Savage Illusions

Feeling no bas­h­ful­ness in Spot­ted Eag­le's pre­sen­ce, Jole­na did not he­si­ta­te as her fin­gers went to the but­tons of her blo­use.

"I know I was fo­olish," Jole­na sa­id, un­but­to­ning her blo­use, crin­ging then as she eased it off, the dri­ed blo­od pa­in­ful­ly ad­he­ring her blo­use to her sen­si­ti­ve bre­asts. "But it is so stran­ge. The­re was this but­terfly. It se­emed to be te­asing me. It lu­red me on­ward un­til… un­til I lost my fo­oting." She la­id her blo­use asi­de and qu­ickly slip­ped off her skirt, and as the lar­ge cam­p­fi­re out­si­de cast its gol­den dan­cing light along the in­si­de walls, Jole­na gas­ped, shoc­ked to see just how scrat­c­hed up her legs we­re. Blo­od was dri­ed in stre­aks up and down her thighs, and she win­ced as Spot­ted Eag­le be­gan dab­bing the blo­od away with the damp cloth.

"A but­terfly lu­red you in­to dan­ger?" Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, gi­ving Jole­na a sha­do­wed glan­ce. "You know but­ter­f­li­es well. What was the na­me of this par­ti­cu­lar one?"

"I am su­re that you know it well," Jole­na sa­id, tig­h­te­ning her leg mus­c­les as Spot­ted Eag­le con­ti­nu­ed cle­an­sing her of the dri­ed blo­od. "It is cal­led the nympha­lid, and it is a but­terfly ste­eped in In­di­an lo­re."

When Jole­na des­c­ri­bed the but­terfly's des­tin­c­ti­ve mar­kings, Spot­ted Eag­le sta­red at her with a gu­ar­ded lo­ok. "You call this but­terfly nympha­lid?" he sa­id, his vo­ice drawn. "That is the but­terfly that lu­red you to dan­ger?"

Jolena's spi­ne stif­fe­ned, he­aring the ca­uti­on in his vo­ice, frig­h­te­ning her. "Yes, I am cer­ta­in it was that but­terfly," she mur­mu­red. "I ha­ve stu­di­ed abo­ut it. I wo­uld not be mis­ta­ken."

Spotted Eag­le sta­red at her a mo­ment lon­ger, then wrung his cloth out and le­aned clo­ser to her, now softly dab­bing the blo­od from one of her bre­asts. He ac­hed to cup the bre­ast and kiss its nip­ple, but in­s­te­ad he simply con­ti­nu­ed cle­an­sing her wo­und.

"If you stu­di­ed the but­terfly of In­di­an lo­re well eno­ugh, you wo­uld know that it is a but­terf

ly that In­di­ans shun," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id in a scol­ding fas­hi­on. "In yo­ur stu­di­es, you wo­uld ha­ve le­ar­ned that the nympha­lid ca­uses bad luck. It ma­kes pe­op­le af­ra­id. When it fli­es out of its pu­pa, it drops a red li­qu­id li­ke blo­od from the air. It is a sign of de­ath."

"Yes, in my stu­di­es I le­ar­ned the­se things," Jole­na sa­id softly. "But I don't ta­ke things li­ke that se­ri­o­usly. Dar­ling, su­rely you know myth from fact. The myth that the nympha­lid ca­uses bad luck, or is a sign of de­ath, is only that. A myth. I can't al­low myself to think that the but­terfly ca­used me to plun­ge over the ed­ge of the cliff."

As she tri­ed to con­vin­ce Spot­ted Eag­le, Jole­na be­gan to re­mem­ber how the but­terfly had se­emed to te­ase her, not on­ce but over and over aga­in.

A chill ro­de up and down her spi­ne, as she tho­ught that per­haps she was wrong and that Spot­ted Eag­le was right to fe­ar the nympha­lid.

"You will ig­no­re the bec­ko­ning of the nympha­lid sho­uld it try to lu­re you aga­in in­to dan­ger?" Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id as he drop­ped his cloth in­to the ba­sin of wa­ter, then clut­c­hed his fin­gers gently to Jole­na's sho­ul­ders.

"Yes, I will," she sa­id, then flung her­self in­to his arms, for­get­ting the so­re­ness of the scrat­c­hes on her bre­asts. His fin­gers now on them, softly kne­ading, cre­ating fi­res wit­hin her, me­ant mo­re to her than an­y­t­hing el­se at this mo­ment.

As he crus­hed his mo­uth to her lips and kis­sed her wildly, al­most sa­va­gely in the way he mo­ved his mo­uth over hers, Jole­na cri­ed out aga­inst his lips and wrap­ped him wit­hin her arms and pul­led him down over her.

Frantically, al­most des­pe­ra­tely, she tri­ed to sho­ve his bre­ec­hes down ac­ross his hips. His ne­ed ri­sing for her, Spot­ted Eag­le hel­ped her, kic­king them to the si­de.

