Osiris Fantasy

A bright, sparkling blue eye that picks up and refracts every glimpse of light in the darkened room.

My breath catches in my throat as I admire her luminescent beauty.

The Heart of Osiris.

Flawless.

And to whoever possesses her, worth several million dollars.

A commotion outside the door interrupts my appreciation and I quickly deposit the precious sapphire into my belt bag before tiptoeing over to the wooden door. I crack it ajar slightly and see several of DeGuasso's guards descending upon some half-naked man of whom I only catch glimpses of pale flesh between his aggressors' dark clad forms. I see his hands flashing out, striking with unerring accuracy and power and wish him luck, for any enemy of DeGuasso needs all the luck he can get.

Speaking of which, I can only regard this commotion as lucky for me. It gives me time and cover to work my way back across the room the window where my ropes lie. I take a moment to ensure that Osiris is safe, then attach myself to my ropes, securing them before I lean out of the window, preparing to abseil down, glancing down the vertical stone wall to the ocean crashing over rocks below.

A scraping reaches me through the wind, emanating from round the corner of the fortress. I rappel down a little, then walk crabwise to the corner and glance up. Above me, a monochrome figure attempts to rappel down an old frayed rope. I follow this rope with my eye and frown as I discover that it reaches barely half-way down to the breakers.

His descent is surprisingly rapid, fluid movements bringing him closer to me. His lower half, that I can see most clearly at the moment is black clad, though glinting slightly in the moonlight - leather perhaps? - hugging his powerful body. The scraping comes from the boots he wears, tucked under the trousers, are wholly unsuitable for what he is attempting to do, little traction on the soles. I admire the slim waist that the leather trousers provide perfect contrast to in this light, and allow my gaze to wander upwards.

As he draws level with me, I take in the moonlit paleness of his naked torso, muscles straining into sharp relief. There are dark patched here and there, bruises and abrasions and I wonder if they come from the fight that was occurring in the corridor or from DeGuasso's personal attentions.

The concentration on his handsome face is fierce as he lowers himself and I shadow him down the wall. I'm not trying to hide particularly, but am unsure how to tell him I'm here without startling him, for I could not catch him should he fall.

But he notices me and stops his descent, glaring at me with eyes that rival Osiris in their moonlit blueness. He looks bone-tired even under the expression he wears of the wild desperation of a hunted animal.

I indicate the end of his rope, just a few feet below us now, and he shrugs warily. I do believe he plans to simply jump and take his chances with the Fates and crashing rocks thirty feet below. Desperate indeed.

I shrug too, and make as if to return back to my own line of descent, but a ragged voice stops me. His firm square jaw is clenching, while his cat-like eyes plead, and I sense that defeat is very close for him.

I haul some of the slack from my own rope beneath me up, and coil it, switching it across to him. He catches it, one arm bearing almost his entire weight on his old, frayed line, the muscles corded in their efforts. When he is ready, he nods, and lets go. I feel the jerk of his weight, and it pulls me off my precarious perch, leaving us both to swing like a pendulum across the broad, unforgiving stone wall.

After we've slowed enough to regain some footing, we descend and to my confusion I see that he is already some way down the rope. Until it dawns on that he must have slipped when he joined my line, probably burning his hands.

When he reaches the bottom, he finds my little skiff and all but tumbles into it. I join him, leaving the ropes where they are; I have no way, nor any need to retrieve them.

He's lying in the bottom of my skiff, cold and shivering, clearly exhausted and I wish I had a blanket to cover him. I don't, and can only start up the little engine and head back to my yacht as fast as possible...

... The moon disappears behind a cloud and I give up a prayer of thanks. But we've gone barely thirty yards into the suddenly all-enveloping blackness of the night when, over the quiet put-put of the engine and the waves breaking against the fortress walls, I hear the sound of shouting echoing from way above us on the old ramparts. Turning to look up, I can see figures moving against the lights which have suddenly appeared along their crenellations, and I wonder briefly if it's the discovery of his escape or that the stone has gone which has them so excited.

The beams of powerful torches probe the night, followed by the sounds of gunfire, but we're already beyond their visual range and I have to believe they can only be shooting at shadows. I'm confident that the camouflaging dark paint covering my skiff and my own black clothing make us next to invisible, but I crouch down low in the stern just in case.

I can feel him shift at my feet, struggling to raise himself, though to do what I'm not sure even he knows as he can have no weapons hidden under the form-fitting tightness of those trousers - I'd stake my life on that and, I think, probably just have. Keeping one hand firmly on the outboard's tiller I push him down flat again with the other, initially surprised at how easily he gives in, but remembering the depth of fatigue I saw in his eyes I decide it's not really that unexpected.

