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Author's Notes: AGAIN, IN CASE YOU MISSED IT, THIS FIC IS NC-17. IF YOU'RE A PUPPY OR A KITTEN, I.E. UNDER 18, OR HAVE PROBLEMS WITH LANGUAGE, SEX, AND OTHER THINGS THAT SHOULDN'T BE SPOKEN ALOUD IN FRONT OF YOUR CLERGY, TURN BACK NOW!

Disclaimer: yeah, yeah, yeah. I don't own them, never have, never will. Anne Rice owns the premise and NBC owns the Pretender and its characters. Don't even try to sue, it would just be needlessly killing trees.


Serpents And Gods

by Keeper March

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He could see the liner from his bungalow porch. It slowly drifted its way into the harbor, leisurely cutting across the clear water, leaving a fissure in the placid sea. He wondered if that wasn't a metaphor, a sign from above, a prediction of what would happen. Would things be disrupted, a calm momentarily torn apart? Would things return to the cut-glass smoothness once this time-out-of-time had passed? Or would things be forever changes underneath, the sand shifted under the surface? All these things he contemplated as the gleaming white vessel filled with fifty new recruits began to dock.

She was on that boat. He had made sure of it. He left a big enough trail so that she would follow but made it narrow enough so that only her lone form would fit. Broots and Sydney could never get access to this place. He knew she probably thought she was being stealthy, faking documentation and recommendations so that she could capture him on this exclusive isle. He knew that she was probably internally gloating, her heart rate accelerating not just from the cramped quarters of flesh on flesh but also from her proximity to him. She knew he was there, his capture was imminent. But he had plans for her; plans that involved more of an awakening than he'd ever issued to her before. Yes, he thought as the liner was now moored and motionless, it's internal preparations superceding the action that once surrounded it, everything was about to begin anew.

Parker knew they had stopped. She wasn't entirely sure how she knew, the blindfold over her eyes eliminating any reference point she might use but she knew they were there. Finally, she thought, we can get this show in the road. She'd be back in Blue Cove in a day, back and gone in 48 hours. She'd had a lifetime of following Jarod. Useless searches, rifling through abandoned lairs only to grasp at straws. All this time and handfuls of nothing but a deeper ache to be free and a fond remembrance for her previous ignorance. If she had this life to live over again- no, that was pointless.

This life would soon be over. She'd return him as she promised, return him and then turn away. She couldn't save him, she could barely save herself. Her wavering resolve was anchored to one thing, survival. Everything else could fall away. She could push all her doubts and convictions aside for that one goal. By any means necessary, the ends justify the means. Mantras she recited over and over again in her head.

The person next to her, she was unsure if they were male or female, accidentally pressed their sweaty skin to hers, briefly touching her bare side. That brief human contact startled her, upset her like few things in this ordeal had before. It broke through her muddled thoughts and refocused her attention. She alternated between praying that this wasn't one of his pranks and hoping that it was because his involvement at least assured his presence and therefore his control.

She'd been standing, nude and bound for what seemed an eternity, time being nothing tangible to her. They'd taken her mother's watch. No, taken was the wrong verb. She'd given it to them, placed it and every other personal object she had on her into a sealable bag.

"Don't worry, you'll get everything back when your stay with us is complete. Besides, you won't need any of this stuff. You're identity belongs to your master. Pleasing them is your only concern."

She placed the two most important possessions she owned in that bag with two thoughts. One, that she'd better get that watch and ring back or someone would be singing through their anus and two, that she hoped these would be the only things they'd taken, even if it was temporary.

Getting a lead on wonder-boy had been easy. He was on some exclusive island called "Eden" where people quietly entered and quietly left and no one talked about what went on in between. Tabloid exposes had been trying for years to bust this pleasure-land but loyalty to the place was absolute. But she had heard enough murmurings and pieced together enough information to know that it was like an S & M summer camp. People signed on to be masters or slaves, their greatest fantasies and fears blending into one. She smirked at this notion.

She had always known that in relationships there was someone who was dominant. While not being entirely obsequious to the alpha, the alpha did always win, was always in control. She had always been the "master" in her relationships. She was the alpha but she wasn't sadistic about it. She never sought to humiliate her partner. She was never roughly physical in a way that both parties didn't enjoy. Morality aside (and truth be told, after a few run-ins with militant nuns she never had any use for that word or its arbitrary connotations), what went on behind closed doors was private, not something one should put up for public display. And especially not to set up an island where it ran rampant. But if the lab rat had found his way there, then that was her destination.

She'd tried to sign on as a master but that was next to impossible even for someone with her connections. Slave was the best she could do on such short notice and even pulling that off was like breaking into Fort Knox. People just didn't accidentally get to Eden. They had to be trained, be part of the culture, have someone respected in the community vouch for them. It was a hard ticket to get and it represented the pinnacle of the profession. If you could call any job that came with a discount on leather and chains a profession. But she got in.

She could pretend to be obedient and demure for a while, up until she spotted Jarod and hauled him back to his cage. She anticipated access to some weapon but everything she had was confiscated. Oh well, she'd make due. If she had to tie him up with rubber panties and plush handcuffs, she'd leave this island with him in tow. And now she was about to do it. About to set foot on the sandy shore where this ordeal would finally come to an end. Hopefully, she'd be assigned to a master that she could quickly dump- or maybe not so quickly if he turned out to be physically appealing. She wasn?t after all, adverse to a quick little fling if she could leave all the baggage the meeting would entail on the island. But whatever the case, she'd act the part until she could capture Jarod and that would be it. It would be fun seeing how the other half lived for a day or two but she had no intention of honoring that two month contract she signed.

With that thought, she could tell the doors to the cabin had been opened. If the click hadn't told her before, the heat that wafted into the space notified her that their tropical paradise was at hand. The handlers as they were called briskly told everyone to line up and that they would have to walk down the platform to their waiting masters.

"The masters bid on you. The most illustrious masters get first pick so it's to your advantage that you put your best foot forward."

Best foot forward, she thought, was this some deranged pageant? Walk down the white carpeted aisle, in all her naked glory so that someone could bid on her like she was a prize Jersey heifer. You had to be joking. But it was too late to turn back now. Well, she rationalized, this will be just like that time you streaked in college. Only this time you have to go at a slower pace and you don't have the benefit of eight tequila shots. Buck up, Parker. The ends- Oh shit! As each slave was exiting, the handlers quickly whipped them, adding a little blood rushing around the system. She could see this turned on most of the male slaves; some by fear, some by humiliation, a few by anticipation. Christ, she thought as the nerve in her tightened jaw twitched. You can do this, just don't retaliate. Control yourself, by any means necessary.



As she stepped to the entrance, the sun momentarily blinded her. One of the handlers whispered, "Parker, the guest of honor." She quickly turned to look at him, confusion in her eyes, but the handler behind her struck her upper thighs. Not so much pain as prodding and she went on autopilot.



Her eyes began to adjust. She could see sprawled out before her a crowd of people , most of them loosely attired in white if they were decent at all. Two or three to a table, a couple by themselves, a scant few standing. They were watching the slaves take the march of shame, deciding who they wanted. These were the masters.



Behind them lay the resort. A first-class structure and facility with a few little cottages and the hint that there were probably other buildings tucked away in the foliage, down hooded paths. All of this was nestled in paradise. Yes, she thought, this must have been what Eden of old was like. Beautiful people surrounded by beautiful scenery and all of it at their disposal and under their control. And just like that biblical paradise, there were rules. The masters were your God and serpent all rolled into one. They tempted you with the apple and then punished you if you took a bite. For someone with her lack of impulse control, it would be a miracle if she could survive this.



Then she saw him. At one of the back tables, underneath a large white umbrella. He was seated, in loose white linen pants and shades. And for a second, she could see the smirk, feel it, and she knew that he was expecting her. "Bastard," she swore and paused, glaring at him as he leisurely rose and removed his sunglasses. He glanced to her right and then her left and she mimicked his movement, following his line of vision. He was pointing the guards out to her. She should have anticipated there's be security. Loyalty only goes so far. To keep things quiet, you'd need more than that. She was trapped here, with him. And her was a master and she was not.



"Slave Parker, keep moving." The words from the speaker weren't registering. She was trying to bore a hole through Jarod, her eyes asking all the questions and heaving all the accusations she could muster.



"Parker," it repeated, this time louder and harsher.



It cut through his reverie before it cut through hers. He broke eye contact and now the voice parted the veil of her confusion.



"There will be punishment for this disobedience," a brunette woman near the stage said. Punishment, Parker thought with a trace of bravado and a tinge of fear. So it begins.



He didn't mean to do it. He didn't mean to get her in trouble. He knew the rules much better than she did. She probably didn't even know there was punishment, had no idea what it might be. But he knew, and still he goaded her. He knew she'd come off that ship without a stitch on, naked to the eye. He'd seen others do it before. Hell, he'd done it himself but with her, everything shifted. He could see her brief bewilderment as she took everything in, see her overwhelmed. He could see that her anger had been building in the hull of that ship and that it had manifested itself in arousal. All of this he could look at with detachment. No one ever comes off that ship untouched, both physically and mentally. But when their eyes met, all indifference rushed out of him. She was here and she was his. Not just in the sexual or metaphorical sense but literally, she was his.



He wanted her on this island, wanted it to help her like it helped him. It released his fears. It let him hand over control so that when he did have it, it would become a precious gift. The other side let him dominate in a way that he could never do within the bounds of convention. He had been a slave before he had been a master and he saw the beauty in each. The master was in charge but the slave found the real refuge.



