Sacred Revelations (11 page)

“You asked me if I could swim,” she tries to joke, twisting her wrists in her shackles, trying to get free.

“I want to remind you, Lord Fyre, that I can’t breathe underwater.”

“Trust me,” I call out to her. “It’s all I ask.”

The cage continues to sink, leaving her chin deep. “Oh shit,” she says, still trying to tug free.

“Inhale, Sophia!” I command, screaming over the noise of the boat just before she goes under.

Bob glances at his watch nervously. “What was the plan from here?”

I pat his back. “I’m not going to let her drown, brother. You take care of the fresh meat. I’ll take care of the girl.”

Adjusting my tanks and regulator, I prepare to enter the water. Watching him pull fresh, bloody meat from a sack, I drop into the ocean, taking only a second underwater to get my bearings on the cage. It has been less than two minutes—she isn’t struggling in the water. She hangs suspended, eyes closed. For a second I am nervous, my own breath catching. Wrapping my hands around the metal bars, I enter the opening in the top of the cage quickly, joining her inside the cage. It is only when I touch her that she opens her eyes. Her lips curl up in that naughty smile that could bring me to my knees in worship if I would let myself. I take the mouthpiece from my lips and press it to hers, helping her to get it just right.

She inhales. I kiss her on the cheek, running my hands over her stretched body, feeling her ribcage expand with air. I caress her softly and she shivers in my embrace.

Holding my own breath, I rummage inside my waist pouch for the weighted nipple clamps I brought along for our underwater scene. As I attach them, her eyes grow wide. It is only when our cage is bumped that I realize it is not the pain of the clamps causing her anxiety but a shark. Moving behind her, I wrap my arms around her waist, holding her, absorbing her trembles as the shark pounds into our cage a second time.

I play with her beasts, teasing her nipples, pulling on the clamps while together we watch the shark’s graceful path. Her head falls back against my shoulder, relaxing. Trusting me. It feels as if we spend a long time like that, me passing the breathing regulator between us, enjoying the peacefulness of the world underwater, though really very little time passes.

Even the shark seems peaceful, swimming in a path in front of us, back and forth, back and forth. In a

strange way, even with the freedom of the entire ocean, it seems he paces before us, waiting. I realize the woman in my arms is also waiting for the what next , though she hides it in false indifference. I feel the truth of her nervousness in the pounding of her heart. I think the shark too feels her fear.

Together we wait for the climactic what’s next .

Fresh meat falls near the shark. With a high-powered kick of his tail, he makes a grab for the meat, smacking the cage hard with his body. The cage shakes us. This close, his teeth glisten menacingly.

Several sharks join him and suddenly Kitten and I are surrounded by grey ghosts that bob and weave through the water, their singularity of purpose evident. Their struggle for possession of the meat fierce.

Kitten shakes hard in my arms.

I love her fear, soaking it in as it rolls off her in waves.

Kissing the back of her neck, I lick and stroke her with my tongue before sinking my teeth in softly. She jumps in her bonds, feeling my teeth. Keeping my eyes on the sharks, I kiss and nip her neck and shoulders, causing her to be jumpy in her restraints. I tug her nipple clamps, wanting her to feel the quick jolts of pain from my bites and the weighted clamps while she watches the sharks fight.

Two sharks collide with our cage and she struggles in her bonds, breathing harder.

Taking the regulator, I force her to hold her breath. She struggles hard, her fear making her panic, even though I am still near. Her eyes are wild, the sharks very close. The next drop of meat hits the side of the cage, snagging on the cage and we are shaken hard in our confinement as the sharks battle it out for the large piece of meat.

My heart pounds with pure excitement. I know she must be going out of her mind. I quickly inhale, exhale, then inhale again slowly and evenly, filling my lungs with enough air to hold my breath again before passing the mouthpiece back to her. I want her to enjoy this moment. There is nothing like pure terror to increase sexual response and I want her to know that feeling. Sinking to my knees and then swimming between her legs, I take her clit into my mouth, rolling my tongue over her while the sharks battle over the meat. A feeding frenzy ensues.

Reaching for the nipple clamps, I tug the weights, making her dance in her cuffs.