The smooth skin is icy under my fingers even though the night is only pleasantly cool and I find myself automatically rubbing my hand up and down across his upper arm and shoulder to try and warm him up a bit and stop the shivering. I have to admit, though, that the action creates rather more warmth in me than him as I feel the solid muscles lurking there.

The distant sound of another more powerful engine breaks into my thoughts and I rather regretfully push them aside to concentrate on the potential danger. The lights of the fortress have receded into the distance behind me, becoming a dim glow in the night, but I can see more lights down at sea level which tell me I'm going to be lucky to escape detection totally. I check the time and my direction on my watch, and know that I should be reaching my destination any moment. Sure enough, the sleek black shape of my yacht looms ahead and I cut the engine, steering the skiff into the stern and moving quickly forward to make it fast.

With no time to lose I roughly shake my unexpected guest, rousing him from the semi-stupor he had sunk into and chivvying him into action. He starts to ask questions I don't need right now, in an accent that I definitely don't have time to appreciate the way I know I want to, so I suggest coarsely that if he doesn't want his pretty ass falling back into DeGuasso's hands he'll shut up and get aboard. That has the desired effect, indignation and just a hint of apprehension washing across the pale blur of his face as he pulls himself up and struggles to climb over the stern rail.

I can hear his smooth-soled boots sliding against the black-painted hull and the highly varnished surface of the dark wood decking and sensing he's about to slip back I lean forward to give him a shove. Distantly admiring the way the soft leather moulds itself to the firm tight contours of his undeniably attractive butt, I place a hand on it and send him tumbling into the cockpit with a muffled curse before climbing rapidly up after him.

He scrambles to his feet as I move past him to open the cabin hatch, trying to decide whether it's worth making a run for it or whether I should stay and try and brazen it out. The engine noise is still buzzing faintly somewhere but the firefly pinprick of light floating in the darkness behind me indicates that they are searching the other way, towards the nearest town, and given the strengthening breeze I think I might just make it before they turn back again.

First things first, though. I slither down into the cabin, moving easily through the darkness of this familiar space to my secret hiding place, removing my booty from the belt bag and stashing it away, confident that no-one will find it there. That done, my mind moves onto the pressing matter of getting us under way and I turn, a small squeak of surprise escaping me as I find him standing right behind me. I take an involuntary step back, glancing down at his now bare feet to see he has removed the cumbersome boots, which explains how he managed to creep up on me like that as well as suggesting that he's used to being around boats. I find his nearness oddly unnerving, an unfamiliar feeling for me and one I'm not altogether sure how to deal with, but I push it aside - something to be dealt with later when this is over.

He asks what he can do to help, but speedy exits are a necessity in my trade and I have this particular vanishing trick well practised. Besides, close as we are, I can see the exhaustion glazing his eyes and making him sway unsteadily, and his body is still shaking with cold or reaction - I'm not sure which - and I know I can do this quicker alone. I push him back towards the bunk and the blankets, seeing the look of indignation return as I abandon him there with a brief shake of my head and a quick grin which is all I have time for.

A glance at the sky as I emerge into the night tells me that the moon will be breaking through the clouds again soon, lending wings to my feet as I scramble over the cabin roof to the bows to start the electric winch running to retrieve the anchor. The jib is already attached to the forestay and it is a simple matter to uncleat the halyard and raise the sail to give us headway as soon as the anchor is free. I'm a little startled to see the jib sheet slide by me as I move back to the mast, but a quick glance aft reveals my mystery guest hauling it in - and on the right side as well, which just confirms his familiarity with the sea - so I turn my attention back to getting the mainsail up.

In a matter of seconds I'm back in the stern, sheeting in the sails to catch the breeze and freeing the tiller to set us off on a broad reach which will take us away from the widening search and out into the deeper waters of the ocean.

Once we're under way and the immediate excitement of our escape is over, I have time to focus on other things and realise that he's still sitting huddled in the corner of the cockpit, arms wrapped across his chest and hands tucked into his armpits. As the moon reaches a gap in the clouds and floods us briefly with hazy light, I see again the darker patches marring the pale smoothness of his torso and the way he leans awkwardly against the guardrail. I also realise he's looking at me, the glint in his blue eyes again bringing to mind the fruit of my recent labours hidden away beneath us.

I smile in reassurance, suggesting he goes below and gets warm, but his response is to demand to know what I was doing in the fortress, what connection I have with DeGuasso, and where my radio is because he needs to use it. I can see a return of the wild desperation I had observed up on the fortress wall, but the cadences of his American drawl are amplified by the tiredness he's trying to fight, and his voice has that strange affect on me again. I have to work hard at raising the appropriate annoyance at his peremptoriness to remind him whose boat this is and who rescued who. And in any case, shouldn't I be asking him those questions?