When he broke out of the Centre, he gorged himself on freedom, he lived a limitless life. But it was only here, in this place and in the capacity of slave that he could admit the security of restriction. He'd been bound in one way or another all his life, fettered by expectation and responsibility. But when he found this island, he recalled the comfort and joy in submission to a benign master.



That wasn't initially how he'd come here, though. It was a simple investigation. A top-secret organization that no one talked about, he had to find out if the Centre was involved, were injustices being committed. So he entered their world and it quickly hacked its way through his pretending skills and became something personal. His first master could sense his hesitation, his lack of real commitment. But Martin kept plugging away, kept asking all the right questions. Martin later said that he could tell Jarod was a lost soul searching for comfort and release. Martin had no idea of the depth of that despair, though.



Jarod found that he liked the games, the roles. It was like his childhood, only much, much better. The rewards were greater and the master had no pretensions as to what he was doing. The honesty floored Jarod. It was as much an aphrodisiac as anything else. And the fear, the anticipation heightened everything.



But the trust, the trust was why he knew he had to bring her here. He had to introduce her to this. She was as lost a soul as he, probably more so. She needed all the things this lifestyle could give her. It could open up so much for her. He'd tried more conventional methods for her but somehow they all failed. But this way, he knew he could reach her. The irony of the fact that this used sex, an area in which she was supposedly an expert was another boon to the situation.



All these rationales and reasons flew out the window when he saw her, though. Her flawless form, her cooler-than-the-sea eyes, her body in the beginnings of arousal. She, the comforting ghost of his youth, the untouchable idol she had been and the stunning vision of disdain she had become, was here, unfettered by the outside world. She was her and for once in their lives, she was the slave and he was not.



She supposed she should be getting used to sleeping while standing up. The majority of her last 24 hours had been spent upright. While the other slaves got to go to their masters, she was in punishment. Punishment for disobedience, as if looking were a crime. But here she was in a darkened basement, restrained. She could hear nothing, she could see nothing. It was as if she were in a vacuum and that was punishment in of itself. The not knowing, the void were all reprimands. She had been made to do menial work and that really didn't bother her but the lack of contact and the deafening silence was what was causing her to break out in a cold sweat. And Jarod, was he still here? The man who had put her here, where the hell was he? Like all the other games he played with her, was he around, secretly watching her, taking delight in how his machinations had panned out? She hoped he was still here, at least the rational, vindictive side of her did. If her was still here, there was the possibility that she could capture him if he remained. But another, more vocal part of her hoped he was long gone. Because to face him again, in this dynamic was horrifying and thrilling all at once.



"Please let him be gone," she muttered aloud. But she knew he wasn't.



He really didn't know what drove him to see her. It wasn't really concern. Lisa, who was in charge of the island and who helped him arrange all this, wouldn't let her get hurt or wouldn't push her too far. No, Parker's safety wasn't an issue. So what compelled him to enter the underground punishment room. He knew he'd have her soon enough. Parker would be his tomorrow and in truth her punishment was more for the benefit of others and the need to uphold the rules than it was for any infraction.



But he couldn't keep away. He couldn't sleep on his crisp white sheets with her a hundred yards away. He couldn't close his eyes without seeing hers and wondering if he was doing the right thing., if he wasn't misguided. He had to know if this was going to be real for her and if it was real to him.



He knew what people thought about the lifestyle. They thought of it at best as kinky sex and at worst, violent degradation. But it hadn't been like that for him at all. It was the realization of his fears. His experience ran on the premise that if you knew your fears, they couldn't control you; that if you could articulate what you wanted, it could be yours. He knew that intense emotions like pleasure and pain were inherently related. The physical pain, and more importantly the fear of that pain sometimes lead to pleasure and self-realization. This is what he wanted for her, the pleasure and the awareness. But he couldn't just rely on the physical. For her, real intimacy was the greatest fear. And control was the cornerstone of her house of cards. He hoped he could knock it over, he hoped she'd see the beauty in it's fall.



He entered the chamber and saw her standing there in a muted circle of light. Her hair had fallen around her face as she let her head drop. Her sheer robe was hanging in graceful folds from her arms that were stretched and tied above her. The parted cloth highlighting the expanse of her flesh, illuminating the valley between her breasts, the hard plane of her stomach as she drew in breath, the juncture of her thighs. She was wearing that gossamer robe, silk panties and heels that put her normal stilettos to shame. Her head was lowered and on an expel of breath, she raised it and whispered, "Please let him be gone." Yes, he thought, this was going to be real.



She saw movement out of the corner of her eye and abruptly turned. It was him. Jarod was here. Her heart beat double-time. Every nerve ending in her body stood at attention. He was still in those loose white pants that were tied low on his hips but this time he also wore on open white shirt. The contrast the color made against his tanned skin was breathtaking. He just stood there for a second, motionless and she willed herself to come up with a quick reply.



All she could come up with was, "Got your wish?" but it sounded more longing than lunging. The realization that she sounded weak snapped something in her. "Is this another one of your goddamn games, wonder-boy? You?ve humiliated me in so many other ways, why not add this one to the list."



Her words shocked him. She was partially right. He would just end up hurting her if he didn't see this all the way through. He had to carry on as he meant.



"You have not been told to speak, slave."



"I'm not your slave, you asshole. I'm here to retrieve you."



He wanted to reply with, "And you're doing a hell of a good job of it," but he had to keep the banter out of this. He had to start asserting his dominance. "The slave only speaks when the master wishes," he said as he neared her. His voice had taken on this cool confidence it never had before. It was lower and more forceful and it, as well as his approaching figure made her take a tentative step back. That one movement, that unconscious gesture solidified his resolve. Yes, he thought, we can do this, we can make this real.



He was in front of her now. Her arms pulled taut above her head, her robe a silent invitation. Their bodies were electric conductors, energy passed through them, ignited the narrow space between their facing forms. Parker looked down then up, her eyes full of challenge. Ready to lash out at him again, "Jarod, ?" she started and gasped as he lowered his head and his mouth found a nipple she wasn't even aware was erect. She retreated and he grabbed her wrists, which were bound together above her.



"Stop," he commanded and for reasons she couldn't explain, she did.



"You, you,? I never,? why?," a hundred thought rushed to her head. What was he doing? He was suckling at her breast as though he were starving, as if she was his lifeline.



He quickly took the other nipple in his mouth and lightly bit it. She yelped in surprise and he took the opportunity to look up. "I didn't ask you to speak." Her mouth clamped shut, her brow knotted in confusion and desire. What was going on and why did she know it had to stop.



"All of the slaves here have been trained. They know the signs for when they've pleased or displeased their masters. Their punishments are more cut-and-dry and expected. You don't have that luxury. You also don't posses the acuity of that fear. I could physically punish you, and I'm sure at some point I will, because in the fear you will find eventual pleasure and release. But the whips aren't your true anxiety. The whips are after all nothing more than control tools, instruments that embody our fears. But you don't fear the physical as much as you dread the intimate, the personal, the out-of-control. Your punishment will be special and unique. But the results will be the same, you will come to crave that which you once detested and disdained. You will be open and bare and honest, both with yourself and with me, your master. More than whipping you, you fear me knowing this affects you." And with that, Jarod grabbed her hair, gathered it at the nape of her neck and began to plunder her mouth.



Parker was torn between resistance and admittance. She should let him think she was unaffected, she should tell him that it was a normal response. She should turn the table son him. She should protest this violation. She shouldn't kiss him back for fear he'd know how right he was. Before she could formulate a course of action, he pulled away. They were both grasping for air and control. "The sooner you let things go, the sooner the return to you, stronger and with their own sense of purpose. I am your master who is going to teach you to let go."



Parker regained her tongue about ten minutes after Jarod left. She cursed herself for just standing there as he touched her. She cursed herself for her pulse that still had not returned to its regular rate. But most of all, she cursed him. "Who the hell does he think he is?" she asked herself. "And what the hell does he think he's doing?" Yeah, she thought, they'd see each other tomorrow and this little game of his would be over. She didn't need his help for anything and certainly not in this capacity. Broots had probably slept with more people than he had but now he was going to give her lessons. Like hell! Someone was going to be in for a rude awakening tomorrow, she thought bitterly.



*****



The next morning of the handlers released her and lead her to a remote cottage on a hill. She entered from a porch that faced an amazing view. But none of this registered to her. She knew Jarod would be in there and she was ready to give him a piece of her mind. Scratch that, she thought, he'll get more than a piece, he'll get a sizable chunk. The handler opened the screen door but didn't go in. Parker strode in ready for a confrontation.



Jarod anticipated her quick tongue would be ready with its usual remarks. She marched into his big open room cabana and almost simultaneously with the quiet close of the door she let the words fly. "You mother fucking son of a bitch," she started with. The handlers had not given her a change of clothes so she was still in her white, see-through robe that stopped at mid-thigh and as she talked, she kept clutching the front of it, like it might slip open. "Just who the hell do you think you are? Lyle must have really jolted that brain of yours more than he thought if you think I'm going to be the starring role in one of your kinky little fantasies. "



At first she couldn't tell where he but then she saw him half-reclining on the bed and she advanced. "I thought you were a freak before ," she continued as she approached the bed, "but now you?"



Jarod unexpectantly lunged at her and flipped her onto the bed and beneath him. In her haste to berate him, she never took in her surroundings, specifically the four poster bed that had plush handcuffs attached to it. She put up a struggle as she finally realized Jarod was fastening one cuff to each wrist but her shock and his strength limited her protests.



"You piece of shit," she began but stopped as Jarod eased off her for a second and in one quick jerk held her torn panties in his hand. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a neat circle as she looked at him in shock.



