, turning his head, voice thick with lust, “The other one. The one she touched…”
With seeming reluctance Angelique angles her left breast to his mouth. The purplish tongue darts out, circling her nipple before he fixes his teeth on the tip and closes his lips around it.
Angelique cries out, and again Ruiz makes as though to rise.
“Wait,” I murmur, “wait.”
Angelique lowers herself toward his cock. Still retaining the grip on her nipple, Hardwick pulls, painfully stretching her breast in a bestial tug-of-war. My entire body stiffens in anguished suspense as the tip of the phallus settles between her thighs.
Hardwick gasps, releasing Angelique, as the poison I put on her nipple takes effect. Eyes widening until it appears they will pop from their sockets, his neck arches impossibly back. Foam bubbles to his lips and, with a cry of alarm, Angelique scrambles backward, losing her balance and falling before Ruiz can catch her. Attendants rush forward, screams break out around the room. I swiftly rise and shout for the guards stationed outside the door.
No one stops us when we leave, although Ruiz carries Angelique’s still form in his arms. I pause only to remove the collar from her neck and throw it to the floor. Once outside I lift my skirts and run, Ruiz beside me, racing death back to my apartments.
The skin around Angelique’s lips is blue, her breathing so shallow fear clamps around my chest. I force the antidote into her mouth, rub her throat until she swallows, Ruiz crouched beside us the entire time. After giving orders to and dismissing my staff, we wait, unable to leave her side until her color normalizes and she takes a full, deep breath. Without conscious thought I reach for Ruiz’s hand, and the heat of his strong fingers steadies me.
Her eyelids flutter and Angelique begins to shiver.
“Bring her through to the bedroom.” Is that my voice, so tremulous and faint? “A warm bath will help.”
Ruiz carries her and lowers her into the tub, uncaring of the soaking he receives. The tenderness on his face as he strokes her cheek is almost my undoing, but I force back the tears and sponge water over her shoulders, trying to avoid looking at the bruises forming on her poor, battered breast.
Finally her eyes open, the confused, unsure gaze tracking from his face to mine.
“Geliefde,” she whispers. “What…?”
“I’m sorry,” I can hardly get the words out past the choking relief, “I hoped it wouldn’t affect you, but could think of no other way.”
“Way…?”
“Poison,” Ruiz murmurs. “Although how she managed it, I don’t know.”
I show them my ring, the secret compartment beneath the seal and residue of powder inside. “I hoped it wouldn’t enter your body through the skin, but couldn’t be sure, so I only put it on one nipple.” The memory of her offering Hardwick the other breast flickers through my mind, and I falter, unable to continue.
“And Hardwick?”
“Dead,” satisfaction is patent in Ruiz’s voice.
“You’re free,” I add, although a band tightens with sickening force across my chest.
Angelique closes her eyes for a moment and when they reopen they’re shimmering.
“Free? To do whatever I desire?”
She looks back and forth between us and both Ruiz and I smile, nodding. Reaching out to us, she uses our hands to rise and gathers us against her warm, wet body.
“Then take me from here to the bed over there, geliefde,” she says in a voice that fairly rings with joy, “And prove this to me.”
Over her head I meet Ruiz’s gaze, see in it something that makes my heart leap and the familiar heat uncoil deep inside. And as though in the throes of my most dearly held dream, I hear myself say, “Yes.”
Urgency, near desperation grips me, as though in disbelief of reality. Part of me wants to go slowly, savor the sensations, the contrasts between Angelique’s softness, Ruiz’s strength, but I’m afraid something will interrupt, come between us.
So I won’t let them linger over the removal of our clothing, and I frantically touch his muscular chest, her tender belly. And I cannot stop kissing them, one then the other, taking Angelique’s lips with open-mouthed fervor, ceding to Ruiz’s masterful demands.
An inferno builds inside me, banking higher with each thrust of tongue against tongue, each glorious, aching caress, but one moment blurs into the next until I am blindly rushing toward a goal I long for, and dread.
It is Ruiz who stops me, holding my arms down on the bed above my head, one immovable thigh trapping my writhing form.
“Shh,” he croons, “amada, there is time.”
“No,” I cry, bucking against restraint, “No, quickly, before—”
I cannot articulate my fear but he seems to understand, bending to kiss me once more, resisting my frenzy, gentling me with the slow, tender sweep of his tongue. Fury abates and then, only then, do I truly feel. Everything.
The heat of his body on one side, Angelique’s on the other, the smoothness of his lips and her hands, the crisp hair of his chest and press of her nipples, the hardness of his erection on my hip. The scent of our bodies mingles with the arousal tingeing the air, and above the thudding of my heart I hear the harsh rush of excited breathing.
