Enamored: The Submissive Mistress (Special Double-Length Episode) (The Erotic Adventures of Jane in the Jungle) (17 page)

“Will you come with me?” he said, question and determination blazing in his eyes.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, God, yes, Zaren—”

“Hampstead! I see you’ve met my darling Ja—”

But Darkdale never got the words out, for Zaren had him by the throat and pinned against the wall in a trice.

Jane’s throat convulsed, for she’d never seen Zaren look this way—this fierce, this dark, this utterly wild and uncontrolled. “She goes with me.”

Darkdale kicked weakly, but Jane saw his face turning purple. And at the same time, she noticed his trousers sagging from his hips, as if he hadn’t even taken the time to close himself up after winning the cock-sucking competition.

No one else in the chamber seemed to notice—which was no surprise, considering the other violent and sexual activities occurring in every corner.

“Jane goes with me,” Zaren said again. He abruptly released Darkdale, who slid to the floor. He looked down at him for a moment, then, as if there was absolutely nothing wrong with her being garbed in nothing but a mask, he took her arm. “Jane. We are going home now.”

They had taken two steps when Jane felt Zaren tense. He spun before she could even draw in a breath, and the next thing she knew, Darkdale was airborne.

He landed in a heap on the top of the table where Jane had just been laid out and fucked from two ends, then Darkdale crashed to the ground. The pistol he’d been holding…well, it was in Zaren’s hand now, and he showed it to the chamber at large.

“We are leaving.” He said the words clearly and distinctly, looking around to make certain they all understood.

As they walked out of the chamber, Jane heard someone behind her saying, “The new Hampstead is a beast. It’s a bloody shame he doesn’t like to share.” The female voice carried, and was dripping with salaciousness.

Jane glanced back. Marcine was watching them leave, regret stamped on her pretty face. As their eyes met across the chamber, the woman gave her a heavy-lidded, knowing smile, then turned to help Darkdale up off the ground.

***

Moments later, Jane climbed into a carriage with the Hampstead crest, and she and Zaren were alone. Blessedly alone.

Although she wanted more than anything to drag him into her arms, to rest her head against his solid chest and taste him, she did not.

“What is it, Jane?”

“I…I don’t know what to say, Zaren. I have…I left you.”

“Did you want to leave me?”

“Of course not!”

“Are you glad you did?”

“No, Zaren. He lied to me. He tricked—”

He was nodding, and it was so odd for Jane to look at this man who was dressed so normally, who looked so civilized and proper and gentlemanly, and know that he was Zaren, her jungle man. He was also, apparently, Viscount Hampstead—however that had come to be—and what did that mean for her?

“I know. He tricked you, he brought you away—and he made certain your father was convicted of murder.”

“What?” Jane sat up. She was wrapped in his coat, but her breasts moved beneath it.

“It didn’t take long for Everett to learn that the—what did he call it? The nail in the coffin?—of his conviction was a witness who claimed he saw your papa near the site of the murder, shortly after. The witness turned out to be Kellan Darkdale’s manservant Trevor, and he was lying. Your papa has set things right, and he is no longer in danger.”

She burst into tears. It was all too much.

The next thing she knew, Zaren was next to her, gathering her into his arms. She breathed in his scent as she felt his chest expand while he did so with hers, and she sagged against him.

She’d just spent the last week caught up in a decadent whirl of sensuality and pleasure, and all she wanted now was a long, slow caress from the man she loved. She wanted to erase all of the memories of Darkdale and what he’d taken from her, and Marcine’s salaciousness, and the dark and lustful things she’d done.

But could Zaren forgive her? Did he still want her?

“I love you, Jane.” He seemed to read her mind. “I don’t know what happened with Darkdale and you, but it does not matter to me. I love you. I want you. And…if you want me, I would like to make you Lady Hampstead.” His words sounded extremely stiff and formal, as if he were taking great care to say the correct thing.

“Oh, Zaren. There is nothing that would please me more.” She looked up at him and felt as if she would drown in his eyes. “Let us never be separated again.”

“Never.”

— XIV—

Two weeks later

The moment Zaren
climbed into the carriage after Jane, he bundled her into his arms.

“Hello, my darling Lady Hampstead,” he said, for they had just been married in a small, unassuming church. No one had been in attendance except for Effie, Everett, and some close friends of the Clemonses. “Now you are officially my mate, and you cannot find any excuse to leave me.”