"Until you learn respect and who's in charge," Jarod said in a calm voice, "I guess I'm going to have to keep reminding you." He then bent down to bury his face in her crotch. His strong hands parted her thighs as his mouth ravaged her core. His tongue snaked out to touch her warm center before his teeth made light patterns along her delicate lining.



"Jarod," she squeaked. He kept licking her folds, going deeper, reassurance is his action coming in the taste of her juices. "Please? Jarod,? stop," he expelled the plea as her breath left her body.



He couldn't stop. He knew that she hated that he was getting to her. His tongue continued to trace designs on her internal flesh and his teeth nipped at her most sensitive spot. He raised his head, two fingers replacing his mouth. "Why should I stop, Parker? Afraid I'll see how wet you are? Afraid I'll find out how much you want this? Give me a reason to stop when here where it seems you want me to be." He gave a rough swipe to her clit causing her to buck beneath his hand as his mouth began its descent.



She couldn't believe what he was doing to her, couldn't believe that she had writhed beneath him. This has to stop, she thought. This was Jarod. I can't do this for so many reasons. Reasons she couldn't articulate but knew were absolute.



"I'll? oh God, ?I'll be quiet," was all she could fumble out.



He looked up again. "You mean you'll only speak when spoken to?" Jarod challenged.



"Yes," she quickly assented.



"You'll diligently work at being my slave?" he asked. Her eyes flared but quickly closed as another finger joined the previous two.



"Yes? just?stop." He had to stop she could not want this. She had to make him stop, her body was reacting when her mind should be thinking. About what she wasn't sure but she knew he couldn't continue.



"So you'll watch your mouth if I watch mine."



Missing his smirk, she nodded, her eyes still closed.



"First rule, Parker. You'll do what I say because I have your best interests at heart. You'll do what I say because you trust me," he said as he slowly made his way back up her body. Their noses were now touching, their eyes locked on each other. She could feel his arousal, strong and hard and she knew that she wanted it there, cradled in her lap. And she knew that more than anything she feared what would happen if it went any further, if she let him in. She could give anything to keep her control, to survive. And to give into him would be beyond out-of-control. She feared giving into him more than she feared the Centre. She feared what it would mean. Yeah, she thought, she could do what he said when he said as long as she could keep that fear at bay.



Jarod knew what was going on behind those eyes of hers. He knew she thought she could play the slave as long as she remained untouched. But that wasn't about to happen. She'd want him so bad, crave her fear of letting him in so bad that she's only find release in it. Her constant arousal would border on pain and she'd walk through fire before she'd admit why she'd trade anything to put him off. But in the end, she'd admit why it was so hard for her, she'd walk through fire tested and stronger. Instead of vehement denial with no admission of her own wants, she'd know why she feared what she feared and then she could own it. That's what he wanted for her, the obliviousness to be gone. The haze she lived in all her life would be lifted away. He needed it removed as much as she did.



"O.K.," he said. "I'm going to release you and we're going to bathe. Any sudden movements and we're back to square one. And don't even think about contacting the Centre or hurting me. Most of the staff know why you're here and the other masters are so wary of undercover reporters that they won't do anything without consulting the staff. You're here until we get this right, Parker."



He released her wrists and she slowly sat up. She still couldn't look him in the face.



"Go run the water," he said.



She made her way into the large bathroom and sat on the rim of the enormous tub. The morning light filtered all around her as she began to prepare the bath. A thousand questions swirled in her head, mimicking the water that was quickly collecting. What have I gotten myself into? Why is he doing this? Will the ends justify the means? What are the ends? Will they be her end? Innumerable why' s hit her from every angle, so many brain couldn't process any of them. All the questions ceased, though. As he entered the bathroom.



"Come here," he quietly ordered. Without thinking, she stood and approached him. "Now undress me."



Her trembling hands reached for the waistband of his boxer briefs. She made a downward tug that revealed the thatch of hair that surrounded his manhood. She had to look away.



"No," he said. "Look at it." Her eyes flittered back to where her fingers were still trapped between the elastic and his skin. She pulled down again and his shaft sprang to life. She wasn't a naïve virgin or even a modest woman but actually seeing it was a shock. It was the point of no return. The other touches she could chalk up to biology but her in the cool light of day she was gazing upon him in the most intimate way possible. She could rationalize this. And the fact that he wanted her made her heart beat a rapid tattoo on her chest.



She kneeled to get the shorts the rest of the way off. They now pooled at his feet.



"Parker, look at me." Her eyes raised and caught his. Everything passed through them, an unspoken plea on both their lips.



He slowly reached his hand out to her and when she took it, he could see that she was shaking. The unflappable ice queen was trembling. He pulled her upright so that she stood before him. He could do nothing but lose himself in her eyes. Seconds stretched on and they remained unmoving, anchored to this moment. She looked away first, looked to the filling tub, using it as a pretense. It was almost full, the bubbles she had previous concocted approaching the rim.



"Turn the water off and sit in the tub," he instructed. She broke contact with him and lowered herself into the lukewarm cloud of white. She faced the facet as to avoid seeing him again. She might be ale to do this if she could just pretend he was someone else. A few moments later he joined her.



"Parker," he said. "Turn around." The tub was wide enough so that all she had to do was shift her body and spin. She faced him again. The bubbles came up to her chest, barely concealing her breasts. He was totally relaxed, his arms bracing the side of the tub, threatening to fall over the edge. He snaked his legs out so that she was trapped in the triangle his body formed. She quickly pulled her knees up to her chest to shield herself from the heat that seemed to radiate off him.



"No," he commanded. "Wrap your legs around my waist."



"Jarod," she breathed out, her frustration bordering on exasperation.



"We have an agreement. While you're here, you're mine."



"Why? Why do we have an agreement? What do we each get?"



He looked away from her, jerked his head to the side to study some invisible puzzle but she could still see the disappointment and anger. She needed another inducement. He had hoped that one would be enough but he figured she'd be stubborn. He was going to have to lay it all on the line and hope he knew what he was doing.



"Your freedom for mine," came his reply.



"What?!?"



"You give yourself to me, you help me set you free- free from all your expectations and fears, and I'll go back."



Shocked, she sputtered out, "why, why would you do that?"



Back under control he answered, "don't ask, just agree. You'll be my slave, heed my every instruction, and in two weeks, I'll return with you." He knew it would be hard for her to resist. He knew that as much as she feared being intimate with him, she thought the could pretend if that's what it took. He hoped that by the time he was finished, the lesson would be so well taught that she couldn't go back to her old life. He reached his open hand to her, willed her to shake it, to seal the deal.



And she took it. Thinking less about the Centre, less about herself, and more about why he wanted this for her that he would risk everything. She shook his hand. Had she just made a deal with the devil? Probably, she thought. In this two-week paradise, he was going to be her serpent and god.



*****



They sat there in the tub silently staring at each other. He willing her to understand, she willing him to leave well enough alone. Another distant part of her chimed in that she wasn't well enough. She squelched these thoughts. No one was well enough. What was normal? Normal was what you're used to. She couldn't change it, she couldn't change her. She'd sooner cease to breathe air than pinpoint what needed to be amended. She's lived half-blind all her life and now he wanted to drag her into the light. She knew she should probably go kicking and screaming but she was too curious to see how the whole thing would play out. Yeah, she thought, curiosity was why she was still here.



He didn't really know why she was still here. He didn't know why she shook his hand. She wouldn't renege on an agreement. To the outside world everything else in her character would indicate that her word might not be her bond but he knew she wouldn't welsh. But why she took the deal in the first place made him hopeful and hesitant all at once. It wasn't just because there was the possibility that she'd bring him back. She was wary enough of him to know there was probably a catch even if he didn't actually have one. Maybe she was more open than he thought. Maybe some of the measures he was planning on exacting weren't necessary. Or maybe it was all part of her plan. Rehabilitation could be faked. No one knows the murmurings of the soul.



He had to gauge her actions. Before he could really develop his plan of action he had to know what the starting point was. Was he sliding into the shallow end or going straight off the high dive? He turned in the water, turned so that she now faced his back. Phase One begins now.



"Give me your hand," he whispered.



Her arm reached around him, the soft inner flesh of her bicep brushing his upper arm, eliciting tingles of awareness through both of them. He took her hand and slowly turned it over, palm-side up. He reached for the shampoo, gave it a quick squeeze so the gel pooled in her open hand.



"I want you to wash my hair, Parker."



Her hand began its retreat and he could see her trembling. The usually steady arm quivering like a reed against a turbulent sea. Her hand gently came to rest on the crown of his head. For a few seconds she didn't move, just let her hand cup his damp skull.



He held his breath. What would she do now? How would this progress? Would she scratch and claw him or would she give him tender strokes? He almost hoped the former. It would make his job easier. He could dominate the Ice Queen without picturing the little girl.



He heard her other arm part the surface of the water and the drips as they rolled off her elbow. Her left hand joined the right one as she began to massage his scalp. At first they were just calculated swipes. Then it changed, everything changed. Oh god, he thought, it was like a lover's caress. She was in there, somewhere buried deep. Her heart still beat. He could do this. He could free her. The only caution was that he had to remember why this was important. This was for her. He had to save her. He couldn't let his own needs interfere. The master was just as much a slave but to a different god.



She contemplated what she should do. Should she be violent, raking her nails against across the tender flesh of his scalp? No, they had an agreement so she would honor that. She would calmly and casually wash his hair. Imagine you're a beautician, she told herself. You're just washing his greasy hair, right? But her fingers were never tentative. She was so assured that she didn't even realize she wasn't washing him with detachment.



That fact crept up on her after it was too late. She was here, in this tub, her lower body wrapped around his, her heated core pressed to the smooth softness of his backside. If anyone stumbled upon them they would surely think them lovers. To be thought of that way was overwhelming and enticing. Not even with Thomas had she been totally bare. Even with him she kept so much undercover. But here, with her hands signing a silent plea, she wanted to know what that was like. She wanted to thrown caution to the wind.



