Page 206 of Eternal Craving

My mind drifted to the workhouses, and their undernourished children, with dark circled, wide-eyed stares that had stayed on us as we’d trekked through, searching for Jacob. I’d promised myself that I’d come back for them. Years later, when the hours I’d spent searching for Jacob were mine again, I’d made that pledge a reality. Though those children had long grown up, we saved the ones who’d replaced them in a perpetual cycle, society’s darkest side, rarely spoken of.

Perhaps this endeavor also helped me to hold on to my essential goodness. The sweetest lie that I kept telling myself.

Sunaria tried to pull away.

“Why don’t you leave me?” I drew in a sharp breath.

“What?”

“All these years you’ve stayed, but I’m not the man I once was.”

“I love you.”

“That tells me nothing.”

“For the first time in decades, I like myself again.”

“What are you talking about?” I said, curious.

“Time changes everything. Our hearts harden as we try to cope with all that life brings. But a fresh perspective...”

“Fresh blood.” I smirked.

Her attention shifted for a moment, then settled back on me. “I didn’t mean that. I see the world a different way.”

“I’m not that man anymore.”

“I still see such good in you.”

Deep in thought, I tried to tap into those old feelings and with my outstretched hand, I traced an invisible line. “It’s this close.”

“What is?”

“It brushes against me, luring me.”

Staring at her, I felt a real sense that she might be the only thing holding me back from this looming, faceless entity that tempted me to walk the path of least resistance, and surrender.

“To what, Orpheus?” Sunaria uttered nervously, having read my thoughts.

Instead of answering, I listened to the rain pelting the tin rooftops, soaking the street sellers and their miserable customers below.

Strange how alone I felt.

I turned Sunaria around and leaned her forward over the desk again. Down came her soft, black undergarments, and my fingers brushed against the silken curls of her sex, grazing between pressed thighs, finding their way to her heated core, stroking her. I felt her push back, a moan escaping her, as she clutched the edge of the desk tighter. I cupped her breast, squeezing and then pinching the other, eliciting another moan.

“I lied about the whores,” I whispered close to her ear.

My way of saying I was sorry.

She let out a deep sigh.

“I’ll make it up to you.” I raised the hem of her dress and pressed against her womanly softness.

I eased myself out and caressed my hardness, then slid into her, evoking a welcome cry. Continuing to caress her right breast with a delicate motion in unison with my thrusts, I drove herinto a frenzy. “You’re the only good thing about me,” I confided, or perhaps I thought it.

Either way, she heard my heart.

Our rhythmic pace in perfect time, she arched her back, her hips riding me, as I ran my fingernails down her spine. Holding back on my own pleasure, caring only for hers, I drew in my breath. “Don’t come until I say,” I warned her.