The black swan (80 page)

Dulcie slept again, waking after dark. Someone was in the hut. Not Luz. Luz always sang. Dulcie held her breath; hands touched her. A soft voice spoke low. "Mam'bo CaiUe ast de Guede Vi ter wek up."

"Wh-what do you want?"

"Mam'bo Caille tek you ter de oum'phor. We goin' ter mek de ritu'l."

"I don't know anything about rituals!"

"Den you goin' ter fin' out. Mam'bo Luz speerit enter your body, so we mek you body strong, strong fum Lucifer."

"No! No! I don't want to see the Devil! I didn't do anything!".

Mam'bo Caille's voice was contemptuous. "Fine speerit queen you goin' ter be. Peered ob you own magic. We goin' ter tek you to Lucifer, so you goin' ter lak dat."

Inside the oum'phor, heavy with incense, candles flickered. On the wall hung an elaborate ritual design of two serpents standing on their looped tails, facing east. Between them were three eight-pointed figures, on the right a cross.

Dulcie shuddered. In this place those serpents might come alive.

"We mek you ready fo' de ritu'l. You goin' ter please Lucifer."

"But I don't want —" These people were in hell as she was. If they said she had to please Lucifer, she had to do

it. They feared Lucifer, they schemed to steal his power, but still Lucifer ruled.

Mam'bo Caille had Dulcie lie naked on the stone altar. Lucifer's altar. She began to smooth an ointment onto Dulcie's arm.

Chanting interspersed with the huh sound of people dancing and singing. The drums rose. The chanting stopped abruptly and began again.

There was commotion outside the oum'phor. Mam'bo Caille blocked the entrance. "De Guede Vi ain't ready."

A tenor voice with a strange timbre said, "Move out of my way, old woman! I am Lucifer, lord of Satan's Keep!"

Dulcie sat up, fear mounting into her dry mouth. She saw Mam'bo Caille thrust down. A tall being glided in, a personage of immense presence. Sharp red horns grew in his bristly black hair. His ears were pointed like bat wings. A black satin robe covered him from his red collar to the ground.

The gaping slit that was his mouth opened in an evil smile. "I am Lucifer. You are mine." The head went back, issuing a mocking laugh.

Dulcie whispered, "No—no! I can't—!"

"You will serve me!" The robe jerked. "You will! Costa, the robe!"

The old man swept Lucifer's robe off. He was revealed. A barrel-chested thing with no arms and no legs except the pale growths that dripped over the edge of the wheeled throne. On his belly was drawn an enormous phallus, half his own width, with its purplish bulbous end forming a point level with his reddened nipples.

Dulcie drew in her breath and began to scream. Half on the altar, half off, she was petrified, her arms crossed protectively over her breasts. Then from between Lucifer's feetlike protuberances rose another phallus, pointing at her with terrible purpose. She could not stop screaming. Lucifer glided toward her, laughing exultantly.

"You are mine!" His mouth gaped; his tongue hung out through the gross aperture. With Costa close behind, he moved toward Dulcie.

Dulcie scrambled down off the altar. Costa and Lucifer blocked her escape. She stood pinned between the satanic thing and the altar. The finlike hands trembled at his shoulders, wanting to touch her.

"Oh, God! Oh, God!"

"Don't say that name!" he screamed. "I am greater! I am Lucifer!'*

Dulcie, mindless with terror and revulsion, shoved at his barrel chest. Shrieking, Lucifer toppled onto Costa and Mam'bo Caille.

Dulcie ran for the tunnel that led out the back of the temple. The tunnel was pitch black and reeked of mold.

// Lucifer pursues me, catches me in this stinking place, I'll die. But I am in Lucifer's own dwelling place. He will catch me!

She ran faster, crashing heavily into the rough walls, losing her sense of direction.

She came out of the tunnel into Luz's hut. The Face stared at her.

The drummers, the ogantier, the trianglier pulsated in frenzied din. The natives shrieked in ecstasy as the animal spirits possessed them. Dulcie heard Lucifer's and Mam'bo Caille's shrill cries.

She darted out of the hut, running toward the blackness of the forest. She would hide there. Hide from Lucifer. Hide from hell.

Her feet sank into clinging sand. Then she plunged into the forest. Her side hurt. Air sucked coarsely into her bursting lungs. Pain struck her right side, struck harder, sharper. She doubled up with it.