Bondage underwater is so much different from bondage above water; weightless, the tension normally placed on muscles and tendons disappears. Likewise, underwater orgasm is mind-blowing. Muscles contract and it is an almost painful experience, like an underwater muscle cramp, everything just feels more intense, harder.

When her body flexes and folds in on her, I realize an orgasmic wave is crashing through her. My lungs scream, wanting air, and seemingly in answer the regulator floats down to me. Sophia spat it from her mouth, either mid-orgasm or on purpose, I will not know until I can ask her above the water. Releasing her clit, I shove the regulator in my mouth and breathe, but not wanting her orgasm to stop, I pump her hard with my fingers, the muscles of her vagina wrapping around me harder than when on dry land, her terror making everything more intense.

On the deck of the boat, I hold her in my lap, toweling her dry. She shakes, her knees bouncing uncontrollably, but it is a good shaking, not shock, but pure adrenaline, her body having pumped more

into her system than it can utilize.

“I’m sorry,” she keeps saying. “I’m not scared, I don’t know why I keep shaking.”

“You’re fine, sweetheart,” I assure her. “You were beautiful underwater.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“I would have never agreed to that, if it had been a choice. Now, I know just how deep my darkness runs. I mean, I never thought for a moment that you would let me die…not on purpose—if something went wrong, you would do your best to get me out of the water alive; but knowing that, doesn’t mean that there wasn’t primal terror…and facing that…wow.” She pauses, mouth open to say more, but then she chokes on the emotion she’s been trying to hold back, big, wet tears falling over her cheeks and spattering on my chest.

My heart swells in my chest, knowing exactly what she is trying to say and I am suddenly faced with my missing half, the one I feel complete with.

“Thank you, Sophia.” I pull her in close, kissing her cold, damp shoulder. She smells of the ocean. If I close my eyes, I could pretend I was back inGreece . I’d like to take Kitten there. The thought comes out of nowhere. I want to take her toGreece .

I don’t share my homeland with my women, not even Latisha has been toGreece and we’ve been together for five years. She knows the man I am here in theUnited States ; she knows I have a past I keep hidden, my true darkness. I also keep from her the lightness, the part of me that I only set free when I am home. Only one woman have I ever taken toGreece to see my homeland—her name was Eva. With her, I shared the dark and the light, but not the truth. I think of her often still, but she is lost to my past.

Kitten has no place in my future. The thought rips through my middle, unwanted. I am not one to dwell on past or future and to have such a thought bothers me. What is happening to me that I am no longer in control of my thoughts?

The boat’s crew mills around us, completing their tasks, but Kitten is oblivious to them, having eyes only for me. Her level of passion and trust is incredible. She is totally unconscious of her nudity, as she spreads out two oversized beach towels on the deck. I lie down on one. Reaching for her, I pull her down next to me so that she can relax in the warmth of the blazing sun with me. It is a hot day and, stripped to my swimsuit, the sun feels good on my skin.

“This is nice, Sophia.” I stretch out, letting the sun hit as much exposed skin as possible. She cuddles in close, wrapping her naked body around me. Her skin is still cool from being in the water. I pull her closer, her damp hair fitting into the curve of my shoulder as she wraps her body around me. I kiss her again, inhaling her warmth, her fragrance, whispering, “I love you.”

“Hmmm?” she says, pushing against me to be nearer.

“Nothing.” I clear my throat, hiding emotion I never expected to feel in a soft cough. “I was just telling you how proud I am of you.”

“Make the most of your regrets; never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it till it comes to have a separate and integral interest. To regret deeply is to live afresh.”

-Henry David Thoreau

Thomas

A distant ringing wakes me and, for a moment, I am disoriented, not realizing it is the phone. Then I realize that it is midnight, we have been asleep less than an hour, and the phone is ringing. The ring doesn’t stop, no voice mail pickup. It is the land line. No one has the beach house number.

I roll onto my side, ignoring the phone, assuming a wrong number will give up and hang up on their own.

The ringing stops only to restart again. No one has the beach house number, except Aman.

Heart pounding, I race through the dark house to the wall-mounted kitchen receiver. “Hello?”

My answer is met with very quick Arabic, my brain translates Arabic reasonably well when I’m fully awake and the speaker talks in a rational fashion. My caller is frantic, the main context of the conversation being his fear that I am going to kill him.

