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“What happened next?” asked Lord Reynolds quickly.
The boy trembled at the memory. “I thought the man would just fleece him and leave him. But he did not.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “He dragged him to a house and took him inside. I do not know what he is did with him in there.”
Patricia stood up so quickly her head spun. She felt like she was going to be violently ill.
“Can you show us the house, Adam?” she asked.
He nodded. “I can. It is a few streets away from here. No one lives there.”
Patricia couldn’t help it. She burst into tears. Appalled, she clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to stem the tide.
Lord Reynolds took out his money bag and procured a guinea. He passed it to Adam. “You have done very well, lad. Very well indeed. This should help you and your mother for a good long while.” He paused. “Lead us to the house now, if you please.”
Adam looked astounded, gazing down at the coin as if it was manna from heaven. He had probably never seen a guinea in his life.
Quickly, he pocketed it and jumped to his feet. “This way.”
He sprinted off, weaving between rubbish, as light and agile on his feet as a cat. They all followed him not saying a word. Patricia’s heart was in her mouth. She could barely breathe. They were so very close to finding Jackson. But what would they find when they got there? Why had some man dragged him off the street, into a house?
Oh, Jackson,she thought despairingly.My love. What has happened to you? I shall never forgive myself. This is all my fault. I do not deserve you. Please…stay alive.
* * *
Jackson stirred, whimpering, on the floor of the room. He had fallen into an uneasy sleep again. He had called until his throat was hoarse, all to no avail. No one had come. He was all alone.
Now, he was in the midst of a strange dream….
The world was odd, with fields covered in blood red poppies. The sky was a bright pink with a blue moon hanging within it, as if was day but with no sun in sight at all. And he was staggering through it, dying of thirst. He could see a pool of water just ahead of him.
He kept walking, towards the pool, but it seemed like he could never quite reach it. One more stride, he would tell himself, and then I am there. But as soon as that stride was done, the pool would recede further. It was maddening, as if he was stuck in a loop, playing the same thing over and over again.
And then he saw her again. Patricia.
She wasn’t dressed like she usually was, but that didn’t concern him, at all. Everything was bizarre in this dream world after all. She wore a snow-white gown draped over her figure like a Roman toga and her shoulders were bare. Her golden hair was loose, streaming down her back. Slowly, she turned to face him; her honey brown eyes were gleaming.
“I have waited for you,” she whispered. “I have been waiting for you forever.”
His heart lurched, and then he was running towards her. At first, he thought that she might be like the pool of water and he would never get to her – she was always just maddeningly out of reach.
But suddenly his hand caught her wrist, and he pulled her towards him. She fell against his chest. His heart was beating so frantically he was sure it felt like it might explode. Tenderly, he gazed down at her in his arms, his eyes sweeping over every part of her. Her beautiful face, the swell of her breasts beneath the flimsy white gown, the line of her legs, her feet.
His lips were upon hers, opening her mouth beneath his. Lust overwhelmed him. He was suddenly aware of how erect he was. It seemed as if he had never been so hard and full in his life, as if he was a piece of overripe fruit which might suddenly burst.
His hands swept over her body, lingering on her breasts, feeling their fullness. Patricia’s breasts were the most beautiful he had ever beheld, but it wasn’t just how they looked. It was the feel of them in his hands; their fullness and softness, the way the nipples sprung to life beneath his touch.
She arched her back, her head tilting back, so that her golden hair almost reached her waist as waves of desire shuddering through her.
He couldn’t help himself. He tipped her over, into the field of red poppies, gathering up her gown. His mouth found her sweet center. The very core of her. She tasted like honey.
He licked and suckled her, in an agony of abandon. She was opening wider to him, with every lick. As wide as the ocean. And all he wanted to do was drown within her sweetly sticky depths.
He couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t wait a minute longer.
He plunged into her, over and over, feeling her sink further into the poppies. She was matching him, thrust for thrust, her hips arching. They fitted together like two pieces of a puzzle. They always had. It was one of the things that had delighted him when he had first lain with her.
He felt the tremor deep inside her, the clenching of her muscles around him, like a silky glove.
Her breath was quickening. He knew that she was close; so very close to her release.
