Enchanted: A New Love (The Erotic Adventures of Jane in the Jungle Book 8) Read online

  Enchanted

  A New Love

  Colette Gale

  Avid Press

  Contents

  Dear Reader

  — I —

  — II —

  — III —

  — IV —

  — V —

  — VI —

  — VII —

  More Jane in the Jungle…

  Dear Reader:

  Welcome to the eighth volume of Miss Jane Clemons’s (now also known as Jane Berkeley, Lady Hampstead) erotic adventures in the jungle…and elsewhere.

  If you have already read the first seven volumes, you should move directly to the first chapter. No need to waste your time with this—get on with the story!

  But for those who have not enjoyed the previous volumes, please read on below for an explanation of how I came to be the curator of these fascinating, intimate and erotic journals.

  During the late 19th century, the British indulged in much exploration of Africa, searching not only for gold and gemstones, but also for knowledge of this fascinating Dark Continent.

  Professor Everett Clemons, the famous lepidopterist, and his daughter Jane were two of the most famous British citizens to embark on these travels, and although Jane published a book of her drawings and notations about the butterflies her father studied during these trips, there remained little information about her personal thoughts and adventures—until very recently.

  Several years ago, I came upon an old trunk filled with Professor Clemons’s journals and butterfly specimens, and there, within, I also found the treasure of Lady Jane Clemons Berkeley’s personal (and shockingly intimate—at least for her time) diaries.

  These writings detail her experiences in the jungle—being captured by natives, being abandoned by her fiancé Jonathan—as well as her passionate relationship with the wild man of Madagascar known as Zaren…who was later discovered to be none other than John Berkeley, Viscount Hampstead and became her beloved husband.

  Because there were so many volumes of Jane’s journals, I have chosen to publish a series of short segments over time in order to make them publicly available as quickly and efficiently as possible.

  I pray you, Dear Reader, will indulge my decision to follow the popular form of literature from this era, for I chose to publish Jane’s diaries as a serialized collection. Not only does this enable me to be more efficient in releasing sections of her work (for it is quite an arduous task to pore over the very intimate and detailed descriptions of her experiences), but it also allows the reader to experience the story in segments rather than in one overwhelming gulp.

  I must also warn you: I have kept with the tradition of the times, ending each serialized episode on a cliffhanger.

  The most recent episode (entitled Enraptured) continued Jane’s adventures as the private slave of an Amazonian chieftain-queen known as Zenovia—all on a small island kingdom somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean.

  A contingent of men arrives on the island, including Queen Zenovia’s male concubine Lord Akenov—and Jane’s beloved Zaren (aka, Lord Berkeley) himself.

  Jane becomes Lord Akenov’s object of desire—which instills great jealousy in Queen Zenovia—but even more horrifyingly, Zaren repudiates Jane. He no longer loves or trusts her, and banishes her from his sight after a particularly emotional bout of lovemaking, leaving Jane confused and filled with grief.

  Shortly thereafter, she nearly loses her life in a fire, but is saved—and kidnapped—by the virile Lord Akenov, who has professed his love and affection for her.

  I hope you find Jane’s experiences enlightening, exciting, and titillating as we follow her further adventures as she comes to terms with her repudiation by Zaren and the new adventure that awaits her in the arms of Lord Akenov.

  Colette Gale

  February 2017

  — I —

  Jane stared out over the endless sea. It churned, as dark and forbidding as her thoughts and emotions. As cold and endless and bleak as her future.

  Zaren had renounced her. He’d sent her away, rejected her.

  He no longer loved her.

  She would cry, but she had no more tears to make. Now, she felt like nothing but a dried, empty husk—like the outer covering of a bright green fruit she and Zaren had shared in the jungle.

  She’d never learned the name of the fruit; only that it was sweet and yet tart, and the color of a bright green apple. The size of a plum. And that Zaren had fed it to her in small, delicate chunks in between kissing the juice from her lips…

  Ah…she was wrong. There were tears left. Jane swiped the drops away as they mingled with the spray of sea tossed up as the ship cut through the choppy waves of night.

  “Grieving yet again, are we, my lovely enchantress?”

  Jane didn’t turn, but the flesh of her back prickled lightly with the awareness of the man who’d come up behind her. As much as she might dislike him, it was impossible to ignore his powerful, masculine presence.

  Lord Akenov—the man who’d rescued her from the fire that overtook Queen Zenovia’s palace. If he hadn’t found her, Jane’s life would have been over, for she’d been collared and chained to the queen’s bed and there was no escape.

  There were many moments Jane regretted Akenov’s bravery in dodging through the flames to save her. He should have left me alone. He should have left me to die with my grief.

  But Akenov seemed to have become as obsessed with Jane as Zenovia had been. She’d enchanted him, he said.

  “There’s no reason to shed tears over your love,” Akenov continued. His tone was cool and emotionless. “He sent you away, did he not? He didn’t want you any longer.”

  Jane continued to stare out over the harsh sea. The moon struggled to fight through the clouds, just as she fought to block his words from her mind. But they penetrated too deeply.

