Pietre watched the attendant lay aside his tray to crouch in front of Mr Black, casting a quick glance across at Pietre and around the otherwise empty cabin before settling to his task.
Mr Black spread his legs and leant back, offering no help to the attendant who fumbled with the fastening of his pants before tentatively inserting a hand. Pietre watched him frown, then his eyes widened as the massive ebony column eased out of its concealment to poke a fist-sized tip against his startled lips.
Mr Black's firm hand encompassing the back of his head prevented any second thoughts, and after a few tense seconds, Pietre saw the attendant's tongue emerge to lap at the shaft. Wider than a woman’s wrist, it was too large for his mouth, but the attendant made his hands busy, obviously believing he could complete the task he was being well paid for. Over his head Pietre met Mr Black's eyes and nodded, then turned back to his contemplation of the clouds.
Troubling thoughts chased through his mind. He hadn't expected to be away for so long, and although he trusted Belle with the management of the island, the safety of his Wendee was another matter altogether.
Still, Belle had been sending him regular reports and Wendee appeared to be managing quite well without his interference. Apart from the ridiculous threat from his brother, there was nothing that required his personal attention. Although…
A stifled grunt distracted him from his thoughts and he glanced over to find Mr Black impaling the naked flight attendant on his lap. The man's hands gripped the seat in front of him, his eyes so round Pietre thought they might pop out of their sockets. In comparison with the gargantuan negro's bulk, he looked like a toy being jerked about by an over-zealous child, but true to his training he made no sound at all.
Frowning in concentration, Mr Black gripped the attendant's narrow hips, manipulating the pearl-white ass up and down on his engorged penis. The attendant gritted his teeth but Pietre noticed his own penis was alert, slapping against his thigh.
Would the attendant orgasm before Mr Black, who had once taken an hour? Pietre bet himself a bottle of the two hundred year old port he'd been saving that he would. And if he lost, he'd… give Xavion's men a week's leave.
But not until the situation with Armande was resolved.
Pietre's attention drifted away from the tableau before him, his thoughts returning to his brother.
Was this latest scare yet another pebble to bounce off the impregnable wall of Pietre's defences, or was this the definitive attack? Over time, Pietre had grown tired of these intermittent attempts to overthrow him. But he'd not killed Armande. Just as Armande had not tried to kill him. The blood tie was too strong.
One day, though, Armande would do something to break that tie. They had shared much together, things that would have driven lesser mortals mad, but every man had his threshold.
Pietre gazed out the window again, wondering what Armande was up to this time. Would it be the thing that would push him to destroy the only other surviving DeMartande of their line?
There was a grunt, then a low-throated moan from across the room. Mr Black was enjoying himself, but Pietre was too absorbed with his train of thought to pay attention.
The DeMartande line…
He frowned, his mind surging ahead. What if it didn't end? What if Pietre himself sired an heir? A son. Or better yet, a daughter.
His eyes glazed, staring inwards.
The Wendee. The woman fate had sent him. Was she the fertile bed wherein he could plant his seed? The mother of his child? The mother he would…
Pietre's chest ached and he closed his eyes, unable to say the words even inside his own mind. Only fate could give him the answer to that question, but as his jet sped back to the island, he felt a compulsion to see her again. To know she was safe.
This time, he would go to her in person.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It was inevitable that all the fluid would need to come out. The next time Dee woke, the pain in her head was overshadowed by the messages from lower down. Her bladder was overfull, and worse, the room was ominously silent.
'Hello. Are you there?'
No answer.
Damn. He'd always been right beside her. Where was he? Her thighs tensed. She'd just have to do it alone. She couldn't wait.
But first she had to be able to see.
Reaching up with an arm that still felt heavier than it should, she grasped the compress's squishy edge and lifted. It peeled off easily enough but left wet, sticky eyelids that had to be pried open.
She blinked, looked around, saw… nothing.
She blinked again, incredulously. Surely she wasn't blind? It couldn't be…?
It wasn't. A couple of despairing seconds later she realised the room was in darkness. A few seconds more and she could see faint outlines. The relief she felt was enormous, but she wasted no time in thankful prayers.
Instead, she pushed herself up on one elbow to look for the door. Her head throbbed warningly and muted colours spun in front of her eyes but she ignored them, concentrating on absorbing her surroundings.
She was on a large fur in the middle of… a circular tent? There were wall hangings with feathers and -
There was an opened flap through which a slight breeze entered. Her thighs tensed again. She had to go.
Rolling up on to her knees and ignoring the scream of pain from behind her eyes, she paused only a moment to make sure she wasn't going to faint, then stood, taking a step forward to grab at the tent opening, fighting vertigo. She was weak and wobbly but the insistence of her bladder was an excellent distraction.
Two, maybe three seconds, her head felt clearer and she stumbled outside into the night. The tent was in the middle of a cleared area and twenty paces away was a stand of trees. She set off straight away, dog-trotting towards them, using impetus rather than co-ordination to get her there. And she made it. Just in time.
Her relief was euphoric, but it so relaxed her limbs, she had trouble forcing them to work. Pushing herself from one tree to the next, she stumbled back towards the clearing, only to stop at its edge, trembling with the strain of her exertion.
At that moment the moon came out from behind a cloud and ethereal light spilled across the clearing like the hand of Tinker Belle sprinkling pixie dust. Dee, her cheek against the smooth bark of the tree, paused to stare at the magical sight.
The round 'tent' she'd emerged from was indisputably a tepee, and against its side rested a long bow and a quill of arrows.
She sighed, then closed her eyes briefly to send up a silent prayer, dispelling forever the insidious doubts that had crept into her mind. She wasn't insane.
It was all true. Never Land was real. Peter was real. And just as she was hugging her shoulders and promising herself she'd never doubt again, a wild creature stepped into the clearing and was bathed in the ghostly light.
Dee moved her lips but no sound came out. Her vocal chords had been paralysed by awe, and instant desire.
He was tall, with black hair that fell like a sheet to his waist, and wet, as though he'd been bathing. Fringed buckskins encasing his long legs and a breast-plate of bone and bead adorned a chest that rose and fell with untamed magnificence.
Dee watched, mesmerised, as he padded silently to the tepee only to stop at its entrance, his hand resting on the opening as he gazed up at the sky, his brow troubled, his eyes searching.
Seconds dragged by as she stared at his profile, the proud tilt of his cheekbones and the high forehead. Could this warrior be the owner of the soft voice she'd come to trust — the gentle hands that had ministered to her needs?