"That's how people get killed," came the voice of her father. He was right. People got killed for throwing their hearts around. They got used and violated when they thought with sentiments instead of sense. She stopped her hands, quickly ceasing their ministrations. There, she'd washed his hair like he ordered. She'd done her little task for the day. She couldn't let him get to her. He wants me to open up so he can slice into me easier. She had to watch herself around him. He'll creep into your soul, she warned herself. And she couldn't decide which was worse, if he got in and stayed or if she succeeded in driving him out.



"Rinse it out now."



She saw a hand bucket on the floor next to the tub and picked it up. She filled it with water and slowly poured it over his head, watched as the bubbles slid from his slick dark hair down his corded neck and onto his brown shoulders. She repeated her motions until his hair was free of any soap, until it was smooth and baby soft. He turned his head to look at her.



"Now it's your turn."



She filled the bucket again as he turned fully around to his initial position to watch her. She washed her hair, turned its shoulder lengths until they were a mass of foam. She knew he was looking at her, at her arms as they raised above her head and caused her breasts to lift out of the water. Even with her eyes closed she could feel his stare. It was all so unreal to her. His presence made the mundane so intimate. He was gazing at her like they did this everyday, like he was part of her morning routine. She peeked an eye open in order to locate the bucket and saw that it was in his hands.



"You rinse and I'll pour."



He moved closer to her, his legs on either side of hers, caging her in. He was so close but she could sense that he wanted closer.



"Sit in my lap."



"Jarod, I?"



"We agreed. I just want you to sit there because I won't be able to reach the back of your head unless you do." Which was a lie. His arms could span the circumference of her. They both knew it. But she had agreed. She lifted up slightly as he grasped her around the hips and fitted her astride him.



"There," he said. "Now I can reach." He could reach all right. She could feel him all over. Feel the length of him, his proximity. She was dying inside but he seemed to be fine. Who's ice now, she wondered.



He lifted the bucket filled with water and poured it languidly over her head as she mover her hands around, exposing the soapy strands. My god, he thought. Parker is in my lap with inches separating our nude bodies. A lean forward and I could be- no, he told himself. He wouldn't do that, wouldn't complete it until she asked. But watching her, her eyes closed, her head thrown back to expose the creamy white of her neck, he wondered again about his motivations. Pretend you feel nothing, pretend to be detached. But how detached could he be with this woman this close.



They stayed in the tub just staring at each other, contemplating everything and nothing.



"You're going to turn into a prune if we stay in here much longer," he said, a quirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.



She went to untangle herself from around him, to rise and exit but his next motion took her by complete surprise. Instead of waiting until she got off him, he simply grasped her about the hips and hoisted her closer to his chest and leaned forward to stand. Taken aback, she instinctively circled her arms around his neck and clinched her legs tighter around his waist as he rose.



He was at full height, the water cascading off of them as if they were one. She was stilled locked onto him, the awkwardness of the embrace influencing her hold; the slickness of their flush bodies a new level of sensation. How could he spend two weeks with her, at his disposal, and not take something for himself, not give in to the urge to complete?



She looked down at their bodies and then the tub and back up into his eyes. She was still wrapped around him like a honeysuckle vine and the moment seemed to flash, to take on a whole new sense. It wasn't just sight or sound or smell but a heady combination of everything. For the hundredth time since she agreed she asked herself, "What have I gotten myself in to?" The confusion of that question clouded her eyes. Surely he must see this.



He slid her down the length of his body. His rock-solid center passed by hers, a feather touch. Like passing ships but both knew the waves hitting the other. He had to stop wanting her like this. He had to stop clouding himself.



"You must be hungry. We'll go eat." Yeah, if he could put this back on solid ground, back where he could be reminded of the rules, he'd be okay. But here, in his room, without anyone to disturb or monitor them, the rules didn't seem to exist. All that existed was the two of them.



He'd always wanted to dress her. He loved the short little leather skirts she wore, the nose-bled high heels, the satin and the silk but nothing charged him up, nothing suited her more than white cotton. Not the cheap, starchy kind but the old, decadent, cloud soft fabric that was almost too ephemeral to stitch. It reminded him of when she was a girl and had come in with her confirmation dress on. She looked like what he imagined angels looked like. Sweet and innocent with none of the hurt that would tamper the rest of her life. He wanted to make her feel that way again. He wanted her to let herself feel that way again. That's why he decided she would only wear white cotton and lace. He also couldn't deny that it looked like a dream on her, highlighting her alabaster skin, the fabric like baby kisses all over her body. When he ran it through his fingers, he could picture, feel what it would feel like running over her skin.



She pulled the ivory gown over her head and down. He had laid out her clothes and it didn't take a genius to figure out that he wanted her to wear the sleeveless garment. She was a little shocked by the choice. She figured the lifestyle would dictate her usual leather. She'd feel better in that, more in control, more likely to remember why she was here.



But this sheer cotton, too soft to be real, was entirely too disconcerting. It wasn't that it looked obscene, it felt obscene. She looked demure and godforbid, almost virginal in it. But the way it caressed her skin, the way it floated around her, like fairies whispering along her flesh, tuned her up. She was keyed up and at the same time nearly lethargic in it, like everything moved in slow motion but double the intensity. She felt naked with it on, not naked to the eye but a whole other level of bare.



She contemplated all of this as he watched her dress. She could tell he was there, his energy like a peripheral vision, a thought that always followed her. If she were to go blind tomorrow she would always be able to tell when he was with her. Their fields sent out the same wavelengths. When she turned to face him, he was in another loose pair of linen pants but this time he had on a white cotton T-shirt. It was V-neck and it dipped below the hollow of his throat to the beginnings of his pecs. He looked casual and beautiful, as if he didn't know he was good-looking, his naivete adding to his appeal, creating another dimension to his flawless form.



He had white thongs on his feet and to her amusement, his toenails were painted. She looked at them and back up at his face and couldn't suppress the grin that tugged at her mouth.



"You like them," he asked, his own amusement evident in his voice. "I don't know if baby blue is your color. Besides, men don't usually where toenail polish, in case you were under the impression they did. Men don't usually were cosmetics, period." "I know but I like them. Besides, I thought they'd make you smile." It had worked and she quickly put her scowl back on. Everything in him was manipulation. She had to keep telling herself that. He knew he shouldn't have told her that. It made him seem like he cared more about, well, he wasn't sure about what but he just knew he revealed too much of himself to her sometimes. If she knew too much of his intentions at this stage, she would just misconstrue what he'd said or done. She was now back in Ice Queen mode. That's for the best, he thought. She'll need to be ice so I can shatter it. Especially at breakfast.



They walked to the outdoor restaurant hand-in-hand. He had insisted upon it and if her reluctance to comply was any indication, the next hour was going to be a tough one. Her hair was down, combed out straight. The locks slightly curled around her ear. She looked so young, so pre-, pre-everything. She looked like a blank slate, like a road better taken. She could see the clearing was the same place where the stage had been setup. The platform to the ship was gone but the tables, chairs, and umbrellas were still there. She could definitely discern who were masters and who were slaves. The masters sat comfortably in chairs, eating their various breakfasts while the slaves knelt at their feet. Some wore collars, some did not but all kept their eyes glued to the ground, not wanting to disturb their masters.



"You won't have to kneel like that. I'm putting you in an even better place." He sat in a chair and pulled her into his lap. "Ah," he said, flipping open the menu. "What to eat, what to eat."



She couldn't believe she was splayed out over his lap in front of all these people. In the bungalow was one thing but in public, it was something else entirely.



"I'd rather kneel," she whispered in his ear.



He looked at her, the way her eyes darted to his, to everyone else around them, and then back to him.



"No, I like you right where you are." He turned her slightly so that her legs fell over one of his arm rests while his other arm cradled her back.



"No, where you are is definitely good. Besides, how will you feed me if you're on the ground?"



Just then the waiter came and took Jarod's order. She didn't hear what he requested; she was too busy thinking about his previous statement. He wanted her to feed him like a Caesar on the throne or a lover after a night of coital bliss. He wanted her to touch him, to pamper him in public.



"You want me to feed you like some harem girl," she hissed in his ear.



"No," he leaned forward, his lips close to her neck, the air of his breath disturbing her hair. "I want you to feed me like you want me. Like we are the only two people in the world. I want you to feed me like you'd prefer I was feasting on you. I want you to forget about Blue Cove and all your intentions and all your self-imposed restrictions and I want you to give yourself to someone else. For once in your life, I want you to feel and not have to censure what you want. You love to let the hardness come out and play. You don't mind expressing violence. What about the inverse? You're so afraid to let someone know there's more behind your shield. You're so afraid of the softness"



She looked at him, fury and pain mingling.



"The softness! The softness is what gets people killed. Everyone I have ever loved has left me. My mother, Thomas, you." She choked out the last word, caught herself in her revelation. She looked away from him quickly.



"I never left you," he started, his own anger and hurt surfacing. "You left me, left me alone in that prison, without anyone. I wrote you hundreds of letters, sent you endless prayers. Wondered and feared for you, all to have you return as if our previous existence had been a dream, an imagining. Don't tell me I left you."



She stared at him, into his eyes and saw the hurt there, the hurt she had unwittingly caused. He was still seething, both at her and at himself. He had revealed everything to her. She was the one that was supposed to get worked up.



Just then the waiter came with their food. His presence broke their reverie. He brought a plate filled with various fruit, neatly sliced and peeled so that all one had to do was pick up a bite-size piece and pop it in their mouth.



