Come Agian Another Day

Come Again Another Day

by Frances LaGatta/ copyright 2004

High atop Machu Picchu the weather changed faster than a female's moods and archaeologist Blake Sevenson hardly noticed when it began to rain.... and rain. . And rain. Yet, rather than wishing it would go away, he was too busy trying to stop his chest from heaving. "First you tell me to fuck off. Then you put on a sex show for me. What's your game, Hope? Are you trying to drive me out of my mind?"

His assistant gave him a small decisive nod. Her smug gesture was too much for him. Blake gripped her upper arm and hauled her out of the steamy, hot spring. Hope held herself proudly upright, not giving an inch. He stared down at her flushed, exquisite body, his heart thundering while his mind swamped with erotic images. He reached down and cupped her mons in his hand, thrusting his fingers inside her. She jerked and cried out. Her pussy was slick and wet, silky soft from pleasuring herself. He slid his fingers slowly out of her tight sheath, and then drove in again, deeper, rougher. "You play a dangerous game with me."

The seething darkness in his eyes finally registered. Hope licked her lips, her silky thighs clenching involuntarily around his hand. Her eyes dilated with alarm as she sensed his primitive instinct to subdue her with his body. His hand tightened on her arm and she gasped.

He let go of her suddenly, in a spasm of self-disgust, and she stumbled back. "Get your clothes on," he ground out.

"Blake.. . I didn't mean to -- "

"Not . . . another . . . word," he warned. "I said get your clothes on, or I'm going to fuck you right here. And I don't think you'd like it. I'm not feeling generous."

The menace in the professor's voice sunk in and she scrambled to obey him. He forced himself to look away as she struggled into her damp Stanford T-shirt and worn jeans. He didn't trust himself in his state. He was on wild, uncharted ground.

Hope scrambled down a muddy path, passing through steamy bamboo and jungle forest interrupted by short flights of Inca stairs carved into solid rock. She was acutely aware of Blake's seething fury as he stalked silently behind her. It rolled off him in waves, showed in his burning eyes and the grim set of his jaw. What in the world had she unearthed in him? She had wanted to tease him with her naked show in the water, make him laugh as he had watched hidden in the woods, make his eyes alight with desire while she stretched out on the rocks, pleasuring herself. By no means had she wanted to provoke a rage.

Well, she was sick to death of tiptoeing around moody men, she thought with a flash of temper. Hope whirled around to give him a piece of her mind.

The short warning shake of his head and look in his eyes made her turn tail and scurry on ahead of him, her heart in her mouth.

It seemed an eternity as she stumbled on trembling legs, past ancient, roofless Inca houses, and then a steep cliff that gave glimpses of the valley floor and the Urubamba River snaking powerfully through it, thousands of feet below.

Finally they arrived at camp. Rain streamed off the canopy that covered and housed her cot. Inside The Temple of Three Windows, Hope fished in her duffle and commenced toweling off her hair. She was soaked to the skin, but too hot and agitated to feel cold. Blake's gleaming black hair was plastered to his skull. Raindrops slipped down over his beautifully sculpted, grim face. There was no other sound but rain running off the tarp above and the occasional haunted cry of a jungle macaw.

She turned to face him, feeling small and alone. "Stop glowering at me."

"I can't. I'm fucking furious. Tired of you jerking me around."

Hope shivered, feeling cold for the first time. "I did it to please you," she whispered. "I'm sorry you didn't like it. I wanted to – "She paused to swallow a hard knot lodged in her throat.

"You wanted to what?" he prompted.

"To turn you on," she confessed in a tiny voice.

Instantly he was upon her, one hand twining deep into her tangled red hair. "Yeah. Well, it worked," he muttered roughly. And his mouth covered hers in a hard, plundering kiss.

His previous kisses had always been gentle, and she had loved his gentleness. But the savagery of this kiss unleashed something deeper, something dangerous and wild. She loved his fierce intensity, his controlled strength, his tongue plunging into her mouth, a possessive intrusion meant to subdue her, but it only served to inflame her. She wanted to claw him, bite him, and provoke him. The towel fell to the stone floor, and she gripped a thick handful of his hair and kissed him back in kind.

He pulled his mouth away with a suddenness that left her reeling. "Never play with me again, Hope."

She reached for him, dazed and aroused. "Blake I – "

His hands clamped painfully onto her shoulders. "Any one of the diggers could have come upon you. Or were you hoping your horny shaman would be lurking about, watching you with your legs spread wide and your hands on yourself?"

Hope tried and failed to twist from his iron grip. "There was no one else there," she protested. "It was all for you!"

His hand moved swiftly, shoving up her T-shirt. "All for me," he stated, staring at her breasts.

She raised them to his gaze, offering them up to him, feeling bold and reckless. "Did you like my show, Blake? Is the image burned into your memory?"

"Yeah, sweetheart," he said in a harsh, grating tone. "When my time comes and I meet my maker that scene will get extra play time. Does that make you happy? Telling me to get lost, and then driving me nuts? Messing with my mind . . . you find that entertaining?"

"No!" she yelled, frustrated beyond endurance. "Christ, Blake. I'm sorry, already! I'm sorry for everything! I'm sorry for the hot spring. I'm sorry I was rude and ungracious while you tried to help me. I'm sorry for six months of Sunday's. Okay? Are you satisfied?"