Then his hand cup­ped her mo­und at the jun­c­tu­re of her thighs, thrus­ting a hungry fin­ger in­si­de her.

Jolena clo­sed her eyes and sig­hed as he ple­asu­red her in this sim­p­le way, then suc­ked in a wild bre­ath of rap­tu­re when she felt so­met­hing much bet­ter as he plun­ged his thick shaft de­eply wit­hin her, mag­ni­fi­cently fil­ling her.

Spotted Eag­le bra­ced him­self abo­ve her with his arms, his hands cat­c­hing Jole­na's and hol­ding them slightly abo­ve her he­ad as he star­ted his rhythmic stro­kes wit­hin her. He kis­sed her eyes, her no­se, and then her mo­uth, pres­sing his ton­gue thro­ugh her trem­b­ling lips.

Jolena shud­de­red sen­su­al­ly when the­ir ton­gu­es to­uc­hed and dan­ced aga­inst the ot­her, in ti­me, it se­emed, with Spot­ted Eag­le's con­ti­nu­ed stro­kes, his hips mo­ving, hers ri­sing, me­eting him.

Spotted Eag­le pa­used mo­men­ta­rily. He le­aned up away from her and ga­zed with an in­ten­se lon­ging in­to her eyes. "Am I hur­ting you?" he qu­es­ti­oned softly. "Are yo­ur wo­unds too se­ve­re for my body to be aga­inst them?"

"They are me­re scrat­c­hes," Jole­na whis­pe­red, le­aning up, flic­king her ton­gue ac­ross his lips. "What you are gi­ving me is ec­s­tasy." He res­pon­ded to her as she thrust her pel­vis to­ward him, re­su­ming the stro­kes that ma­de his who­le world se­em to be sud­denly spin­ning aro­und him as the pas­si­on bu­ilt li­ke he­ated stri­kes of whi­te lig­h­t­ning thro­ugh him. He held his he­ad back and gro­aned as she clam­ped her legs aro­und his wa­ist, dra­wing him mo­re tightly and de­eply in­to her. He pres­sed down aga­inst her, his hips thrus­ting hard.

Jolena writ­hed ple­asu­rably be­ne­ath him, scar­cely awa­re of her own soft whim­pe­ring so­unds as Spot­ted Eag­le's lips clo­sed over a nip­ple, suc­king, bi­ting, lic­king.

Jolena spla­yed her fin­gers ac­ross his tight but­tocks, he­aring him mo­an as her fin­gers tig­h­te­ned aro­und him, her fin­ger­na­ils sin­king in, mi­xing pa­in with ple­asu­re.

Suddenly Spot­ted Eag­le pla­ced his hands at Jole­na's wa­ist and rol­led with her un­til he had her sit­ting as­t­ri­de him, her eyes fil­led with wan­ton ple­asu­re as he en­te­red her and be­gan buc­king wildly up in­to her.

Heated wa­ves of ple­asu­re spre­ad over Jole­na. She held her he­ad back, her ha­ir bil­lo­wing lu­xu­ri­o­usly ac­ross her sho­ul­ders. As Spot­ted Eag­le's hands cup­ped and kne­aded her bre­asts, her sho­ul­ders swa­yed in the in­c­re­dib­le be­a­uty of her pas­si­on, fe­eling her­self dra­wing ne­ar to that joyo­us bliss of re­le­ase.

When Spot­ted Eag­le ma­de anot­her de­ep plun­ge in­si­de her, and then ma­de many mo­re qu­ickly re­pe­ated thrusts as he gro­aned and held on to her bre­asts, she re­la­xed and clo­sed her eyes as the flo­od of ple­asu­re swept rag­gedly thro­ugh them both as he cri­ed out his ful­fil­lment…

Her he­art po­un­ding so hard it ma­de her dizzy, Jole­na slip­ped away from Spot­ted Eag­le and lay down at his si­de. Ta­king se­ve­ral rag­ged bre­aths, she la­id her hand over that part of him that still se­emed ali­ve as it throb­bed aga­inst her flesh. Cir­c­ling her fin­gers aro­und him, she slowly mo­ved them, his gasp of ple­asu­re pro­ving that he wan­ted it.

Soon he spil­led his se­ed in­to her hand, then drew her aga­inst him on­ce aga­in, hol­ding her tight. "My wo­man," he whis­pe­red hus­kily. "My be­a­uti­ful, be­a­uti­ful wo­man. Oh, how you ma­ke me ali­ve when for so long I did not even know that I was de­ad."

Jolena knew that this was the per­fect ti­me to qu­es­ti­on him abo­ut so many things, but she did not want to ru­in the in­ti­macy of the mo­ment with qu­es­ti­ons. The­re wo­uld be a mo­re per­fect ti­me and pla­ce for such con­ver­sa­ti­on. At this mo­ment, she just wan­ted to che­rish be­ing with Spot­ted Eag­le­and be­ing ali­ve.