She had to hide. Lucifer would come. Luz would come. They would find her. Bent over, she moved along the path like a hunted animal, her progress tiny pain-racked steps. Dulcie's eyes darted at shadows, her ears strained for rustling of the foliage.

The drums stopped.

She began to run again. Vines tore at her long hair. Long grasses like satanic claws reached up, cutting and tangling around her feet and ankles. She stepped barefoot on terrible, unknown, squishy things. Webs of unseen spiders clothed her in their filaments. Creatures leaped from the darkness, searching the warmth of her bare flesh. She shook them off, clamping her mouth shut against the revulsion.

He was coming. Luz was coming. The brown people were coming. She could hear them. Hear their voices still excited from the drums and the dancing. They knew this strange land. It was theirs.

Then their voices hushed. The unknown reaches of this vast Hades cowed even its own inhabitants.

She must run—run faster, deeper into the forest, away from the light. Go where even demons feared to follow.

She ran from the sound of their feet, from the frightened sound of their muted voices. She was breathless, her heart and head pounding. The path was gone. She might be running back. Back to Luz. Back to Lucifer.

She stumbled to a halt, her breath harsh indrawn sobs. "Oh, God, please. Please. Hide me. Don't let him find me. Please, God!"

The sobs burst forth. What was the use? How could God be in hell? "I am greater than God!" Lucifer had cried. "Greater than God! You are mine!"

She splashed through clinging muck up to her ankles. Then she was in water, still trying to run, her arms flailing. The water became deeper. She struggled toward the bank she had lost in the blackness.

Her feet slipped on the slimy bottom. Her breath sounded like demented laughter as she clawed and plunged in the murky swamp water. Her fingers closed around the snakelike tendrils of the mangrove roots. She fell, supported by the roots, her hair fanning out dark on the dark water. She was so tired. She couldn't run. Couldn't hide.

The thudding feet, voices, torches came near. A strange feeling of peaceful resignation came over her. Her breathing eased. Her body was at rest, suspended by the water. The brown people pounded past.

She lay there for eternity, waiting for them to return her to Lucifer.

The forest became quiet. The winking lights of man-made fire were gone. Dulcie clung to the roots, afraid to move, too cold to stay in the water. She groped among the snaking mangrove roots until she found the bank. On hands and knees she crawled to the path.

When pale green morning light came, Dulcie was stumbling along the hard earth. She could barely think. Danger no longer had meaning—but she shied away from a cave, shuddering at the thought of what might lurk there.

Trees were as ominous. Chickcharnies lived there. At length Dulcie climbed a large-leafed tree, looking up warily to be certain she hadn't invaded the sanctuary of one of the three-toed, red-eyed birdlike goblins. Satisfied, she slept fitfully.

That afternoon she ate fruits she recognized. Braver because she had survived this long, she moved on. Then she saw the tracks of cart wheels.

She must get as far away as she could from Lucifer and his tribe of demons. She ran, stopping only at nightfall to sleep for minutes at a time, waking in terrified starts at forest noises. At daybreak she moved on.

At noon she heard sounds that forced old memories, disembodied, but some comfortable, lost part of herself. Axes rang. A saw chattered. Men talking, work talk. Black men, speaking. Her language. Another voice—one of authority.

Tantalized by familiarity, Dulcie peeked through the broad-leaved sisal. She was tempted but wary that all things in Lucifer's forest were another trick. He was Satan. He might have wanted sport with her feeble efforts to elude him. He might be playing with her now.

Behind her the forest came alive. Odd little creatures hung from limbs by three toes. They were all around her, laughing, crying. Wizened little faces leered. Some had feathers, some had beards and tails. Their small evil red eyes glaring, they chortled, "Chick-charny, chick-chamy."

One came nearer. It chattered at her. Her eyes shifted from the vile little creature of Satan to the men. Was the white man a disguise of Lucifer? She didn't know. But she feared the man more than the thing that hung upside down staring at her.

She developed a pattern for her days; waiting for the men, watching them work, waiting for a sign that it was Lucifer wearing the body of an attractive man. She made a game of staying hidden and then coming into the freshly made clearing at night.

Once the man hung his shirt on a limb, and Dulcie stole it. She smiled to herself while the man complained. That night she felt warm and close to the stockily built, well-muscled chestnut-haired man, smelling his particular odor wrapping around herself like another skin.