  Because she knew they were true.

  Salt spray stung her eyes and she blinked rapidly.

  My love. My husband.

  “How much longer will we be at sea?” Jane asked. She didn’t continue with the obvious follow up question: where are you taking me? Nor did she turn to face him, for she knew without looking exactly how he appeared—with his regal stance, glittering dark eyes, and wind-tossed brown curls.

  Perhaps if there’d never been a Zaren, Jane might have welcomed the attention of this handsome, wealthy man. He was, after all, a man who’d saved her life at great risk to his own. A man who was strong and handsome and very passionate. He was also brutal when he felt it necessary, and demanding.

  “Two more days,” he replied. “As long as the weather cooperates.”

  Now he stepped nearer and the fine hairs at the back of her neck prickled again. Something jittered hotly in the base of her belly when he pressed himself up along her spine, then settled one hand at the rail on either side of her.

  In spite of her moroseness, Jane drew in a deep breath, straightening. She felt the warmth of his broad chest seep into the tops of her shoulders even more. That hot jitter in her belly surged and spread. His arms, decorated with wide golden cuffs and bulging with sleek muscle, encaged her there against the railing as his face brushed over her hair, and his chin came to rest against the side of her head.

  Try as she might, Jane couldn’t keep her pulse steady nor her breathing calm. She already knew the pleasure Akenov could take—and give—and she was well used to having herself serviced in that way.

  Though her heart might be shattered, her body cared little for the weakness of emotion when it was tasted, st
roked, plundered. Her entire being craved pleasure, whether it was given or taken with the will of her heart.

  “And those two days will not end too soon,” Akenov murmured against her temple. “You will love my kingdom, Jane. It’s lush and green, and it surrounds a city made from white, turquoise, and cerulean stone. It draws the sunlight like a crown of jewels.”

  Her breath was still unsteady, and though the night air of the ocean was chill, she grew warm. Hot.

  “I want to go back to England,” she said. “I don’t want to go to your kingdom.”

  At least back in England, she would have her father and their housekeeper Effie. And perhaps if Zaren—who was called Lord Hampstead in London—ever returned, she could speak to him again. Apologize. Force him to understand that he was the only man—or woman—she loved, and that, through no fault of her heart, her body betrayed her over and over.

  Just as it was doing now…becoming prickly and aroused merely by the proximity of Akenov.

  “I cannot allow that,” Akenov replied. His arms tightened infinitesimally next to her, his hands shifting a fraction closer, boxing her in even more. “England is too far away, and what does it offer you? Nothing but heartbreak and sadness over the loss of your Zaren.” His words became bitter at this last. “In time, I promise you, my enchantress, you shall forget him. You shall forget the pain and sorrow he caused you—and the fact that he left you to die.

  “Everyone was rushing out of the palace when the fire began, but it was only I who came back for you, Jane. Not Zenovia, and certainly not your precious Zaren. He gave you no lingering thought, no instant of consideration during the melee of escape.”

  Jane closed her eyes. As if it wasn’t horrible enough that her husband had shunned her, but was it true that he’d given her no thought during the tragic fire?

  “Jane,” Akenov murmured, his mouth hot and warm next to her ear, “you must forget him. You must allow me to make you happy.”

  He was fully aroused, his cock bumping against the cleft of her arse through the cloak she wore, and her light shift, and of course his own clothing. Yet the heat of him was so strong and insistent, it was as if nothing separated them. She could almost feel the texture of his engorgement as he pressed against her: the veins, the knob of his head, the length and width of his tool.

  “Come,” he said. His voice was rough. “It’s past time to return to the cabin. You’ll be chilled.”

  A stab of anticipation shot through her at his words, and she didn’t resist—what would be the point anyway?—as he took her arm, turning her from the rail.

  Her heart pounded as they made their way along the ship deck. Each of the crew gave a deferent nod to their liege and leader, but Jane felt the gaze from more than one of them turn to a hot leer as she walked past. She was safe with Akenov, as long as he offered his protection.

  That had been the first thing he told her once they set sail: “You’ll not leave the cabin without my permission. You’ll not speak to any of the crew unless it’s a life or death moment. Meera will be your guard and he’s the only one to whom you’ll speak.

  “And you’ll make no attempt to escape. For, if you do, my beautiful enchantress, your punishment will be fierce. I’ll turn you over to the men for a night…and they are not pleased our time in Amazonia was cut short. So, heed my warning and follow the rules.”

  But once they were out to sea, that first night Jane had made a mistake. Akenov had ordered her a bath so she could wash away the remnants of smoke and soot, and soak her abused body.

  She’d finished the bath and opened the door of the cabin to see about the tub—it was a massive one—being taken away.

  But the large, bashful Meera, who’d seen to the bucketsful of hot water, was nowhere in sight. Instead, as Jane poked her head out the door, she met the eyes of another crew member standing at the end of the narrow corridor. His attention dropped to her body, still damp beneath the thin shift.

  “May I help you?” he asked, moving quickly down the hall to her door.

