Mission of Pleasure by Afton Locke

Author:Afton Locke
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Afton Locke
Published: 2018-04-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

When Zenda awoke the next morning, she snuggled into a warm embrace. It felt so sweet, so right, she didn’t question it. The sound of breathing, slow and steady against the rain, lured her to fall back asleep.

She turned, draping her arm over a warm, muscular chest. Her eyes flew open.

Where am I? What am I doing here?

Her passage was so sore, she wondered if she’d gotten cut already. No, it would have hurt a lot more. Instead, it felt...right. She slid her fingers over the planes of Gavin’s chest, tracing the golden vee where his shirt let in the sun each day. The coarse hairs sent tingles and spirals of warning to her belly.

What have I done?

She acted like a wife waking up with her husband and had no right to. Before she could pull away, a pair of green eyes opened and fixed on her, reminding her of a lion. “Good morning.”

More than ever, he smelled like fresh grass that had just been trampled by a stalking predator.

“G-good morning,” she said, her voice a hoarse croak. “Why am I on your pallet? What did we—?”

“Let’s not wake the children.” He put a finger to her lips to quiet her. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

She sat bolt upright, covering her breasts with the sheet. When she glanced down, her heart raced from the sight of reddish-brown stains. Hers. Her virtue was gone forever. Washed away in the rain.

The thought of it made her entire body shake with quiet sobs.

Gavin squeezed her shoulder. “What’s the matter, honey?”

“How could I have done such a thing?”

He tugged her arm, forcing her to look at him. “Because you deserved to know how pleasure feels.”

Images from the previous night flowed over her as his seed had between her thighs. His mouth on her core. His hardness splitting her in half and putting her back together again.

“And, as I said, I’m not quite through with you,” he added.

“We’ve already done far too much.” Her hand perspired, making the sheet she clutched damp. “Things only husbands and wives do.”

He cocked his head, ruffling his tousled blond locks even more. “My offer to wed you still stands.”

She should accept. What man from her tribe would want her now that she’d been deflowered? But how could she be a white man’s wife? It would separate her from her people forever.

“Kiss me, Zenda,” he whispered.

His lips, already slightly weathered by the sun and wind here, parted and beckoned her.

She traced them with her finger. “Africa is leaving its mark on you.”

“I want it to,” he replied. “It’s part of me.”

As soon as she leaned down, he slid his hands down her bare back and locked them around her hips.

Mine, his grip said.

The stubble on his chin brushed hers, making it numb, followed by a rush of tingles. It reminded her of last night when he’d feasted on her. When he slipped his tongue into her mouth, she felt it once more between her legs, teasing the bundle of nerves she should have lost years ago.

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