Page 39 of Dare

Revolted, I opened my mouth at the same time she did. I bit into my side of the fruit while she bit into hers. Not succulent or saccharine, as I had expected from a common fig, but hard and crisp. Tartness slid across my tongue and quelled the gnawing in my gut.

Together, we ate and stared. I measured her movements, matched the rhythm of her lips, and kept alert for warning signs. I knew methods of taste-testing for poison. This was not one of them.

We repeated the process, biting and swallowing with our gazes fixed. But when a droplet of nectar rolled down her chin like an illegal kink, I felt a perverse need to drag my tongue over the bead and lick her clean.

Apparently, my feverish cock agreed with me. Blood rushed from my sac to the head. I blew through my nostrils until the physical violation subsided, thankfully before it progressed to a fully-fledged, hate-fueled erection. With her pussy settled in the worst possible location, she would have felt that for certain.

Equally confounding, I thought of telling her essential things. I thought of warning her there were other dangers besides poison in this rainforest. I thought of saying there were thousands of unknown hazards beyond that border. I thought of listing exposure, night crawlers, and toxic botanicals.

And what was her plan? To keep me shackled until the masses found us? On her own, did she expect to be alive by the time a fleet arrived? What did she know about rainforests? Did she understand the nuances of a leaf that killed versus a leaf that cured?

If she got injured, who would heal her?

I thought of asking these questions merely to watch the responses fly out of her mouth, to have another excuse to see her lips move. Her, a born fool. I chewed on that notion while chewing on the fig, not liking the acridness of either.

We swallowed the last of the fruit, consuming it down to the pit, which verified it wasn’t an actual fig. I sensed her yearning to suck on the stone, but that would require our lips to touch. A repugnant prospect to us both, because she tossed the pit over her shoulder, and my mouth relaxed. In unison, I leaned back, and she shuffled off my lap.

The sun dissolved behind the horizon. The sky darkened to the blue shade of a bruise, and the black tide mowed over the shore.

The mad woman retreated to her makeshift blanket, steepled her legs to her chest, and wrapped both arms around her calves. She set her back to me, the motion stretching her chemise taut and delineating the slender vertebrae of her spine.

I averted my gaze. Ignoring each other for the night sounded like an ideal plan.

Though, eventually I would need to piss. And I knew what she would do about that: give even less of a shit. In which case, the only perk of this infernal humidity was that I might last a while before soiling these pants. To compensate, I would take pains to worm my way onto her precious sail cloth and soak it with urine.

The rainforest’s border loomed behind us, the treetops spearing the night sky. Several minutes passed. From the corner of my eye, I took a second look, glancing at her moonlit silhouette. Precisely what was the beast’s madness? The tattoo collar classified her as feral, therefore deadly. Yet despite her spitfire nature, this did not sit right with me. Summer’s assessment was off the mark.

She released her upturned limbs, hunched over the sand, and drew something there. Through the darkness, I made out a rendering of waves, trees, and a crescent. A replica of this cove.

As she worked, a gleam dominated her profile, worshipful and tender. Hmm. A penchant for art, which I’d first noticed back in Autumn’s dungeon. Imaginative and passionate, with a protective streak toward others. Also—

She whirled on me. “Stop doing that!”

I met her glare. “Your back was turned. You saw nothing.”

“I knew what you were thinking.”

“So you can read minds, beast?”

“I’m not a beast, and I’m not your prisoner!”

“Neither am I yours,” I dismissed. “Tying me up doesn’t make me less of a prince or you less of a fool. You think you’re innocent? You think you’re an authentic heroine?”

“You think you’re a real leader? Some shining example of a ruler?” she threw back. “Guess what. That ship sailed with Poet and Briar.”

“Meaning, you were friends with them,” I sneered, more as confirmation than realization. “Indeed, they were excessively protective of you, even if they remained silent on the matter.”

“That’s because they’re too clever for you. Brag about your intelligence all you wish, but you’ll never match up to them.”

“Yet unlike those two nuisances, I’m a doctor,” I hissed. “I save lives.”

“By stealing other lives!”

“A prince doesn’t need to steal his own property. And if he’s wise, he’ll learn a skill or two that exceeds his throne.”

When her reply escaped me, I gave her an exasperated look. To which she repeated, “What wise prince chases his quarry into the ocean?”

“A prince who knows he’ll catch her.”

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