  “Why, yes,” she’d stammered, a little surprised. But she recovered quickly. “I’d just like the tub removed—”

  And just like that, he was in the room with her, hand over her mouth, propelling her to the bed. When he fell on top of her, his body heavy and rough against hers, she lost her breath from his sudden, violent weight.

  Her long, wet hair tangled beneath her, effectively imprisoning her head from turning or even lifting to slam into his, and her legs were trapped beneath him. He kept one hand over her mouth and nose, smothering her into silence.

  Her assailant wasted no time; later, Jane realized he knew he’d have only a moment to do as he wished. As black spots danced before her eyes, he tore away her shift with one hand—ripping it down the center to bare breasts, belly, and below—and the rough wool and canvas of his clothing scraped and dragged against her soft skin as he untied his breeches.

  Suddenly, the door slammed open.

  Everything happened very quickly after that: all at once, her assailant was gone, Jane was gasping for fresh air and there were a number of loud thumps and thuds.

  She looked up into the blazing eyes of Akenov, who was dragging her off the bed with hands just as rough as her would-be rapist’s.

  “What did I tell you?” he said in a low, deathly voice. “What did I tell you, Jane? The rules.”

  She stammered out an explanation for what had happened—she’d had no idea Meera was gone, she only meant—

  “I told you,” he said again. “And you disobeyed me. I might be obsessed with you, my enchantress, but I must punish you.”

  “But I—”

  Her words were cut off as he thrust her from him so roughly she tumbled against the bed. Before she could recover, he’d yanked at the remains of her shift, tearing it from her to leave her fully naked.

  “Akenov,” she cried, suddenly truly frightened as she remembered his threat.

  I’ll turn you over to the men for a night…and they are not pleased our time in Amazonia was cut short.

  “My lord,” he snarled as he pulled her upright. “You address me thus.”

  Without another word, he dragged her from the cabin in a swirl of long, damp hair and bouncing breasts.

  Her body prickled with gooseflesh from both fear and the sudden chill as he thrust her up the narrow steps from the corridor.

  Jane stumbled onto the main deck of the ship, immediately attracting the attention of ten sailors going about their business. She was just in time to see Meera, in his big, hulking form, fling a man over the ship’s railing. She had no doubt who’d just been tossed to his death.

  Her attacker cried out as he tumbled through the air and landed in the ocean below. And then there was silence.

  Heart thudding, palms damp, body shivering with chill and fear, Jane joined the crew in looking at Akenov.

  “That is the punishment for those who take—or attempt to take—without permission,” he said with a nod toward the railing where the mate had disappeared. “But tonight, you remaining men—you will have my permission.”

  He pulled Jane forward and immediately she felt the heat of ten pairs of avid eyes on her. She had no opportunity to plead or struggle; Akenov was forceful and efficient as he turned her to face the largest mast erupting from the deck. It was the circumference of three men, and rose high into the sky. Sails flapped above it in the strong sea breeze. A pair of manacles hung from a position above her head, and Akenov fit them around her wrists so that her nipples nearly brushed against the rough, wooden pole.

  He spoke softly into her ear. “I would that I didn’t have to do this, my lovely little witch…but you must understand how important the rules are. They’re for your own safety, your own well-being.”

  “But,” she choked, suddenly terrified by the realization of what was to befall her, “it was an accident…I didn’t mean—”

  “You opened the door. You spoke to a crew member that was not me or Meera. Acciden
t or no, you broke two of the rules, Jane. This punishment will teach you to take more care in the future. So that there will be no more accidents.”

  He slid a hand tenderly down over her tangled, wet hair, then grasped it in a large bunch. It took both of his hands to do so, and she felt his hesitation, heard him curse under his breath.

  For a moment, she thought he might release her, and she held her breath, blinking back tears.

  But no. His movements were abrupt and mechanical as he bundled up her hip-length curls and wound the tresses up and around the manacle chains. This left Jane devoid of the cloaking of even her hair.

  She felt the cool sea breeze over all of her skin: her shoulders, down her spine, her arse, even her breasts, half-shielded as they were by the mast in front of her.

  And as if that wasn’t enough of an indignity, Akenov then knelt at her feet and proceeded to affix each ankle to its own manacle. This had the effect of spreading her legs, not too wide, but far enough that—oh!

  Jane couldn’t control a soft squeak of surprise when he easily slid a hand beneath the cleft of her buttocks without touching the insides of her thighs. He paused for a moment, her quim settled on his palm with his fingers curved up over the front of her mons like a small shield.

  “And that is that,” he muttered, and stepped away.

  All at once Jane was cold again, for his proximity had blocked the wind coming off the water. Her breasts tightened, her nipples becoming pointy, and gooseflesh erupted over her skin once more.

  “Do what you will,” Akenov said in a voice that carried over the roaring in her ears—from both the wind and her trepidation. “The only limitations are: leave no scars, break no skin, and there shall be no penetration of any kind. Other than that…she is yours to do as you wish.”

  — II —

  At first, no one moved, and Jane merely stood there, bound to the large mast as silence fell over the crew.