Mark hovered close to the edge. 

Celeste’s thighs trapped him, demanding his release.  He’d climax in seconds if he didn’t think of something fast.

A haunting pictorial swam behind his eyelids -- bloody eyeballs hanging from their sockets, a plethora of stab wounds, and finally, the jagged crimson edges of a slashed throat. 

Six years earlier, a hit man murdered his friend Trevor on Xantrope. Trevor’s screams rang in Mark’s ears, threatening to unman him.   He banished the execution from his mind.  If he lost it now, Celeste would kill him. 

She met his eyes, brows knitted.  “Mark!”

Satisfaction swept through him.  He was the only man who mattered to her now.  He quickened the pace of his thrusts.  Her flesh milked him, and her nails sank into his back.  Moments later, she purred low in her throat, arched her neck backward, and ground her hips against his. 

He let himself go.

When he could think again, he tried to get up, struggling to free himself from her arms and legs wrapped around him.  He avoided her eyes, what he’d see in them -- triumph at the passion, almost akin to violence, she stirred in him.     

Nobody should have that much power over him. 

Though they dated on-and-off during the past six months, neither of them had committed to an exclusive relationship.  Why then did his insides blister whenever he thought about her with anybody else?  Yet, he made no claims on her; he had too much at stake to tie himself down. Besides, Celeste had a wild side, and he wouldn’t be around long enough to tame her. 

The way she looked at him unnerved him.  Slight smile on her face, eyes hooded, but glinting as though she’d sunk a Jamaican flag in the soil of an uncharted island.   

The whir of the fan cut in on his musing.  He eyed Celeste’s cocoa toned skin, burnished by the waning sun, and ran a hand down her thigh.  She kissed his cheek, and moaned in his ear.  He shifted his weight to avoid crushing her slender body, and rested his head against her shoulder.  She smoothed his hair, and murmured words he didn’t hear.  He snuggled against her, unable to deny the comfort she brought him, even if she drove him mad half the time.   He closed his eyes and let his thoughts wander.

Careless living cost him five years in exile.  The man who forced him to leave his beloved home was dead, along with Mark’s friends.  Mark had achieved more than he thought possible since settling in Cayman.  Still his spirit had grown restless.

Xantrope was calling him. 

It was time to go home.