“As if I would need one.” She giggled when he slid a hand over her breast, and then began to try and free it from its confines.

When he found it too complicated, he gave up in disgust. “I suppose we shall have to wait until we get home.”

But Jane would have none of it. She gathered up the wild mass of her skirts and petticoats, opened the slit in her drawers, and freed him from his very correct—and now very tight—trousers.

“See, my darling husband? There is always a way.” She slid down over his hard, ready cock and closed her eyes in bliss.

There was nothing, absolutely nothing like having the man she loved inside her. He shifted, his pupils dilating with pleasure, and he leaned forward to give her a soft, long and tender kiss.

“I love you, Jane Berkeley.”

“I love you.” She rose up then slid down. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and he covered her breasts with his palms. “And I love more than anything to see the pleasure in your face.”

It was so unlike her experiences with Darkdale. There was no lasciviousness, no hardness and violence in Zaren’s face when he made love to her. It was bliss and openness—just the same way she felt when they lay together.

He moved his hips too, and looked longingly at her breasts, which were, of course, still covered beneath layers of fabric and lace and buttons. She moved, he moved, and suddenly they were jouncing up and down in a definite anti-rhythm to that of the carriage.

When her orgasm came, it was long and sweet and intense. And tears gathered in her eyes; tears not from fear or apprehension, not from the desperation of relief and release, not from pain—but tears from the pure beauty of it. The joy of her man.

She sighed and leaned against him, still joined, still jouncing along gently against his spent cock.

“I cannot wait to return to the jungle with you. But we can remain in London as long as you wish. There is much for you to do here, my lord viscount,” she added cheekily.

But he didn’t seem to comprehend her jest. “And if I wished not to remain at all? To live simply again in the wilds of Madagascar, Jane? Would you come with me? Would you leave this behind—the beds and carriages and shops and parties?”

“Without hesitation. Zaren…John,” she added with a bashful smile as she pulled away to look at him. “It seems so odd to call you by that name, for you will always be Zaren to me. And I will always want to be with you, wherever you want to be—whether here or in the jungle, or anywhere else.”

He kissed her forehead, then slid his hand down over her shoulders as he pulled her into a close embrace. Her voluminous skirts were still bunched up between them, and her breasts crushed against his powerful chest. “There are many things I may come to appreciate about living in the city, but there is one thing I do not believe I shall ever count as a convenience.”

She looked up at him, and for a moment she felt as if she were drowning in his sea-blue eyes. “And what would that be?”

“The fact that you must wear so bloody damn many clothes.”

***

Several months later

“Goodbye, Papa,” Jane said, pressing a kiss onto her father’s round cheek. She straightened his spectacles then brushed a wisp of windborne hair down over his pink scalp. But as soon as she removed her hand, the gray-white lock blew up again. “Take care of Effie for me.”

“Who’s gonna be takin’ care of who, I ask you!” Effremina snatched Jane into a big, rough bear hug and squeezed her tight. “You two be safe and you’d best promise you’ll send word back with Captain Morris once you get settled…and whenever you can.”

“We will, of course. We’ll be back next May,” Jane said. “And I expect you to have your treatise on the triple-spiked indigo not only completed, but published as well, Papa.”

“Well then, I’d best be back to work,” he replied—and Jane could already see his mind drifting back to his studies.

“Shall we, my lady?” Zaren was there, tall and muscular and strong. Jane’s heart skipped a sharp beat whenever she saw him, but today, he appeared particularly handsome and confident. Perhaps it was because he knew he was returning home—albeit only temporarily, but he would soon be back in his beloved jungle.

The wild man had been temporarily subdued into trousers and boots and a neckcloth, but Jane suspected that persona of the gentleman would be easily shed as soon as the ship left the Thames for the open sea.

They walked on the gangplank, boarding Captain Morris’s ship, and waved to Papa and Effie one last time.

***

As the striking couple of Lady and Lord Hampstead strolled across the deck to speak with the captain, a set of eyes watched them from the crow’s nest above. Dark, angry, and vengeful eyes peered down upon them as the anchor was raised and the gangplank drawn up…and then the eyes crinkled at the corners.

For they were smiling.

Smiling with malice and determination.

Lady and Lord Hampstead would never make it back to London.

They wouldn’t even make it to Madagascar.

~*~*~

~*~

Coming soon!

the next installment in

Jane’s Erotic Adventures in the Jungle

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~*~

Colette Gale
is the pen name for a
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author with more than twenty books in print.