"Feed me," he said, a little harsher than he wanted to speak.



She picked up an orange slice and slowly placed it in his mouth. When he closed his mouth, he caught the tip of her fingers. The juices from the fruit spilled over his lip, down his chin. Without thinking, she reached for the droplet, traced its sweet path with her thumb, back up to his mouth.



"You never told me any of that. Never dropped that hint with all the other bread crumbs you left." Not an apology, not an excuse. He would have been disappointed in her if she had issued either of those things. She was right in a way. He let things build up in him, hoping that others could read between the lines, always to be acutely disappointed when they didn't. He knew it was a failing of his. His intensities were sometimes overwhelming.



"It doesn't matter," he said, composing himself. "It was a lifetime ago. Besides, we can work on me later. Now we have to work on you."



"Is that why you're doing this, because you want to play my white knight, my healer? You should know to walk away."



"I can't walk away. You could but I can't. I have to know that what we were was real. I have to know that somewhere in there is that same heart. If I don't, if it isn't, then I've been living a lie, that maybe goodness doesn't exist. And as much as I want it to exist for me, I couldn't live if it didn't exist for you."



"So why here? Why like this?"



"I've tried other ways. Call this extreme Plan B."



"It won't work. You. Can't. Save. Me," she said slowly. Her eyes pleading with him to believe her. She was a lost cause, a hopeless case, a child of St. Jude. She didn't want him to help her.



"I've got two weeks to try," he said with a smirk. "Now feed me. And this time, put a piece of mango in your mouth and transfer it to mine."



She could only stare at him. It was pointless. She let out a sigh as she resigned herself. Two weeks to prove him wrong. Two weeks to prove wonder-boy wrong AND bring him back. She had to keep thinking about those two things.



She placed a small piece of mango between her teeth and slowly leaned forward. His mouth expanded and as she was about to quickly drop the fruit between his open teeth and retreat, his hand came up behind her neck. Her face was locked onto his, their breaths mingling, becoming intertwined. He took the piece of mango and shifted it to his cheek. Her mouth was still open and he closed the distance between their lips. He didn't even really kiss her, just lick the bottom of her top teeth. He pulled back to chew and stare at her.



He leaned forward again and grabbed a piece of pineapple and raised it to her lips. She opened her mouth and accepted the gift but his hands never left her face. His fingers danced around her mouth as she chewed. The hand that was around her back continued around her until his fingers were brushing the underside of her breasts. He tickled their swell, watching as her nipples puckered.



"Take a piece of the watermelon and hand it to me," he said in a low murmur. She reached for the fruit, wondering what he was going to do next, curious and scared all at once.



He took the melon and held it to her lips, painted them with its juices. He then led it down her face to her chin and down her neck to the top of her gown. He lifted the fruit and placed it against one of her nipples, let the juices soak into her shirt and onto her skin. He then placed the fruit in her mouth and she slowly chewed on it as his tongue traced the sticky sweetness. Like a mama cat licking her kittens clean, he worked on her lips with his tongue, licked her down the side of her face, onto her neck. She was thankful for the piece of fruit in her mouth. It prevented her from moaning aloud. He spent what seemed like hours on her neck. He laved the big vein there, tried different strokes. He finally latched onto it with his open mouth and began to suckle her, finally raising his head and leaving a passion bite.



"I've marked you as mine," he whispered to her then he lowered his head to her breasts. He was sucking at her taut nipple, seeking out the juice of the watermelon from the cotton. He could taste the sweetness. He sucked so vigorously that he could even taste a hint of the detergent in the material. He could also taste her as she perspired through the cotton. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her hand at rest on the tables, see it trembling.



He placed his free hand on her upper thigh, right below the hem to her gown. He slowly smoothed his fingers across her heated flesh, under the soft cotton, towards her heated center.



"Jarod," she choked out.



"Hmmm," he questioned, the hum vibrating her already sensitive nipple.



"You have to stop."



"Why? What are you afraid of? What are you worried about?"



"We shouldn't be doing this and certainly not in front of all of these people," she gasped as his fingers finally found their way to her hot core. He looked at her then, his fingers still seeking her out, his eyes exacting a more thorough search.



"These people have seen a lot worse than this. If I wanted to make love to you on top of this table, no one would bat an eyelash."



"We can't do that with everyone looking," she said as she shook her head at him.



"We can't do it because everyone's looking or because you don't want people to see you like this? Open and bare, your shield lowered, the ice beginning to crack. These people won't judge you for your vulnerability. They won't exploit your sensitivities. If you could just give up control, you'd see that. You'd see everything." His eyes and words pleading with her.



"Not like this, Jarod. Not here, not now. Please," she whispered. The please did him in. He knew he should be stronger, have more resolve, but that word, when it came from her lips, was his weakness. He could deny her nothing when she asked properly.



"We'll continue this in the cabana. Just eat. We'll try baby steps before we try to run in a public forum."



He went back to eating and she followed suit. All the while she couldn't help wonder what his "baby steps" might mean.



*****



They made their way back to the cottage. Once inside, the tension between them became palpable. What would he do now, she thought. He could do just about anything. Any depravity his genius mind could conjure up, he could make it happen. He surprised her by going to one of the shelves and picking up a book.



"C'mon," he said. "Let's go outside to the hammock." They went outside onto the thatched porch and strung from the house to the railing was a wide hammock that faced a gorgeous ocean view. He proceeded to climb into the hammock, book in hand.



"Climb in with me," he instructed. She stared at him for a second, annoyance clearly written on her face.



"C'mon, we'll fit."



"I'm sure we'll fit but we both know we'll probably end up practically on top of each other."



"And? Get in, Parker."



She got in, tried to keep some distance between them but gravity conspired against her. She glanced over at him and could see he was clearly enjoying this. When she finally got settled, she tried to remain ramrod stiff.



"Happy?" she asked through clenched teeth.



"Hmm," he hummed. "Almost." Then he contorted his body a little so that his head was nestled in the crook of her neck and his leg was flung over and between hers. "That's better. Very comfy. Now I want you to read to me."



"Jarod, I know the Centre deprived you of your childhood so that Mommy never read to you when you were a toddler but this isn't going to make up for lost time and I'm sure as hell a poor substitute for your maternal yearnings."



"Parker, the last adjective I would use to describe this situation and you would be 'maternal' but I remember you loving to read to me and if that extensive library in your house is any indication, you're still a bit of a bookworm. So I want you to read to me."



"Fine." She grabbed the book from his hand and read the title. "A volume of erotica? Not exactly Aesop."



"Never said this was going to be kiddy stuff."



She sent him a glance that if he could see it she knew it would wither him. She started reading aloud the first story, a little harsh and detached at first but as it progressed, she began to really get into it.



He loved when she read to him when they were kids. She had one of the best voices for oration of all time in his opinion. Her voice would catch or lower at just the right parts. And wrapped around her like this, her voice enveloping him, her body vibrating at every sound she made, his eyes looking to the sea and his head filled with the erotic images the story was conjuring up, he felt almost perfect.



She would read the sensual things the lovers in the book were doing to each other and she couldn't help but picture she and Jarod. Everything about this moment was like a dream. The weather was perfection, a slight breeze lifting loose strands of her hair, the salt from the sea just tinting the air. Jarod wrapped around her, his weight just enough to remind her of the power of human contact.



As they began to get further into the book, as the deluge of carnal depictions began to pile up and physiologically affect her, he picked up on the breathlessness of her voice. He slowly moved his hand, which had rested across her lower abdomen and slowly, lifted her gown. He began to draw lazy circles around her navel. His fingers then tickled their way up and down her ribs. His tongue snaked out to taste her again, to run across the ridge of her clavicle. As she read on, as the story reached its sensual climax, his maneuverings became more demanding. His hand now slipped beneath the waistband of her panties, his mouth now fully open to caress and suckle.



She stopped reading, allowing herself just this one second to succumb. She could pretend too, she thought. Pretend that this was nothing, that they were two normal people swept away in their urgings.



He could feel her surrender. Maybe, he thought, that was all it took. We could live like lovers, we could show all the emotion and longing. If he showered her with affection, if he didn't prod so hard, maybe she'd arrive there on her own. Yeah, he thought, we'll live like lovers, like the only two people who matter in this world. Maybe she'll change by example. Maybe he wouldn't have to take the extra steps.



He raised himself a little so that he could reach her mouth. He latched his mouth onto hers and began his assault on her mouth. At first she was hesitant but she slowly got into it and her tongue began to duel with his. He could kiss her forever, he thought. He could lose himself in her.



"Jarod," she croaked out suddenly as she tore her mouth from his. "What do you want from me?"



Trying to recover from that train wreck of a kiss he tried to explain. "I just want you to be happy and whole. I? pretend we mean something more. We won't have sex, we'll just get reacquainted. We'll be intimate but we won't? be intimate."



"You want me to act domestic," she asked with a disbelieving chuckle.



"No, not domestic. Give it a try, us getting used to each other again. You can trust me, Parker. You can always trust me."



"So friendship without the extra benefits."



"Sort of. We'll still touch and show affection but we don't need to go all the way."



"A honeymoon without the sex."



"Just try it. Try to know someone else for a little while."



*****



They coexisted for the next week or so like they did when they were children. They invested everything in each other. There was so much that he wanted to see with her, so much that he wanted to ask her. He had forgotten that he loved the way she thought. He loved that she was too complex and intense at times. He could anticipate a lot but there was also a hidden variable with her. She could make him laugh and she could infuriate him. She never backed down and she never conceded. He was continually amazed at her. But he wasn't sure if this was a good thing or a bad. Was she just going along with him for a while until the end of their deal? Was she just lulling him into complacency?