One day the men did not come until noon. She heard them approaching. The white man was singing.

The heart bowed down by weight of woe

To weakest hopes will cling,

To thought and impulse while they flow

That can no comfort bring; That can, that can no comfort bring

Dulcie peered from behind her tree. He sang old English and Irish airs she remembered from childhood. The men began to invade her forest. They searched, while the brown-haired man sang.

She was very frightened. The chickcharnies flew in agitation from limb to limb, chattering loudly. The men were thorough, looking everywhere on the ground, up into the trees. She stayed motionless, invisible.

His singing made her more and more afraid, stirring up memories of herself as a child, when her red-haired father had sung to her. Why did she think her father was red-haired?

He stopped singing. And that was worse. He looked for a long time into the forest. He saw her, she knew. She must run, but her legs would not obey. Softly he began;

Shule, shule, shule agra! Only death can easy my woe.

She felt trapped, as unable to move or think as when Mam'bo Luz rubbed the strange ointment on her body. She could run no more. She had been alone for so long, living with fear, with nobody, nothing that she knew, watched by a hundred red beady eyes. Waiting.

He knew she waited. His longing was a palpable thing. And he knew her. He sang the song Jem had sung as he rocked her on a summer's evening.

The men had passed her. The chickcharnies quieted, huddling together, their unblinking red gaze inimical. Soon they would descend on her, biting, scratching, destroying her.

She left the tree, feeling them ready to spring, and ran on shaking legs toward the chestnut-haired man. She stopped, cornered, confused.

"My . . . God!" he whispered. "Dorothy? Is it . . . Dorothy?"

Her voice, unused for so long, came out in a croak. "I'm Dulcie."

Looking into his face, poised for flight, she repeated, "My name is Dulcie."

"Come nearer. Let me touch you. Let me see if you are real."

Dulcie drew back. "No."

"But you are wearing my shirt, and you came to me." Tears flowed down his cheeks. "I have loved you all these years, Dorothy, even when I knew you had to be dead. Oh, my beloved, for God's sake, let me— '*

"Are you Adam?" she asked, bewildered.

His gaze grew bitter. He wiped his tears. "No, Fm not Adam. I am Justin Gilmartin." He sighed. "And Dorothy is still dead."

"Am I dead? Am I"—her voice broke—"in hell?"

"I've wondered that myself." At her look he said hastily, "No, you aren't dead. You're on Andros. So you can't be in hell, can you?"

"But I saw the Devil."

"Who knows what's in that forest? Where have you come from, Dulcie?"

"Why did you call me that?"

"Twice you said it's your name. Why are you hiding in the forest?"

She thought of telling him everything; but then he might deliver her to Lucifer after all. She said craftily, "I live there."

There was a little smile on his face. He was not handsome, but he had a strength that Dulcie trusted. "Would you like to sit down?"

Dulcie refused, her eyes wary. "Do you live in a house?"

"Yes. Would you like to come to my house? You could live there."

"Would you protect me?"

"Yes, I'll protect you. I promise. Will you come with me now?"

"No. No. I can't."

He stood in front of her, holding out both hands to her.

She did not know why she took his hands, but she did. She walked through the cut forest with him unafraid.

The large white house loomed in front of them. She pulled back, apprehensive. Justin said easily, "Nothing will harm you."

Wtih the greatest of effort she continued. Something evil was here. It wasn't the man. He would keep her safe. He had promised.

Amparo met them at the door. Her eyes flicked over Dulcie. Her lips curled at Dulcie's muddy hair with twigs stuck in it, her fair skin stained with fruits and berries. "What you goin' ter do wid 'er?"

"Amparo, this is Dulcie—my guest. Prepare Dorothy's room."

"Hmph!" Amparo grunted, and turned away. "No good comin'."

Dulcie hung back, holding tightly to Justin's calloused hand. He got her into the house. They walked past a room where there was a lot of noise—random thumpings on a drum, bells ringing, a dog howling. "Lucho's started his birthday party already," said Justin.

Kenneth Gilmartin looked up eagerly at Justin, not seeming to see Dulcie. "Did you find her? Any trace of her? Anything?"

"No, nothing. But I found this girl in the forest. She calls herself Dulcie. Doesn't know, or won't say, how she came to be there."

