The nightmare - this appalling nightmare that refused to release him from its relentless grip - had begun years before.
Pushing himself up on his elbow, he reached out and snatched up the feather pillow from the floor beside the bed. It must have been sent flying as he had thrashed about in his sleep. He punched the pillow irritably, then flung it back toward the head of the bed. He dropped back onto it and resumed his vigil of staring up at the ceiling. His mind was filled with vivid images of Désirée. Her flawless white skin. Her long blond hair shimmering in the sunlight. Her large blue eyes. Her full, red lips. Try as he might, he couldn't rid his mind of them. Images from the dream. And memories. Sweet memories from the past. Memories of his sweet little Alex as he had known her as a child. Sweet memories of years past, before these terrible dreams began.
But in his mind there were also the very disturbing memories. Memories of that hot summer night. That dreadful night and the living nightmare that had spawned these vivid dreams. Like the dreams, these were memories that he was unable to escape. He had not touched her then, but he had wanted to. God forgive him he had wanted her even then.
Throughout the intervening years he dreamed of her. Often. More often than he felt comfortable with. As a rule, the dreams were entirely innocent. Sometimes in his dreams, he envisioned her as she appeared in those tiny photographs she would send. Though it was nearly impossible to make out the details from the grainy snapshots, he could only imagine how she might resemble their beautiful mother more and more with each passing year. Sometimes in his dreams they sat together quietly, uncle and niece. Side by side. Sometimes they built sand castles on the beach, sailed the red toy sailboat off on wondrous adventures or waded barefoot in the warm surf. In these peaceful dreams, he might find himself holding her small hand, just enjoying their closeness and the warmth of her soft hand against his. And she would smile up at him adoringly as she always had. And upon seeing her lovely face, upon observing those charming dimples, Howard would find he had no choice but to smile back.
But then there were the other dreams, dreams which came upon him without warning. Regardless of whether his mind was occupied with the latest business venture or numbed by drink, by cocaine or morphine, the dreams came unbidden. As he slept the sultry young woman would steal into his thoughts and into his bed. Naked and beautiful, and eager for his touch. The seductress would caress his naked flesh with her delicate, soft hands and kiss him with those full, sensuous lips. And his dream-self experienced no shame in savouring his niece's soft kisses, in holding her lithe body in his arms. No shame in exploring her delicious nakedness. In pulling her close and suckling those mouth-watering, cherry red nipples. No shame at all in spreading her slender legs and burying himself in her. Burying himself in her so deeply that he could no longer be certain where his body ended and where hers began. In these dreams he delighted in each incestuous escapade, shamelessly plunging his throbbing shaft into his niece's body. Thrusting into her until his passion exploded deep within her womb. Invariably he would awaken at the moment of ejaculation, calling her name as his phallus shot fountains of semen into his rumpled, sweat-soaked sheets and nightshirt. All over himself.
"Désirée!"
Although his rational mind knew that a man can in no way be held responsible for the actions of his unconscious mind when he is asleep; year after year the recurring dream continued to plague him, and with each new episode he was mortified anew at what could only be perceived as an unspeakable flaw in his character. What kind of a monster must truly lurk just below his thin veneer of the Victorian gentleman that he presented to the world? What kind of a monster could harbour such wicked desires for his own niece? With each fresh occurrence, the sweet scent of her skin remained vivid in his mind for hours; sometimes days, afterward. However distant, Désirée refused to disappear. She remained forever his obsession. A phantom that came to him in the night. A beautiful, insatiable succubus that haunted his nightmares, night after night, year after year.
As Howard lay on the bunk in the unlit ship's cabin, Désirée's likeness loomed in his imagination, just as she had appeared in the dream. Beautiful and naked. And, oh, so desirable. Even though he had so recently released his seed his body once again ached for her.
Bloody hell!
Why had he volunteered to come on this voyage and accompany Désirée and her maid?!
Volunteer? Hell, he bloody well insisted! What could he have been thinking? He asked himself as he lay naked on the bed, gazing at the silvery-white sliver of moon visible through the porthole. Even as his mind formed the question, he knew the answer. He had hoped that by to accompanying her on this long voyage he might prove the old adage true: Familiarity breeds contempt. He had convinced himself that by being forced to see her, to spend time with her every single day, he would soon learn to view Désirée in the same light that he viewed all other females, with no small degree of contempt.
It certainly hadn't worked out as he had hoped.
Damn the woman!
Far from breeding contempt, he was intrigued, he was fascinated by her! In a few short weeks, he had gone from being attracted to Désirée to being absolutely captivated. And there was, apparently, not a damned thing he could do to stop himself! With each passing day he found her to be more of an enigma. The more he saw of her; the more he learned about her, the more of a mystery she became to him. Even though she was a young woman, she was, without doubt, one of the most intelligent woman he had ever met.
Not that they always agreed. On anything. Far from it. But how he enjoyed their discussions, their disagreements, and most of all their arguments. And she was remarkably quick witted as well. And her dry humour often took him by surprise and never failed to make him smile if not laugh out loud. Even if the laugh was on himself. And, by God, there was no denying the young woman's beauty. But hers was a beauty that went far beyond what his eyes could perceive.
His lust had become a living thing. It was alive in him. Try as he might, he could not stop thinking about her. He wanted her
!
Even now her fragrance was still so very vivid in his mind. Stretching upward over his flat stomach, his reawakened erection pulsed with every beat of his heart.
He spent the remainder of the night just lying there on his bunk, glaring at the ceiling, trying not to think at all.
Two more weeks until they reached Bombay. Two more weeks of this torment.
Damn the woman!