After a week, he had his answer. It's funny how it's the small sentences, maybe just a noun and a verb that reveal volumes. They had been discussing a book he'd read to her (occasionally he liked to be the reader but he still preferred when she took that role) when they got into an argument.



"The point of the story," she said, "was responsibility and discipline. Without those two things, we are lost."



"Responsibility to whom? What about responsibility to self? If he'd just-"



"Responsibility to self, my ass. Sometimes we have to do things that we don?t want to do. That's part of life. We have to give up what we think is best for us." "I agree that sometimes we have to trust others and that we can't be selfish but you can't keep denying yourself all the time, especially when the thing your investing in is not seeking your best interests or the best interests of others and is therefore ultimately harmful."



"Don't make this about the Centre or my father."



"Have you never trusted anything else in your life beside what they've told you? They who have brought you nothing but sorrow."



"If I trust I die. If they know, they own."



"Repeating Daddy's mantra? So you think if you trust me, if I know you, I'll hurt you?"



"Intentionally or not, trust kills," she whispered.



"Or it sets you free," he returned just as soft.



"Well, like Janis Joplin says, 'Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose.' I've lost too much already," she said and turned away from him.



Realization dawned on him. "What was this week to you? Did it mean anything?"



After an extended pause she whispered, "No. This week was a school girl fantasy. It wasn't real. We're not real. I'm not real."



And before he could realize, the wall was back up. Or better, it was never really down. He had deluded himself into thinking that she could change that easily. She still didn't trust herself or him. Her confidence was all a mask, a ruse to hide the scared little girl underneath. She could cover her up so well but just then, she'd peeked through. I have to get to that little girl, he thought. No more nice and quiet. It's time to start asking the hard questions.



*****



He had been in a pensive mood all evening. They had eaten at the restaurant and not two words had passed between them. When they got back to the bungalow, in the center of the room was a full length mirror connected to a plush cushion a few inches above the floor. The little kneeler faced the mirror so that your reflection stared back at you as you stooped.



"What's this?" she asked.



"No more questions. I make the demands. Take off your clothes and kneel."



She looked at him for a second bewilderment and hostility on her face.



"I've tried things the easy way and they didn't work so now we have to do things the hard way."



She didn't move, defiance in her eyes.



"We have a deal," he slowly yet forcefully reminded her.



She let out an opposed huff and quickly undressed then lowered herself to the cushion. Think ice, Parker. Don't let this asshole beat you.



He came from behind her and lifted her arms. She saw the cuffs he had in his hands. He tightened them around her wrists and then tethered them to a hook in front of the mirror. The hook hung from a chain that was connected to the ceiling. He walked to the wall and flipped a switch, sending the chain and her arms slowly up. At the moment her arms were just slightly taut, he stopped the mechanism.



She could see herself stretched out in the mirror. Her arms were above her head, her thighs slightly apart. She could also see him approach from behind and kneel behind her. She was surrounded, by her own image in front and him all around.



He leaned forward, his mouth centimeters from her ear.



"What's this week been like for you, Parker? The touches, the caresses. Do you know my taste? I know yours. What's it been like not reaching fulfillment?" Every word was a husky graze, his breath dancing over her skin.



"Was it difficult for you? You normally have a very healthy and well-maintained sex drive, don't you? What's this week been like with a hard, willing man inches away from you, twenty-four hours a day? Have you felt the tension? Have you craved the relief? Wanted the release? You've been in a state of arousal all week, sleeping next to me, in my arms. I'm sure you felt how much I want you. Did you ever want it? Did you ever want me to make you come? I've always taken you up to a point and then stopped. I wanted you to be geared up in anticipation. And you've never had a moment alone, have you? Never had a chance to take care of the pressure yourself. Well, now's your chance. Use your hands. Pleasure yourself."



She was humming from his speech. Everything he said was true. It had been nearly unbearable for her, all this energy and longing and no outlet. She wanted to take him up on his offer but she couldn't.



"I can't use my hands."



"Oh," he feigned innocence. "I forgot. I guess I'll just have to do it for you. Tell me what you want me to do. Pretend my hands are yours.



Her eyes flashed wide for a second as she searched his face trying to decide if he was serious. She could tell he was, the set of his jaw reminding her of his determination and resolve.



"Just uncuff me," she whispered. "You can watch." The last sentence came out with pause. Her voice just slightly pleading with him to let that be enough.



"No. Don't you trust me? Tell me what to do, tell me how to touch and I will. Close your eyes and pretend these hands are yours."



She looked at his hands. The well-manicured, tapered fingers. He'd touched her countless times through the course of the week but always at his own initiation. She could always fall back on that fact but if she told him what to do, what points to pressure, it would became a mutual encounter that she couldn't deny.



"Jarod," she closed her eyes and turned her head so that it was hidden in the crook of her arm. "I can't?"



"Trust me. It's the only way. You can give up control. I won't abuse it."



She peeked at him from her hiding place and she could see in his eyes that he meant it. He wanted her to vocalize her needs and he wouldn't exploit her frailty.



She expelled a resigned sigh and tentatively said, "Touch my breasts."



He wrapped his strong arms around her and placed his hands on her chest yet he didn't move them. "You're going to have to get more specific than that."



She opened her eyes and stared at him, the contrast of his dark hands on her alabaster flesh.



"Kneed them." At her command he began to make delightful little circles and tugs on her sensitive flesh.



"Lick your fingers and play with my nipples." She could hear the smack from his lips as he removed his fingers from his mouth. She anticipated the coolness of the liquid before it came, felt her reflexes give a start as he began to softly pinch her erect nipples. "With your fingernails, lightly trace the gooseflesh around the areola." He did as she commanded and she could feel the moisture and heat pooling between her legs.



"Run your hands slowly down to my?" He was already halfway there but he wouldn't move any further until she told him exactly what she wanted."



"My inner thigh." He almost smirked at her stammering. But he went lower, parted her legs so that he could work her inner thighs.



"A little higher," she said after a few minutes of him tracing patterns on her soft inner thighs. He could feel the heat like a nuclear reactor radiating from her center. He could feel the soft hairs there tickle the top of his hand.



"Trace, uh, trace my outer lips with your finger." He did this and knew she was ready for him.



"Find my, find my clit." He searched in her moist flesh for a millisecond before finding the already hard nub.



"Apply pressure to it. Just,?" she couldn't form the words. "Just, please." He knew he should let her tell him exactly what she wanted but he couldn't stop his fingers and thumb from stimulating her. She didn't have to tell him exactly what she wanted then, he knew and wanted it as bad as she did.



"Insert one of your fingers." He extended his index finger inside her as he felt her inner walls open up to him. He moved his fingers slowly in and out, taking care to excite her clit. He stole a glance at her. Her head was thrown back and her eyes were closed. Her back rested on his chest. Her arms were shaking and her brow was knotted in concentration.



"Keep that rhythm," she instructed as her body swayed in counter-tempo. A flush had crept up on her cheeks and her breathing had become very shallow.



"Insert another finger," she choked out on a whimper as a second digit joined the previous one.



"Tell me what you're thinking," he whispered.



"I don't ever want this to stop," she breathed out as her undulations became more frenzied. He couldn't help but ask his next question. He knew this was about her but he had to make her admit it.



"Who are you thinking of? Is it me? Is it me deep inside of you?"



Her eyes flew open with a look of shock. They both knew the answer but she couldn't admit it.



"No, no," she said. "I was thinking of someone else, not you."



"Don't lie, Parker. It just won't wash," he said accusingly.



"Stop. Just stop. I don't want this with you." He retracted his hands.



"Fine. But until you can admit what you want, without all this selfish-brat-bullshit front you put on, you'll never be happy. If you don't take a chance and start really living for yourself instead of for them, you're just walking around half-dead. Sometimes you have to take a chance, you have to go out on a limb. Until you start admitting your feelings, you're just slowly killing yourself." He left her then, left her kneeling in front of her own reflection, left her to contemplate who was in the mirror. She didn't sleep all night.



The next day was like the previous. The tension between them stifling. She figured he had something planned for her that night. It was almost funny to her the way they isolated themselves from each other during the day and came together so violently at night. They were combustible, existing together inert for large portions of the day and blowing each other apart once the sun set. They had always carried on this duality in their personalities. During the day she pursued him but at night the thirty-minute calls.



They had dinner in the cabin that night. He enjoyed cooking and was very good at it. He also surprised her with his love of art and art history. He devoured books on styles as varied as Romanesque architecture to Pop Art. He was just finishing a book on TVA photography and murals when there came a soft knock at the door.



He didn't seem surprised by it so she assumed that this was part of the next test. They both stood and he went to answer the door. When he pulled the door back, there was a female slave standing there. She was a lot shorter than Parker, with wavy blond hair. She kept her head down as a sign of obsequeence to a master. She quietly said, "The master called for me."



"Yes, I did," replied Jarod. "What's your name."



"I'm Evelyn," she answered, never looking up. She was so meek that she startled Parker. Well, she thought, she's the polar opposite of me. And then it hit her. Maybe that was it, she was nothing like me.



"Evelyn, tether Parker." Evelyn obediently walked over to Parker and took her by the wrist and led her to the center of the room where the chains that retracted towards the ceiling were. She cuffed one of Parker's hands to one end of a bar and the other to the other end of the bar. When she was done, Jarod, who was standing and watching by the wall, flipped the switch that raised the bar over Parker's head so that she made a Y-shape.



"Jarod," she started but he cut her off.



"I didn't ask you to speak, Parker. Evelyn, move that bench from the foot of the bed so that it's a few feet in front of Parker." Evelyn dragged the cushioned bench so that it was where Jarod asked.