Kenneth Gilmartin's voice filled with awe. "Dorothy— my dear child." He stumbled forward and enfolded Dulcie in an embrace that smelled of bodily neglect, liquor, and bad teeth. "So long ... so long." He looked at her blearily. "My dear, you are improperly gowned. You must have Am— Amparo . . . your mother would not like ... So good to have you home again, Dorothy, so good."

He fumbled away and sank back into his chair, lost in his dream.

"I wondered where you had gotten to," came a voice from the doorway.

Dulcie jerked around to look behind her. He was sitting on a dogcart, the nightmare creature who said she was his. The gross body cheated of proper appendages, the mouth that yawed in a sneering smile.

Dulcie edged to the perimeter of the room, like a hunted animal. Justin ran to her. She screamed, her hands drawn up like claws.

Lucifer howled with laughter, his oversized torso reeling drunkenly.

"Shut up!" Justin yelled. He lunged, grabbing Dulcie. Her eyes rolled back, she tore at him, biting his hands, clawing him with ragged, torn fingernails.

"No! I'll diel I won't be his! No! No! No-0-0!"

Chapter Six

Lucifer laughed insanely. Justin pulled Dulcie tight against him, smothering her cries. "Stop it, Dulcie! Stop it!"

"He's Lucifer—the Devil—chasin' me. The woods . . . everywhere!"

Justin's hand covered her mouth. "Shut up and listen!"

Dulcie fought, her small body straining in Justin's unbreakable grip. She bit the hand pressed tightly against her mouth. She went limp.

Justin held her upright. "Will you listen?" he said hoarsely. "He's not the Devil. His name is Lucifer Gilmartin."

Dulcie struggled weakly, her mouth working beneath his. hand.

"Don't struggle. I can hold you silent far longer than you have strength to resist. It's Lucifer's fifteenth birthday today. He's known enough tragedy. I won't let you make it worse. He won't harm you, do you understand?"

"I will! I wiU!" Lucifer screamed. "I'll work a spell on her. She'll get sick, and she'll die—^very slowly!"

Dulcie wriggled like a small trapped animal against Justin. Her breath grew shorter. The room began to spin. Sounds stopped.

She regained consciousness in a bed with clean white sheets. Someone was washing her. Luz?! There was no staring mask. Another memory stirred. "Claudine? Clau-dine?" An Indian woman was scrubbing the berry stains and forest muck from her skin. Her eyes smarted with incomprehensible sorrow. "What happened to Claudine?"

A voice spoke from near the window. "Is Claudine your nurse, Dulcie?"

She couldn't think who Claudine was, but she longed for her.

Justin moved closer. Dulcie tensed. "Where is he? Don't let him take me!"

"No one is here but Amparo and me," Justin said gently.

Amparo laughed. "She mean Lucifer."

Dulcie looked suspiciously at the door.

"Costa ain't bringin' 'im. Costa too ol' for carryin' Lucifer."

She stared up at Justin; there was no choice but to trust him. "Am I safe?"

Justin's hand brushed along her naked shoulder. "You're upstairs, Dulcie. Lucifer will not come. You're safe."

Amparo's lips worked soundlessly as she slapped a towel over most of Dulcie's naked body. Bitterly Amparo glanced at Justin, then dropped her eyes to hide the burning jealousy flaming there.

"Are you hungry? Would you like something hot to drink?"

Each kindness he offered dragged her further into his power. She shouldn't trust him, not with Lucifer so near. But her stomach cramped with hunger. "Please I'm so hungry."

Amparo moved with quick, angry motions. Roughly she pulled a yellow nightgown over Dulcie's head.

Justin ordered her to bring Dulcie food. Amparo left the room. Justin sat on the edge of the bed. The gesture was a familiar one of some warm time, some dear person who lived just beyond the limits of memory.

He smiled at her. "You've come to a strange house, Dulcie."

Dulcie pulled the sheet up a little more.

"I can imagine how we look to you. Let me tell you about the Gilmartins. You may not judge us more gently, but you can rid yourself of the idea that you're in hell. Our failings are human ones, Dulcie. Greed has been the family downfall. Uncle Kenneth stole this land from me when I was four years old, when my father died. Now he says the land is Lucho's. You've seen Lucho—Lucifer. He's a bright boy imprisoned in a hideous body. Everyone is half-afraid of him because of his appearance—and because he . . . imitates that damned voodoo witch, Mam'bo Luz. Poor Lucho. He hates us all because we're not like him."

