Amber Austin: Tarotica

“I want to feel you come with me,” she purred.

Arching his back like a bow, he shot his arrow deep into her target. Her pussy clenched his shaft, milking him of his fluid. His throbbing brought her another wave of convulsions.

Spent, Miranda collapsed on his chest, gasping for breath. Eli stroked her hair while she listened to his heartbeat gradually return to normal. Lying in his arms, she felt oddly serene, as if they’d known each other for years instead of hours. She was just about to doze off when he asked, “Did you save room for dessert?”

After four days at Sybil’s isolated retreat, Miranda felt restless. Yes, it was beautiful and peaceful here. But peace wasn’t on Miranda’s agenda. A big country stretched before her, full of adventure, excitement, and interesting people. She’d been waiting seven years to take this trip and she didn’t want to waste a single minute. Who knew how long Eli might have to stay here, hiding from the bad guys who intended to destroy him like they’d killed Meditrina’s grapevines?

She liked Eli. And she admired his ability to remain cheerful in the face of danger—he insisted that if his days were numbered, he didn’t intend to spend them worrying. Someday he might become my husband, but I’m not ready for commitment yet, Miranda thought . I’ve got things to do, people to meet.

“You’re leaving?” he asked when he found her packing. “Are you mad at me?”

“No, but I really need to be on my way. There’s a lot I want to see and do this summer, you know.”

“Where are you going?” Eli asked.

Miranda zipped her suitcase. “For starters, I think I’ll drive up the coast to Oregon and Washington.”

“Will you miss me?” He took her in his arms and kissed her long and slow, his tongue playing for time.

“Of course,” she said when they came up for air. “But this isn’t goodbye. We’ll hook up again when it’s safe.” She ran her fingertips along the growing bulge in his jeans. “How about a quickie for the road?”

Eli pushed up her skirt and pulled down her panties. When Miranda stepped out of them, he held them to his nose and inhaled her scent. “I’m keeping these to remember you by.”

Giggling, Miranda started unfastening his fly, but he grabbed her hand. “C’mon outside.”

“It’s raining,” she protested.

He led her to her car and opened a back door. “Get in.”

“You want to do it in the car?”

“You’ll be spending a lot of time in this car—I want it to hold fond memories for you.”

As Miranda crawled into the back of the Kia, her skirt hiked up around her hips.

“I haven’t had sex in a car since high school, for good reason,” she complained. “We’d have been a lot more comfortable in bed.”

Eli slipped his hand between her legs, thumbed her clit, and slid a finger inside her. Instantly she stopped grumbling and spread her legs, giving him a good view of her pussy. As her fluids started flowing, he slipped in another finger.

“Are we having fun yet?” he asked.

“Mmmmm…”

With his other hand he unzipped his jeans, took out his cock, and stroked it. He’s ambidextrous, she mused. She rearranged herself so she could suck him while he continued fingering her slit. As his pre-come oozed into her mouth, he pulled a condom package from his pocket and tore it open with his teeth.

Miranda straddled him. Trying not to bang her head on the car’s roof, she rode him until she thought she’d split right up the middle. As she felt the familiar rush to the finish, Eli moaned and came with her.

Yes, I’ll definitely miss you. She climbed off and straightened her clothing. Maybe I should upgrade to an SUV.

Miranda saw the hawk circling a moment before she heard the drum. Following the sound through Seattle’s Green Lake Park, she came upon a man dressed entirely in black, sitting on a park bench and playing an African djembe . Auburn hair fell to his shoulders and a necklace of what looked like fangs hung around his neck. He glanced up as she joined the small crowd of listeners, smiled at her, and shifted to a lively rhythm that spoke to her in a language beyond words.

The beat resonated through Miranda’s body, and she swayed along with it.

Closing her eyes, she felt the sound swirling around her, filling her with such joy she could barely keep from laughing aloud. She heard a chorus of men chanting, a woman’s voice ululating. But when she opened her eyes, she saw no one singing. How odd, she thought. Again she closed her eyes, and again she heard the voices.

When the drumming stopped, the crowd applauded. Some dropped money in a coffee can near the drummer’s feet as they dispersed. Miranda started to clap, but ended up holding her palms together at her heart as if in prayer.

“Thank you,” she said.

“My pleasure,” the drummer answered.

“I heard singing.”

“Ah, good. They’re always here, but few people hear them.”

“Who?”

“The spirits of the drum.”

Confused, she shook her head to clear it. “When I arrived, you started playing a different beat.”

“Drumming is an ancient form of communication. Each rhythm has a meaning.”

He grinned, exposing even, white teeth. “When I saw you coming, I played the beat that announces the presence of a beautiful woman.”

Miranda looked up and saw the hawk still circling overhead. It seemed to be watching her.

“I’m Miranda Malone.” She held out her hand.

“Lancelot Lucas.” He took her hand in both of his, as if they were old friends. His eyes, golden like a jungle cat’s, mesmerized her and for a moment she lost awareness of everything else. A tingling warmth ran up her arms, into her chest, and she felt strangely lightheaded.

“Where did you learn to drum like that?”

“I studied with a Senagalese master drummer in Salem, Massachusetts.”

Astonished, Miranda said, “I’m from Salem. What a coincidence.”

“Perhaps.”

Now the tingling sensation moved up Miranda’s legs and nestled between them.

A soft fluttering, like a butterfly’s wings, tickled her pussy. What the hell’s going on? she wondered. Her knees began trembling and she sat on the bench, trying to get herself under control. The hawk swooped down and perched on the back of the bench near Lancelot’s shoulder.

Miranda stared at the bird in awe. “Oh my God.”

“This is Hermes,” he said, and the hawk bobbed its head.

Hoping she didn’t look as flustered as she felt, she asked, “What brought you here?”

“I came searching for a pyramid hidden in a mountain, where occult initiations have been held for generations.”

“Did you find it?”

“I did.” He smiled and his golden eyes flashed. “Would you like to see it?”

Won’t my friends in Salem be envious? She answered, “Yes.”

I must be out of my mind, following a strange man into the wilderness, Miranda scolded herself as she hiked uphill behind Lancelot. I can’t even get a cell phone signal out here. This is how women get murdered and never found.

Back in the park, the idea of exploring a magician’s secret pyramid had sounded like an irresistible adventure. Now, however, it seemed the height of folly. She was hot and tired, but Lancelot, who must have been fifteen years her senior, scrambled over boulders as sprightly as a boy. And that crazy hawk stayed right overhead, a sentry.

“Not much further,” he called over his shoulder.

She paused to catch her breath. Gazing at the magnificent landscape, she realized she would never be able find her way back to civilization.