"Take off your clothes, Evelyn, and lie on your stomach on the bench with your head facing Parker." Evelyn did as he said and removed her clothes and then straddled the bench while facing Parker and then lowered her chest so that all Parker could really see of her was the top of her head. Jarod then removed his clothes and approached Parker. He stopped directly in front of her, blocking her view of Evelyn.



"Don't you dare fuck her in front of me," she gritted through clenched teeth.



"I think we're forgetting who's slave and who's master here. I'm the one who decides, not you. You had your chance to make the rules and you chickened out." He then leaned forward so that his forehead was touching hers. His erection wasn't even in contact with her but she knew it was there.



"Hmm," he chuckled. "I smell you and I get hard."



"She'll just be a substitute for me."



"Do you want it to be you? Ask me and it can be you . Just say it, Parker. Say that you need someone else, that you're willing to believe in someone else, even if it's not me. That's all I really want."



"Jarod," a single tear fell as she held in her sob, "why do you ask what I can't give?"



His anger flared up. "Can't or won't? Yeah, she may be a substitute for you but you tell me what it feels like as you watch me do to her what you know I should be doing to you."



He then stalked away from her and behind the prone slave. He buried his left arm under Evelyn's hips and lifted her rear up. He tested her readiness with his right hand and found her wet with anticipation. He poised himself at her entrance and looked up at Parker. Her eyes pleaded with him not to do it but she couldn't bring herself to say it. Anger at her bubbled over in him as he lunged into Evelyn.



No matter how ready a woman was for him, he was always a little too much on the first thrust. He knew he was more than adequately equipped and when he made love with women in the past, he always took care to go slowly and allow time for adjustment. But with Parker standing there before him, his fury with her because he knew what she wanted to say but wouldn't bring herself to, he forgot to be gentle.



He drove into Evelyn a bit harder than he was used to and he heard her groan of satisfaction. But his eyes never left Parker's and it wasn't Evelyn's moans of approval that he heard but hers. He pretended that Evelyn was her, that he was driving all the aloofness and cold from her.



Their eyes were still locked in each other as he felt Evelyn come. Her orgasm set off his own and he bucked wildly into her, calling Parker's name. When he was finished and had caught his breath, he removed himself from Evelyn and excused her. He walked over to Parker and uncuffed her but before he had time to anticipate, she was clawing and hitting him. He grabbed her about the waist and pulled her to him to try and lessen her blows.



"I hate you. I hate you," came the litany of words from her mouth. He moved forward, half lifting her, until they were beside the bed and he toppled them into it. He had his own body wrapped around Parker's so that she couldn't move her arms but she could still move her head and she whipped her face from side to side in frustration.



"Don't you ever do that again," she threatened. "Don't you ever make love to someone else when you should be making love to me."



Her last sentence caught them both by surprise. She tried to think of a way to retract what she had said, a clever barb that could nullify it but there was none. She had just revealed everything to him and the prospect of that drained her of all her energy. Her movements stilled and she just lay there with him heavy on top of her.



He felt her submission, knew that she realized what this meant. She did feel. Even if it was anger or jealousy, it was coupled with another emotion that gave him hope. He wrapped himself around her tighter and rolled over so that she was half lying on him. His optimism soared while she skated the line of despair. It was only the steady throb of his heart and her lack of sleep the night before that let her join him in slumber.



*****



The next day was hell for him. She had nearly completely shut down. In the last two days there had been a tension between them but it was of his creation, she merely reacting to it. But after last night, she was unreachable, her brow knotted in contemplation. He knew she was probably recalling and weighing out everything that had happened the night before. He hoped she was grilling herself over it. She had to experience a little mental discomfort before she could heal herself. But it was the not knowing what she'd decide that was killing him.



Night came and she didn't even realize it. She had spent the whole day in turmoil. She wasn't sure about anything anymore. She wasn't surprised by the knock that came from the outside of the door. She knew he wouldn't let her regroup.



When he went to open the door, though, to her surprise, there was a male slave. He was an inch or two shorter than Jarod but he shared Jarod's hair and coloring. Jarod told the other slave, who he identified as Malcolm, to wait in the middle of the room. He then walked over to Parker.



"Take off your clothes and get into our bed." She looked at him for a second, the desperation clearly on her face. He'd deliberately said "our" bed. She had never thought of it before but she knew he was right. It was their bed. They'd slept in it together nearly every night for almost two weeks.



She surprised him by silently undressing and crawling into bed. He expected hostility or disbelief but she just complied. He stood next to her by the bed and called for the other slave.



"Malcolm, I want you to make love to Parker while I watch."



She shot upright with a low "No!" He dropped to his knees in front of her, grabbed her upper arms.



"Why? Why not, Parker? We've almost made love numerous times this week. You couldn't do it with me so maybe you can do it with him."



"No. I don't know him."



"You don't trust him but you trust me?" he prodded.



"Jarod," she whispered, "why do you hurt me so?"



The look in her eyes, the inner pain she had redirected at him, made something in him snap. He would never really let anyone else make love to her in front of him, at least not someone who didn't really care for her. It would just be letting her fall back on her old habits. It was just another test. But he was sick of the tests, sick of the games. He wasn't needlessly hurting her. He was helping her. Why couldn't she see that? He was over the edge now. He had tried using his own tactics and so far they hadn't worked. Maybe it was time for conventional methods. He rose from her then and got one of her robes.



"Malcolm," he growled, "are the Games still going on?"



"Yes, Master."



"Run ahead and tell Lisa that I need to have priority at the Post."



Malcolm left as Jarod strode back over to Parker and handed her the robe.



"Put this on. We're going out."



"Jarod, what's the Post? What's this about?"



"No questions, just go." His eyes were full of passion and that disconcerting intensity she had only occasionally seen him display at the height of his most difficult pretends and rages.



*****



His anger at her and at himself propelled them down the path to the Arcade. She could see that there were people gathered everywhere. Some of the slaves were wrestling against each other as their masters placed bets on who would be the victors. Other slaves were running pony races to the delight of a fairly large crowd. All around her was noise and the smell of sweat.



All the images blurred into one as they snaked their way through the Arcade. At the end of the clearing was a raised platform and a post. The sight of what was going on there stopped her in her tracks. There was a nude male slave tied to a wooden pillar about the size of a telephone pole. He was blindfolded and his hands were bound around the post, which he gripped close to his body. The handler in charge was off to the side trying to decide which instrument to finish up with because it seemed the slave had been there for a while. He was already displaying little red welts on his buttocks and thighs and as he slightly turned, his erection was prominent.



The handler finally selected a whip and began to work the slave over. Parker could tell that the slave was in pain but discomfort also carried an erotic edge. His cock would surge with every contact of the whip. One of the masters next to she and Jarod remarked, "He loves it, doesn't he? Robert really works the slaves over. They just can't seem to get enough of him."



They pushed their way to the front just as Robert was finishing up on the slave. Jarod approached a lady at the foot of the stairs to the platform and Parker recognized her as the mistress that was in charge when she first departed the ship.



"Are we next, Lisa?" he asked the head mistress.



"Just in time, Jarod. Yes, you can be next."



He led her up the stairs to the platform. She was still in a state of utter shock. She looked out on the crowd and was suddenly overcome. She could barely hear him tell Robert to work her over but be careful because this was her first time.



"Jarod, don't do this," she begged.



He looked at her for a second. "I've tried, I've?," he faltered. Then he fixed his resolve and turned to Robert. "I want her blindfolded," he said and walked away.



The next few seconds didn't even register to her. She knew she was secured to the post, knew that she was stripped but she couldn't see anything with the blindfold.



He made his way to the edge of the crowd, his heart pounding in his chest. Please god, he thought, let this work. He couldn't sim this; he was much too close to it. But he hoped, he prayed that it would work. The first blow totally caught her off guard. It wasn't that it was excruciating, yeah, it stung like hell but more than anything it made her blood rush to various places in her body. The blood seemed to leave her brain and pool in her ears. The crowd became white noise. Nothing was discernible. She couldn't separate sentences so her sense of hearing seemed almost pointless. But other senses were heightened. The pain was a dull ache that she could feel not on her back or her thighs but in her temple. It was a new catalyst that scrambled everything else that was stored in her head. Thoughts and images long buried seemed to rise out of nowhere.



"Jarod," she croaked but it was inaudible above the roar of the crowd and the hiss of the whip. She tried to listen for him, tried to locate him but she couldn't. He wasn't there anymore. Not in the physical sense, physically she knew he was there but in her head she couldn't hear him, couldn't see him. Where are you, she thought. Don't leave me. We said we'd never leave each other. Her leaving for boarding school flashed in her head. I'm sorry I left you, she thought as she began to shake. We were never really apart. I always carried you with me. Even when I didn't realize it, you were always there. But now she couldn't find him. His image, his essence, his meaning had vanished. She rested her forehead against the post and prayed for him to come back.



He could sense that things were different. She wasn't just aroused anymore, she was scared. Not of the whip or the observers but of something else. He made his way back up to the front and got Robert's attention. Robert stopped his next flick and Jarod gave him the nod that it was over. He untied her but kept the blindfold on.



He led her back to the cabin. Her heart was nearly hammering through her chest, her skin was slightly cold and clammy. She was scaring the shit out of him. Had he gone too far with this one? He quickly got her into the cabana and as soon as she could tell that they had stopped moving and were back on the carpeted floor of the bungalow, she fell to her knees. He knelt in front of her then, ran his hands along her arms and sides. He could tell that the welts were only small ones, Robert had held back. He knew they probably didn't hurt much anymore, the fire from them designed to collect in the genitals. No, her hurt was somewhere else.