We sit and glare at each other for long moments before he looks away with a grudging apology, which I nod my acceptance of. I tell him he can use the radio once I'm sure we're safely away but in the meantime he really looks like he could do with some rest, and with a reluctant sigh he agrees. I watch him stumble over the coaming and disappear below, eyes drawn again to the powerful contours of his body, and try to ignore the small bubble of heat starting to form in the pit of my stomach.

On reflection I think I should probably go and help him do something about those grazes, so I lash the tiller and follow him down into the cabin. Pulling the hatch shut behind me, I check that the shades are pulled firmly down before I turn on the tiny hooded light over the chart table and flick on the radar and collision alarm.

I look round to find him slumped back on one of the bunks with his eyes closed, still shivering, so I snag the first aid kit from the shelf and pull a blanket from the other bunk to drape over him. He raises his eyelids with a struggle, looking at me a little suspiciously but obviously not having the energy to do anything more.

I smile encouragingly and nudge him over so I can perch on the bunk beside him, pulling open the box I'm holding to retrieve the antiseptic cream and tugging the blanket partially aside to get to the worst of the abrasions. He winces as I smooth the cream in, a small hiss of pain escaping his lips, and his eyes drift shut again.

I remember the way he slipped down the rope up on the fortress wall, and pick up his hands to investigate. The palms are marked and reddened by rope-burns and he tries half-heartedly to pull them away from me as I apply cream to them as well. He mumbles a little as I gently push him onto his side so I can get at the raw patches adorning his back, but by the time I finish and let him roll flat again he's deeply asleep. Which, I reflect, is probably a good thing. The feel of the soft skin over the firmness of his flesh under my fingers and his masculine scent have had a strange impact on my breathing, and I definitely need some time to sort that out.

I pull the blankets more closely around him and move away to the head at the far end of the cabin to strip off my working clothes and climb into shorts and loose shirt, before padding back on bare feet to turn off the light and climb out into the cockpit again. The night air is fresh with the salt-laden tang of the ocean, and I draw in deep gulps of it as I settle myself by the tiller, mentally mapping out the itinerary for my next New York shopping spree once I've banked the proceeds of this trip as I make small automatic course corrections to keep our speed optimum.

I have no idea how much later it is that the sounds from down below percolate my drifting consciousness, but I become suddenly aware of a voice raised in denial, a soul-wrenching sound which brings me instinctively to my feet, the hairs standing up on the back of my neck. Lashing the tiller again I drop quickly down into the cabin to find him twisting and turning in his sleep, head rolling from side to side as he moans and cries out at the horror of whatever he's seeing.

I move cautiously to his side, unsure whether I should wake him or not, but the decision is taken from me as he suddenly bolts upright with a yell to stare wildly around him, sweat sheening his face and torso. His flashing blue eyes latch onto me and he drags me towards him, bending me back as he wraps his arm round my throat, cutting off the air and leaving me gasping. I dig my fingers into the sinewed flesh of his forearm, trying to pull it away long enough to speak, to reassure him, remind him where he is, that I mean him no harm.

Then as quickly as it started his aggression fades, his arm dropping away as he sinks back onto the bunk behind me, breathing ragged. I turn towards him, massaging my throat, hauling air into my own lungs, and seeing the distress on his face as he finally focusses on me properly. Wondering at the cause of such violent nightmares I shift round to sit beside him, tentatively laying a hand against the now warm skin of his arm, wordlessly offering whatever comfort I can. His eyes follow me, the words he cannot speak churning in their depths, and I find myself being sucked into them, my arms reaching out to draw him closer and pull his head against my shoulder, my hands rubbing gently at the tensed muscles of his back and neck.

We sit like that for a long time, rocking almost imperceptibly back and forwards, but instead of having the calming effect I'm anticipating I become aware that, for me at least, it's doing quite the opposite. I can feel that small bubble of heat gaining in size and intensity, and I can hear the rush of my suddenly heated blood in my ears.

I lift my head from his, thinking I really need to get myself outside before I'm consumed by the fires he's igniting in me, but I'm undone by the feel of his hands sliding around my waist, slipping up under the hem of my shirt to massage my instantly overheated skin as I'm massaging his. He raises his face to mine, the moonlight from the open hatch reflecting off his forehead and high cheekbones, and I feel my pulse start to race faster in anticipation of what might be.

Holding my eyes with his he lowers his mouth slowly to mine, lips brushing gently at first, moving away to flutter along my jaw line and down to my throat before returning again. And this time I'm ready, mouth capturing his lips, tongue seeking out his, pulling him to me, feeling his hands slide up my back under the shirt to find no barriers to their exploration.

