Free Demon Seed by Jianne Carlo Page B

kissing you.”
    “Go for it. Kiss me.”
    She let her gaze rove over his face, traced the line of one eyebrow, and set her lips to the scar that tugged at his mouth. Closing her eyes, she outlined his lips, sipped at a corner, and sucked on the softness of him. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulled him closer, and explored, learning the shape of his teeth, testing the sweet spots that he had found on her, the ones that had made her belly flutter and her toes curl.
    He grunted, and kneaded her breasts.
    She bit the tip of his tongue, and his grip on her mounds tightened to the point of pain when she tickled the roof of his mouth.
    He pulled away from her, nostrils flaring, chest heaving, his eyes glazed, and then he bumped their foreheads together. “Damn. You’re a fast learner.”
    “Sister Helen always said so.” She preened a little, feeling very much the siren and enjoying his dazed reaction. A surge of confidence had her blurting, “I should very much like to suck your genitals, babe.”
    He choked. Then grimaced. “Okay. Never say that word again. Genitals.”
    Jacinta couldn’t stifle a small giggle.
    “Cock, dick, prick, jones, woody, boner. Anything but genitals.”
    She laughed aloud at his exaggerated shudder. “Okay. I should very much like to suck your cock, dick, prick, jones, woody, boner. Jones? Woody? Boner? The others I have heard or read, but not those three.”
    “You know where we’re heading after eating, don’t you?” He slipped his hands down her pants, and her legs went slack when he played with her folds. “Hot damn. You’re commando. And sopping wet.”
    Jacinta blinked. “Commando?”
    “No underwear.” He removed his hand and licked all four fingers. “Man. I love the way you taste.”
    An inferno lit her throat and face. “You mean it.”
    “Oh, yeah.”
    Squaring her shoulders, she crossed her arms. “I want to taste you too.”
    “Do I look like I’m arguing the point? Eat. All of a sudden, I’m motivated to gobble every morsel in record time.”
    But he didn’t.
    Instead he fed her with his fingers and his mouth. Teased her without mercy about her old-fashioned vocabulary, and argued with her about Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness . How they got onto that topic she never did quite figure out. He had a way of worming secrets out of her and soon knew her favorite books, movies, and cartoons.
    But she had learned nothing about him. He deflected every question or answered in such a way that he gave no information about himself.
    He didn’t trust her. Why? His attitude had changed twice. On the beach after she told him of the cloister’s location, and in the jeep when he had seen her face in daylight. The contact lenses? It hit her all at once. The picture Emilio had of her mother—she and her mother shared the same eye color: turquoise with yellow glints.
    “You know my mother.”
    His eyes narrowed.
    A flurry of beating wings and squawking birds drew his attention.
    Jacinta followed the direction of his gaze, but the high windows showed nothing save branches swaying and bits of blue sky. A flock of green and yellow parrots soared into flight.
    Demon jerked to face the boat’s stern. “We have company. Get to the bedroom and stay there. Do not make a sound. And, Jacinta, I will tan your backside if you disobey me this time. Go.”
    Not liking his order one bit, Jacinta retreated to the top bunk bed, edged the floral drapes apart, and watched the approaching five canoes. How had he heard them? The small boats had no engines, and no sound heralded their approach.
    Yanomami hunters.
    She checked the quivers of arrows stacked at the rear of each canoe. Her stomach cramped at the familiar darkened tips. The arrows had been dipped in curare. The lead warrior, identifiable because only he wore a toothed necklace, had a bamboo blowpipe strapped to his square loincloth.
    Unlike the Yanomami who dwelled deep in the forests, those who lived on the river had strayed