"He said he would make me—"

"Die? He's threatened us all, but we're still here. He pretends he has powers, but the only people he frightens are those so ignorant that they listen to him. He won't be able to harm you unless you're afraid."

"But I am! You weren't there. You don't know. The first time I saw him he had red horns, and he was tall.

He had a thing like this on his chest." Dulcie gestured, her hands shaking. "And a black robe."

"Damn that old woman! Did Mam'bo Luz involve you in a ritual?"

The memories were sharp. "Yes," she whispered. "Lucifer was going to—he came toward me—^he—I kept running, and running and . . ."

Justin took her hands away from her face. "Dulcie, listen to me. That couldn't have happened. You've seen Lucho. He could never be tall. He can't even get around without help.'*

"But it was Lucifer! He was there! I didn't imagine him!"

"I believe you, Dulcie. At least I believe what you think you saw." He shrugged. "Perhaps it was Lucho."

Dulcie looked at him, doubting, then asked, "Who is Dorothy?"

"Dorothy was Lucho's sister. She's dead. You'll have to believe that, because everybody in this house—including me at times—wants her to be alive so badly we believe she is. The eternal fount of hope," Justin mused. "Somewhere she's out there, still alive, still whole."

"Perhaps she is."

Justin glared at her. His voice was bitter. "She disappeared fifteen years ago. She ran into the forest and became lost on the day that Lucho was born. Fifteen years ago her mother died bearing Lucho."

"He can make people die!"

"No, he can't. His mother was always frail. She nearly died bearing Dorothy." Justin paced back and forth. "An ignorant savage tended Aunt Helen. If anyone is from hell, it is Luz. She let Aunt Helen bleed to death."

"Perhaps she didn't know," Dulcie said shakily.

Justin whirled, his fists clenched tight. "She knew! Dorothy saw the baby. Luz told her it was a curse. Dorothy ran. She didn't know the woods; she'd been in school in England. We never found her."

"But you did try? You hunted?"

"We searched the area for miles, calling her, lighting the forest with torches. Weeks later we gave up. Uncle Kenneth kept hunting. He despised the baby, blamed him for what had happened. He named him Lucifer. Now we have an annual search, on the day Dorothy disappeared. I couldn't believe my eyes when you walked out of the forest."

"Why were you singin? Why weren't you lookin*?"

"Dulcie, she is dead. Uncle Kenneth's mind may have broken under the tragedy, but I don't want to end up as he is. It would be so easy here in Satan's Keep. For years at a time we have no society with the outside world. I dream constantly of Dorothy. I can't believe . . . but I can't stop hoping."

"But you were singin' for her."

"She taught me music. Everything good and beautiful I know, Dorothy taught me. It's my way of letting her know I remember her."

"And you still love her."

"It isn't difficult to love a ghost when there is no one else to love. We were going to be married. Since she left, there has been no one else to . . . love." His eyes were questioning. "You remind me of her, a little."

"Here's de food you ast fo'. Took a lot o' trouble.'* Amparo banged the tray down on a table. "Kin you feed youseff?"

Dulcie eyed the food greedily. "Give it to me, Amparo."

"Mistah Kennef wan' you, Justin."

"Tell him I'll be down soon." His look dismissed Amparo.

"He ain't goin' ter lak it, you bein' all twit-eyed on de girl."

"I said I'd be there later!"

Meaningfully she gazed at him. "You fo'gittin' what you got, Justin." ^

Dulcie ate everything. At last she pushed the tray away. "Justin, do you know . . . who I am?"

His expression flickered. "I know you came to me. You're mine now. That's all I want to know. That's all you need to know."

"Will I ever remember?"

He smiled down on her. "Try to sleep. I must go see my uncle. Shall I send one of the servants to sit with you?"

For the next days Dulcie rested, not leaving the room. Zara, the old Indian servant Justin had sent to her, kept her company, always with sewing or mending in her gnarled hands.

Justin took his morning and evening meals with Dulcie.

They spent the lamplit evenings in her bedroom or his. After Justin would bid Dulcie goodnight, he would bolt her bedroom door to the hall, leaving the door that joined their rooms open. Her dependence on Justin grew.