We fall slowly back onto the bunk, still locked together, and I swing my legs up to press myself along the length of him, the soft leather slick and yielding against my bare skin. I trickle fingers across his chest and down past his waist to rub lingeringly up and down his thigh, feeling the muscles jump under their black covering and a reciprocating nudge from higher up where my stomach rests on his.

That bubble of heat inside me has become a raging inferno, and all thoughts of resistance have been swept away by my growing needs. I'm a thief - used to taking what I want. And right now I want him.

Plunging my tongue deep into his mouth, demanding access to all areas of the battleground, I slide my hips a little to one side, trailing my fingers back up his thigh and across his stomach to his waist. The creak of the leather as I undo the button, and the whisper of the zip sliding easily down is almost lost in the sounds of our now heavy breathing, and with a surge of triumph I slip my hand below the warm smoothness of his belly, finding him more than ready for the fray. The shiver that runs through him at my touch owes nothing to coldness and everything to the passion building between us, and he groans into my mouth at the sensations I'm creating. His hands bunch at the fabric of my shirt, tugging it upwards and I pull away from him long enough for him to divest me of it, without taking the time to bother with the buttons, before returning to commune with his pulsating flesh once more.

He groans again, hands sliding up from my waist and caressing my newly exposed skin as they move smoothly round and over my back to pull me onto him. He buries his lips into the base of my throat and uses his - I have to admit - superior strength to turn us so that I'm lying under him, his weight pressing down on me, his hardness throbbing demandingly against my groin through the cotton of my shorts and his thigh insinuating its way between mine. My hands are driven of their own volition to investigate, slipping down under the black leather to grip the firm tightness of that undeniably attractive butt I had admired earlier, drawing him even closer if that's possible.

While his hands delve into my remaining clothing and probe the sensitive areas they conceal, his agile mouth and tongue lick and nibble their way down from my throat across the upper planes of my breasts, circling inwards until he reaches their aching peaks. He moves from one to the other, sucking, pulling, biting softly and driving me to ecstasies of delight. But it's not enough, and I tell him so by arching my groin into his and trying to shove away the now restricting leather.

Seemingly oblivious to the rope-burns on his palms, he raises himself on his hands and lifts his hips to give me access, eyes glowing in the pale light, muscles rippling across his abdomen and chest heaving from his uneven breathing, watching hungrily as I push his trousers and boxers off. I pause to pay homage with fingers and lips to the glorious sight of him fully naked before sliding out of my own shorts and pants and lying back, legs sprawled, licking my lips with unrestrained lust as I gaze up at him, Isis awaiting the attentions of her Osiris. For he is beautiful. His bright sparkling blue eyes pick up and refract every glimpse of light in the darkened room, and my breath catches in my throat as I admire him, as it did when I last held the Heart of Osiris in my hand.

With a moan of desire and need he lowers himself onto me again, and I spread myself beneath him, running my feet up the back of his thighs wrap my legs around his hips, feeling him hot and pulsing, nudging against my warm wetness, requesting entry. I raise my hips, giving him tacit permission, and with a low growl he thrusts forward, once, twice and a third time until he fills me completely, my lungs congested by the solidity of him reaching all the way up inside me. For what seems like an age we lie motionless, savouring the closeness of our contact, then he pushes himself up on his hands again to stare down at me as he starts to move in and out, long drawn-out strokes that send ribbons of flame radiating out to all my nerve endings.

It is slow at first, but we're both too far gone for it to stay slow for long, and I use my hands to squeeze and encourage him, our movements building in speed and intensity as the waves of sensation roll through us, flesh meeting flesh, hips blurring, groaning with the pleasure we're giving each other, until with a final burst he pushes us both over the edge to crash headlong into sweet release. My muscles spasm around him as he erupts inside me, collapsing on top of me, heartbeat racing in time with mine, breath coming in huge gasps, body quivering. Enfolding him in my arms, I pull him to me, running my fingers through his short sweat-damp hair, inhaling the musk-laden scent of our love-making, feeling the tension drain from him and revelling in the tingling afterglow flooding through me.

Much later, when the moon has long gone and the faintest hint of dawn starts to tinge the sky I can see through the hatch, I listen to him sleeping beside me, the sounds of his breathing mingling with the more familiar noises as my boat responds to the sea and the wind. His breath is soft against my neck, head nestling on my shoulder and hand resting somewhat possessively on my breast, and I reflect with intense satisfaction on a night's work that has, if only temporarily, rewarded me with me the ownership of two Hearts.

The End