“Aman!” I shout, to be heard over his babbling. Aman is my man inCairo , my eyes and ears while Latisha and the children are away. Technically, he is the gardener slash pool-boy at her father’s villa in town. “In English and slow down.”

“So sorry, sir, your wife and children left. I begged them not to go but they went.”

“Are they on a plane toParis ?” I demand.

“No, Sir.Sudan , Sir. Please don’t kill me! I am just a lowly gardener, as insignificant as a slug, no lower, an earthworm…”

I hang up on him, knowing his excuses could go on for another hour. Closing my eyes, I press my forehead to the cool kitchen wall. “God damn, Latisha. What are you thinking?” I expected her to want to stay in Egypt as long as she could, visiting with her father, before traveling back to his country estate in France. I understood her reasons for wanting to raise our children away from theUS , I wasn’t thrilled withFrance as her first choice, but then, what did I expect? I never expected to keep her as long as I did.

Here, everyone believes she is my wife and once the children started arriving, I suggested we marry for real, but she wouldn’t hear of it, wanting only her independence. Her mother died young, her father, a very wealthy antiquities dealer, both legal and illegal antiquities, raised her in boarding schools. She considers it normal to raise your children away from home.

I don’t consider it normal, my opinion falling under the same thoughts I have about nannies. She wants one, I don’t. I could say we don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but that would be the understatement of the century. We expected Nikkos, our now ten-month-old to be the last baby, but when she went in for the appointment to have a tubal ligation performed, she was already pregnant, again. She wanted to abort. It wasn’t a pretty argument and it lasted for days. I don’t believe in accidents and I don’t believe in abortion.

“You’ve killed before, Thomas!” she’d screamed and the sound coming form her throat was barely

human, so much did she want to abort. Three children had already cost her so much in terms of personal freedom.

“Yes, I’ve killed…” I admitted, hell, she’d seen me kill, so up close and personal that we were both covered in blood spray as we barely escaped with our lives the last time I was inEgypt . I couldn’t deny the truth even though she couldn’t comprehend half of what I’ve done in my past. “…but comparing what I have done in my past to aborting an unborn child is low even for you.” I was in her face, seething, her hair wrapped in my hand and her neck jerked back as far as it could go without causing her very real damage. She’d pushed me too far and realized it. Whatever she saw in my eyes that day made her back down, no abortion, but I couldn’t keep her from running home to Daddy, the same man she originally helped me escape from in return for taking her with me.

What a tangled web. Now she has returned to him. Oh, sure, they’ve reconciled. Yes, he’s thrilled to have grandchildren. However, he still wants their father’s head on a pike. So, to return toEgypt is suicidal and still, I make plans to go back. I really do have a death wish. When I read her note, saying she’d gone toCairo , I was pissed because the instability of the entire region scares me; especially when I considered all that could go wrong for a woman traveling alone with three small children. But I didn’t chase her down. I let her go, giving her time to cool down and think. Now, she’s crossed the line. I must go.

Recovering, I call Delta, securing flights to LAX and CAI quickly and easily. It’s amazing how helpful airlines are when you use American Express Black and insist on first-class. Flights arranged, I speed dial Garrett’s cell phone, planning to leave a message, and am surprised when he answers on the first ring.

The volume level of the club in high gear drowns out what I assume is his hello. He must be in one of the lower public levels.

“Garrett, Thomas. Go somewhere quiet so you can hear me,” I command, not wanting to have to shout what I need to say more than once.

A moment later there is silence, so silent, for a moment I believe I have lost our connection, and then I hear his voice. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

“Where are you?” I ask, curious.

“Playroom two. I was standing outside its door when you rang. Now, what’s happened?”

“I’m leaving for Cairo—in five hours. I know that this is unexpected, but can you come and get Kitten?

Not now, not yet, but in the morning. She doesn’t know yet, I need time to break the news to her. I’m giving her back to you.” I leave so much unsaid, speaking fast, almost as fast as Aman when he called to beg for his life. I hope Garrett heard what I left unsaid. This isn’t because I want to give her back. I don’t want to give her back. I’m in love with her.