Sunday was the one day of rest at Satan's Keep. Justin had insisted she be always at his side. Hesitantly, she donned one of Dorothy's gowns. Then, trembling, she sat next to Justin at the dinner table.

Kenneth, after an initial embrace, lapsed into his vague world. Today Lucifer was on good behavior. He watched Dulcie constantly but seemed only to want to be talked to.

Kenneth spoke unexpectedly. "You are looking much better. You will take your meals with us now."

Justin said quickly, "Only dinner, until she gains more strength."

"Strength." Kenneth sighed heavily. "Your mother has no strength. You must see that she has better care."

"My mother is dead!" cried Lucho shrilly.

Kenneth eyed him. "Here is Dorothy. You said she was dead, too."

"Lucho, shut your mouth," said Justin coldly.

Lucho spewed a mouthful of food at Justin.

Justin brushed his clothing. "Take him, Costa. He can eat alone."

"I won't go!" Lucho flapped his fin hands, rocking, trying to avoid Costa. He tumbled heavily, yelling in rage and frustration.

"Let him He, Costa!" Justin took a bite of fruit. Lucho continued to scream, to roll around, until Kenneth rose unsteadily and delivered a sharp kick to the boy's rear.

The strange tenor voice said, "I will make you die, old man."

"I'm dead already, dwelling here on the dump heap of civilization," said Kenneth. "Dorothy, I'll have a small serving of that trifle."

Dulcie shakily spooned out the dessert. Costa watched Lucho, watched Justin. When the boy had been quiet for several minutes, Justin lifted him onto his seat.

That night Dulcie heard the drums. The ogan^s penetrating clank traveled over the damp night. Then, as the drums called, a door closed, and she heard the light rumbling sound of Lucifer's cart.

Dulcie hid in the bed, her fear of Lucifer overwhelming. She couldn't think of him as a human being imprisoned

in a creature's body. He was the Devil. She pulled up the cover, shivering with unconquered fear.

Justin stood in the adjoining doorway, "Is anything wrong?"

She strove not to let her teeth chatter. "I'm all right, Justin."

"It's only the drums, you know."

Dulcie fell asleep knowing that he was protecting her.

Sometime before dawn she became aware that someone, something, was in the room with her. Strong flowery incense hung over her. Something rustkd, like a taffeta gown. Dulcie lay rigid, listening. Frightened of what she might see but still more frightened not to know what menaced her, she opened her eyes.

A figure, shimmering, gossamer, with a pale mottled face moved slightly, leaning toward her, reaching.

"Adam! Adam, help me!" She began to scream.

There was a great thudding as a heavy body hit the door. Justin broke the bolt that unaccountably had been fastened on Dulcie's side. The figure darted for the window and vanished.

He was there, holding her with harsh strength against his bare chest. "Dulcie, wake up, wake up. It's only a nightmare."

"Oh, Adam, I'm so—" He wasn't Adam . . . no. He felt different, he smelled different. She tried to pull away from him.

He held her closer, crooning, "There, there, my darling, you're safe." His rough hands turned her covers back, and he took her into bis arms to hold her like a child, murmuring softly, kissing her face, rocking her as he stood. Dulcie moaned softly as long-forgotten feelings stirred in her. She longed for the comfort that she remembered of some man's arms, some man's voice, some man's love. "It was a bad dream, my love, nothing but a bad dream," Justin murmured.

Dulcie gripped his neck harder, as if by the pressure she could make him something he was not. "Justin, don't leave me alone."

"I won't—I've been waiting, hoping. Anything you say —anything." He carried her into his bedroom. He pulled her against him, his mouth forceful, insistent. Dulcie tried in vain to push him away, tried to turn her head.

"Don't turn from me. I've waited. Dorothy . . . IVe needed you so. Why—why did you leave me? I would have protected you."

"I'm not Dorothyl"

His mouth closed over hers, his tongue compelling, his hands under her nightgown. Then he tore the nightgown from her. His embrace became harsher, more demanding. His hands pressed her body to his, the hardness of his penis hot against her belly. The room reeled around her. Inside her head repeated the silent cry, Adam, help me! Aloud she screamed, "Justin! Stop! Stop!"

But there was no stopping him. He threw her down on his bed, forcing his knee between hers. He entered her, stroke by stroke until Dulcie sobbed, her mind a blurring whirl as her body reacted to his urgent motions. Pulling, flexing, thrusting . . . then his cataclysm of heat.