He lifts his head, stroking my breast, teasing the already tight nipple, and the sensation of that calloused digit echoes through my veins.
“Yes, geliefde.” Angelique’s lips find my ear, softly tracing the inner curl, and I arch at those simple, irresistible pleasures.
Freeing my wrists, Ruiz kisses the side of my mouth and then down along my neck to my breast. Angelique follows on the opposite side, and I tangle my fingers in their hair, holding them to me. The hot slide of tongues, the nip of teeth, the long, firm draw of mouths are amplified over and over, until I shudder with each gasping breath, already nearing climax.
Fingers pull my thighs wider apart, travel up, caressing the trembling flesh until finally slipping between the lips of my cunt. I cannot curtail my cry of bliss, the way my hips lift to greet the penetration, the swirling on my *oris. Just those touches take me to overwhelming, devastating release. Something cracks inside—in the darkness where loneliness lives—liberating me, giving me strength and courage and hope.
Now we flow together, finding each pleasure point on each other’s bodies, tasting and discovering in all the ways that lovers can. There is nowhere I am not caressed, nowhere I dare not stroke or lick, and the only rush is that of desire finding its natural culmination, over and over again.
Curled around his body, I explore the texture of Ruiz’s cock with my tongue, the heft of his sac with my hand, glorying in his deep, agonized sounds of passion, and in the knowledge they are made against Angelique’s cunt. Then he and I share those wet, blushing folds, making her cry out with the lashing of our tongues, the double incursion of our fingers.
I hunger for them, feast on them and am feasted on in return. Lying between Angelique’s legs, sharing kiss after kiss, Ruiz buried deep within me from behind, I once more feel the inescapable twist of desire. Each powerful thrust of his hips drives his cock into me with devastating pleasure, propelling me, in turn, against Angelique’s *oris. Reaching back, I grab his buttocks with one hand, the other braced on the headboard, holding us all in place. Angelique begins to spend, arching into me, and the beauty of her moment of bliss inspires my own, which in turn carries Ruiz to completion.
He slumps, holding his weight above us on shaking arms. I am surrounded by them, whole in a way I never was before, and I don’t realize I’m crying until they untangle us and begin to kiss the tears from my cheeks.
“Ah, Bea, please, amada,” Ruiz sounds broken, as though my tears bring him pain even greater than my own. “Don’t cry.”
I am Beatrix Morgan I remind myself, the Duchess of Palisadoes, scion of the great Henry, whose daring and vision created his own private country, and whose son had the courage, after the earthquake of 1692, to take his wicked city skyward. I do not snivel and weep like a baby. Gathering the threads of composure, I look from one to the other of my loves.
“I don’t want you to leave,” is all I can manage before covering my face with my hands, and weeping inconsolably.
“Leave?” Angelique sounds both frightened and outraged. “Why would we leave?”
“I don’t know,” Ruiz pulls me closer, as though to emphasize his words. “I have no wish to go.”
“What did you tell her, Ruiz, to make her rescue me?”
For a moment the only sound in the room is my sniveling.
“Once she said she would grant me any favor, so I asked her to,” his voice is hushed. “I wasn’t sure the truth would suffice.”
I push him away so hard he almost falls off the bed and I sit up to glare at him.
“What truth, de Cortez?”
Angelique’s hand on my shoulder soothes some of my ire, but I cannot relent until I know all.
“He has always loved you, geliefde, pined for you all these years. He didn’t think you would want him, not with all you now have.” Angelique’s voice is soft, but it cracks like a whip against my heart. Ruiz’s face tightens, and he looks away. “I think,” she continues slowly, “he came not only because he cares for me, but because he knew we love each other too.”
“You knew how I felt about Angelique,” I accuse him, unable to prevent my voice from trembling, “and said nothing?”
“Just as you knew exactly how long it had been since I last came to Jamaica,” he snaps back. “Do you think you are the only one with spies, or who keeps an eye on those they love?”
All I can do is stare at him in disbelief, my mind whirling with possibilities and doubts.
“Will you stay?” I finally ask, looking at them both. For that is the most important question of all.
They smile, as though the answer should be apparent.
“If you wish it, your grace,” Ruiz replies, somehow able to make a courtly bow while both seated and naked.
“Well,” I reply slowly, feeling joy bubble upward like champagne, making me light-headed, “my grandfather kept a harem. I only want you two. Besides, who would dare complain? There has to be some advantage to being head of a sovereign state. But,” I hold up my hand as they both move toward me, “only on the condition you tell me what geliefde and amada mean.” I shrug, “My education didn’t stretch to languages.”
“Beloved,” they both say together, and I repeat it as a promise when I sink into their arms.
“Beloved…”