"Not yet." His eyes glittered dangerously. "Your lame-ass excuse is not going to cut it with me."

She pulled her shirt down over her breasts. "So just what will cut it," she demanded defiantly.

He was silent. A gleam of ravenous seduction entered his eyes, and his gaze dropped, raking her body hungrily.

Hope took a step away from him, unnerved by the dark purpose in his eyes. "Oh no. Not like that."

"Yes," he said, advancing on her. "EXACTLY like that.'

She wrapped her arms defensively around herself. "Not if you're angry with me."

Blake regarded her coolly for a long while and then shrugged carelessly. "Whatever. I'm outta here then. For good." As if she didn't exist, he turned, making his way to the open doorway that granted a jagged peaked view of the Andean cordillera silhouetted in the encroaching darkness.

Hope briefly wrestled with herself but knew from the start the battle had already been lost. She couldn't let him go again. She couldn't face the night alone no matter how much self-respect it might cost her. "I'm really sorry," she called out, stopping him before he disappeared into the dusky clouds.

When he turned to face her, he cocked an inquisitive brow. She took a deep breath, and raised her T-shirt again, slowly offering herself to him. "All right," she murmured.

He stared hungrily at her naked breasts. "All right, what?" he said offhandedly.

She closed her eyes, hoping he wasn't going to make her beg. "All right, Sir. Don't leave me alone tonight. I'll do whatever you want."

He strode towards her, his expression implacable. If she hoped her surrender would soften him, she was mistaken. A tiny muscle twitched in his jaw as her stared at her body, the only sign of emotion she could read. He cupped her breasts in his large hands, rolling the tight, puckered buds of her nipples between his fingers and thumbs. Harsh sounds issued from his deep in his throat and his hands grasped her shoulders, forcing her to her knees.

Her face was level with the fierce bulge in his jeans. He wound her hair around his fingers and unbuckled his belt. Then he yanked down the zipper, and his heavy, swollen cock sprang free, flushed a deep angry red, veins bulging on the stiff hard shaft. "Suck me, Hope,' he demanded, staring down into her eyes.

Hunger radiated from him, as powerful as a blast furnace. Hope stared up at him, considering his fierce challenge, sensing the subtle pleading in his fingers as they tighten in her hair, urging her to take him into her mouth. Her pride recoiled at his brutal power game but she still craved his vigor and energy, understanding on a deep animal level that his heat would not fizzle out, leaving her chilled and lonesome. At least this was for real. No matter how much he infuriated her, he was for real. Seduced by that silent understanding, she was pulled into his dark vortex. Hot, hard male flesh brushed against her cool cheek. She grasped the imposing shaft in both hands, savoring sinuous energy quaking inside her core. He was burning up, his hard flesh warming her cold hands instantly. She stroked him gently and his fist tightened her hair.

"Don't tease me, Hope. I'm in no mood." He covered her hands with his own and dragged them hard, up and down the length of his cock, forcing her to pleasure him. "You said you were sorry, Hope. Show me how sorry you are. Suck me."

His mocking tone angered her. A crazy mix of confusion and excitement burst through her blood when he gripped her head and set the rhythm himself. She gave a choked cry of protest, and he slowed down. "Take more of me in. C'mon." Guided by his hands, she found the rhythm he wanted, relaxing her throat, swallowing him whole. Even in his arrogant, masterful stance, he longed for her to lavish his manhood with the sweet swirls of her tongue. His skin was velvety wet from her mouth and her hand slid easily over his rock hard shaft until a drop of gleaming come pearled at the tip.

He urged her head closer. "Lick it off," he commanded. "Taste me."

Her body betrayed her and she opened her mouth, licking away the salty, silky droplet.

He pulled her up onto her feet and kissed her, his tongue thrusting, his hands greedily gripping her breasts. '"Whatever I want, right? That's what you said. LOOK at me dammit!" He jerked her chin up, letting her glimpse the seething conflict in his eyes. And then he grabbed her arm, dragging her over to the granite altar. Like some sacrificial Incan concubine he pushed her in front of him against it, reaching around to deftly unbutton her jeans. He jerked her sodden jeans and panties down over her hips, baring her from the waist down and hobbling her at the same time. She reached down to retrieve them, but he caught her flaying hands behind her back and pressed her into the unforgiving stone, fitting his iron rod into the crevice of her cheeks, branding her cool, shivering backside.

"Now bend over," he ordered, his voice a husky rasp.

Frozen for a timeless, agonizing minute, the dark side of desire swept through her and she complied, arching her back and parting her legs for him as much as the wet jeans imprisoning her knees would allow. She was so aroused she wanted to claw at the rough granite altar beneath her hands, the soft sultry ache between her thighs pulsed and throbbed, and still he loomed behind her, making her wait . . . and wait . . . and wait. . . .

"I love it that you can't hide from me. Love this view of you . . . so perfectly beautiful . . . so open an assessable," his voice was ragged as his big hands fastened on her malleable bottom cheeks. "Are you wondering which place I intend to take you? Do you have any idea what I'm about to do to your sweet and sorry lil' ass?"

Hope you enjoyed my novel work-in-progress! Would love to hear from you either way at Erotica by Frances LaGatta  www.eroticabyfranceslagatta.com