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making her act thusly.
    All at once, the thought of Zaren popped in her mind. Zaren . Jane felt weak at the memory of him, and at the same time, she had a brief moment of happiness. With Jonathan exposed for the vile man he was, she no longer must be conflicted between loyalty and…lust? Desire? Love ?
    Whatever she felt for the wild jungle man Zaren, though she might never have the chance to act on it again, at least she no longer must feel guilt or confusion about him.
    If I ever escape from these people, I’ll find Zaren. A warm, comforting quiver shuttled through her. Oh, yes. I’ll find him .
    And that thought, that bright light of hope, filled her mind as Cold Eyes grabbed her by the front of her tunic and shoved her back, back, back…until she felt something behind her thighs.
    The altar.
    Jane held to the thought of Zaren—his gentle, tender touch, his powerful sleek body, his kind, hot eyes—as Cold Eyes forced her back onto the flat surface, holding her by the throat. Her windpipe thus muffled, she could hardly breathe. Lights and black spots danced before her eyes, and she had no strength with which to struggle as her captor forced one wrist, and then the corresponding ankle, into the buckle-like restraints.
    He finished by attaching her other wrist to the bound one, crossing that arm over her eyes. Spreading her legs wide, he pulled her roughly into place so that her hips and arse were positioned at the very end of the raised table. She was restrained there, precariously at the edge with its sharp angle digging into her buttocks, ankles and knees spread, her tortured red quim open and ready. Even now, she felt a soft little pulse of awareness from her tight little pip.
    There was a change in the room; she could hear him moving around, felt the change in the air, the shift of scent. He was moving around her, chanting softly to himself.
    After a long moment in which she wondered if he meant to simply leave her like this, he spoke. “Now then.” Cold Eyes’s voice sounded strained and a little high. “It is time.”
    Jane jolted as two hands closed over her breasts; she could see nothing, for her arm was crushed against her eyes. But she could hear his heavy, rasping breathing and feel the heat of his presence as he stood between her legs.
    He toyed with her nipples, massaging them, rolling them between his fingers until they drew up tight and close. Little tugs of pleasure jolted down to her belly, and turned to a sharp pulse when he closed his warm, wet mouth over one of her breasts. Jane couldn’t hold back a gasp as he sucked hard, harder and longer, as if he meant to fit all of her into his hot mouth. She moaned when her pearl pulsed automatically in response.
    Cold Eyes’s breath became raspier, and he turned to her other breast, pinching and sucking until Jane could stand it no more and arched, digging her buttocks more sharply into the edge of the altar, trying to find a way to launch herself from the sensation…or to find some pleasant ending.
    “No…” she moaned. “Oh, please…”
    “That’s it,” he muttered. “Beg.”
    She felt him between her thighs, his hands gripping the tender skin there, and Jane held her breath, bracing herself to be filled. She tightened and panted, somewhere between apprehension and need.
    He pressed against her—she felt the heat, the roughness of hair…and softness. Soft, squishy something , pushing against her swollen, sensitive quim.
    Jane’s eyes flew open beneath her arm as she realized what was happening. Cold Eyes smashed himself into her, pushing the head of his cock—a cock that felt as soft and useless as a worm—against her. He rubbed and manipulated, pressing into her wetness, sliding around and against her juices, trying to force it into place.
    Jane couldn’t ignore the pressure, the erotic slip and slide, and even while she understood her tormentor’s predicament, she felt her own frustrated need rise as he massaged against her in an