With desperation he tore the blindfold off her. She blinked erratically for a few moments, her eyes vacant orbs. She was somewhere else. He was locked out of her, his fear and his worry nearly suffocating him. Just then she snapped back to reality. Her hands came to his face, molded to his cheeks.



"I couldn't see you. I couldn't hear you," she stammered. "You weren't there. All my life you were one of the constants and then you were suddenly gone. I couldn't see you. I tried to remember what you looked like but it eluded me. You left me. Never leave me," she implored, her eyes rimming with tears.



"I'll never leave you, Parker. Ever. Please trust that. I'll never let you go," he intoned as he wrapped her in his embrace. She began to nuzzle his neck to find his heartbeat in order to assure herself that he was real. "Please, Jarod," she asked, "make love to me. I need you inside me. I thought you weren't inside me anymore. Please." He couldn't think. He could only kiss her as proof of his intention. He knew he should go slowly. He knew that he should stop and wait until they were both a little more emotionally stable but he couldn't. They tore each other's clothes off in a frenzy. He ripped her gown from her wanting nothing but her skin against his. He thought he might try and make it to the bed but any second he wasn't in her was torture. She had his shirt off and his pants untied. She pushed his waistband down so that his member sprang forth. She wrapped her hands around it, finally allowing herself to act on her thoughts.



He tore her panties from her and wrapped his left arm around her waist and lifted her. In one quick plunge he was inside her. She was wet and ready but still tight. He knew she hadn't had a lover since Thomas and that had been a while. He knew he should go slower so he paused to look up at her. Her elbows rested on his shoulders, her hands tangled in his hair. She noticed he wasn't moving so she glanced down into his eyes. She lowered her head and kissed him for what seemed like an aeon. His arms were still enclosed tightly around her as her legs encircled him.



"Don't stop, Jarod. Don't go slow. We've waited a lifetime for this. Please," she whispered. "I trust you."



At her urging he started their rhythm. He knew he should take his time and savor but he couldn't help it. He was like a man who had crossed the desert. He couldn't be blamed if he gulped instead of sipped. He pounded into her with no technique other than to be where no man had ever been with her. He wanted to go deeper into her than anyone else before. Not just physically but he wanted to be ingrained in her. He bucked into her wildly, wanting to fuse into her, wanting her to engulf him physically as she had already done mentally.



He was near frantic but she welcomed his passion. She knew that she would be sore in the morning but she didn't care. He was here, he was now, and he was deep inside of her and she couldn't let him go. His next thrust touched off something in her and she orgasmed crying his name. It must have triggered his because a few seconds later he came crying out that he loved her.



Their bones had simultaneously turned to water and he lowered her to the carpet and slumped over her. He couldn't breath, couldn't catch his breath. He only wanted to remain here, inside her, forever. The arms that she had wrapped around him slowly came unhooked and she began to trace patterns on his back. After a few minutes, sleep overtook her and she drifted off. He slowly rolled off of her and looked down at her. When he withdrew his body, she curled closer to him in order to regain some of the heat. He picked her up and placed her in the bed. He removed the rest of his clothes and crawled in next to her. An hour later they awoke and made love again, this time slow and sensual, exploring every touch, every erogenous zone. When they fell asleep again, he cradled himself in her side. He awoke before her the next morning and was contented just to stare at her.



She was so beautiful in sleep, her long lashes contrasting with the ivory swell of her cheekbones. Her mouth was slightly pursed, her hair pillowed around her. He'd imagined this a million times. Since he was fifteen and first had sexual urges he'd dreamed of what it would be like to wake up next to her. A thought then occurred to him. She said she trusted him but how permanent was that and was that declaration given under duress? If he had stuck with the plan he shouldn't have made love to her last night. He would have waited until they were off this emotional high, when they could be rational.



He slowly got out of bed and went to the phone. After three rings the other line picked up. "I've fucked up, Lisa."



"Jarod, it's 6:30 in the morning. Elaborate but do so slowly."



"I made love to Parker last night."



"I figured you would after seeing the two of you at the Post. But just how does that mean you've fucked up?"



"I wasn't supposed to make love to her. This was supposed to be about her. And now I've coerced her and probably myself into another situation. I?," he glanced over at her still sleeping form. "I wanted her to admit that she needed someone else. It wasn't about me. It was about her."



"Jarod, what's one of the tenets of the Club?"



"I don't know. Pleasure?"



"Yes, that's one but what's the big underlying principle?"



"Honesty."



"That's right, honesty. We should never be ashamed if we pursue things honestly and mutually. If they don?t harm others and if they're true, they're beautiful."



"I know all that. What does that have to do with this situation?"



"Why did you choose Parker?"



"Because I couldn't stand to see her slowly kill herself."



"But why her and the Club?"



"I don't know."



"Jarod, be honest with yourself. You can say it's all about her but that's only half-true. It's about you, too."



"I know. I fucked up and told her I loved her last night."



"Do you?"



"I?I?I compare everyone to her, consciously or not. I think about her sometimes. The most inopportune or trivial things will make me wonder about her. I do something new and I want to share it with her. I, I can never let her go."



"What do you think that means?"



"Okay, okay. I know what it means but what does it mean to her?"



"You accused her of being scared of herself, of her own needs. What are you doing?"



He thanked Lisa and hung up the phone. He knew what Lisa meant. He couldn't retract his declaration. He did love her, he was tied to her. Maybe she didn't feel the dame way but he couldn't keep guessing, couldn't deny that he needed her. He was frightened. He was going out on a limb in the harsh light of day. What if he wasn't the one she was meant to be with? Hell, if Thomas had lived, they'd probably be raising kids together in Oregon. But he had to try . He had to know that even if she didn't love him, she was willing to love someone.



When she finally awoke he wasn't in the bed. He was sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed watching her.



"Good morning," she said, the huskiness from sleep still in her throat.



"Hi," he said with a grin.



She rose and crawled to the foot of the bed and kissed him.



"What are we going to do today?" she asked. He ran his thumb along the side of her mouth and glanced towards the center of the room. Her eyes followed his and she was surprised at what she saw there. There was a small pile of suitcases, most belonging to her.



"What's that?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer.



"Our suitcases. The two weeks are up. You lived up to your end of the deal so I'm living up to mine.



"Jarod, after last night?"



"You said you trust me. I can't let you invest that much in me and then renege on our agreement. That's what trust is all about."



She was clearly hurt and confused. Did he not love her? She thought he did, she heard him say it. Was he just going to send her back to Blue Cove, to her old way of life, after he worked so hard to make her see the error of her ways? Was this another game? Her heart was breaking but if that's what he wanted.



"Fine. I'll get dressed."



It was his turn to be shocked. Could she say it? Would she admit she loved him? This morning she clearly had the look of a woman in love on her face. Had he miscalculated again?



She retrieved some clothes from her case and came out of the bathroom in Ice Queen mode. She was back in black leather and her face was wooden. His heart did double-time in his chest. He forced himself to tell her a cart was out front to bring them to the airstrip where they'd fly to Delaware. The fifteen-minute ride seemed like fifteen years. He wasn't sure of anything anymore. If she really didn't love him, if she was just playing along, it really would be better to be back at the Centre for that deception would break him.



They arrived at the runway and a slave began to load up their suitcases. The stairs to the plane were down and he pointed to them for her to board. He followed behind her, blind to everything but putting one foot in front of the other.



About twenty feet from that stairs she abruptly stopped. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he ran into her back. She spun around and looked at him.



"Stop," she commanded. "Just stop. I can't do this. I can't pretend that this last two weeks didn't happen. I've decided. I'm getting on that plane but I want you to stay here."



He heard her say that he wasn't getting on the plane and his heart leapt. But then her previous statement registered.



"Why are you getting on the plane?" he asked.



"I have to go back---"



"Dammit," he exploded, "No you don't. It'll break my heart all over again to know that you voluntarily returned to that deathtrap."



"I'm not going back to stay, Jarod," she explained. "I'm going back to get a few things and then I'm out of there."



He was breathless with joy. "I'll meet you back here?"



"No, not that either. I know that you know how to dismantle the Centre. You could have done it years ago and I'm not entirely sure why you didn't. I want you to destroy the place. I'm packing up and leaving Blue Cove and I'm not sure where I'm going but I need to go there by myself. I need to start defining myself without my father or the Centre or, at this time, even you."



He was so confused. "But I love you."



She pulled him to her, kissed him with complete abandon and longing. When they were done, they stayed enclosed in each other arms, their heads lowered, foreheads touching.



"I know but if you'll stop for a minute you'll know that I need to find out who I am by myself. I love you, too, Jarod. I love you with everything I have in me. But so much of what's in me isn't really mine."



He gave a quick nod; their foreheads still pressed together, her hands still touching his neck. He kept his eyes closed, just wanting to remember her and the hot breeze from the airstrip as it cocooned them.



"I'm not really letting you go, you know."



"I never want you to really let me go. We'll always be a part of one another. You've always been my instigator and my comforter. Please don't try to locate me. We'll know when the time is right. I trust that fate knows what to do with us."



"So you believe in trust."



"I'm starting to, I'm well on my way. Speaking of well on my way?"



She turned towards the plane, untangled herself from him and walked the last few steps towards the plane. As her foot fell on the first step, she turned back around and looked at him.



"Say it again, Jarod. Just one more time."



"I love you and I trust that you know what's best for you."



She looked at him a moment, her smile changing her features.



"With that I can't go wrong. We'll find each other again. Until then, live in my love."



She quickly climbed the steps and he watched as the door closed behind her. He couldn't see her in the windows. He knew that would be too much for her. He just simply watched as the plane taxied down the runway and lifted into the air, the arms of heaven opening up to embrace her.



THE END

 










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