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She debated whether to put the vibrator away and go to sleep, or to try and satisfy the itch Harlow had left her with.
She'd broken it out of the box. May as well try out all the functions before she put it back...
But she wasn't that brave. She held the head against her clit, feeling another orgasm building. Would sex with Harlow be this good? Or would her first time hurt, like it did for most girls? Maybe he'd be willing to go slow. To just rub her clit until she was really panting for him and then...
She felt the fourth orgasm building, and she knew if it was Harlow's hands on her, she wouldn't want him to stop. She'd want him to take her, to take everything, as he gave her rush after rush of pleasure. If his hands were on her now, giving her this orgasm, she'd be begging. Begging him to thrust deep...
Before she could lose control completely, she pushed the vibrator inside. Slowly, because she wasn't even sure if the thing would fit, and she hadn't used any lube and it might hurt and...
OH. MY. GOD.
When she'd pushed it in all the way, a little vibrating nub at the base collided with her clit. Between that and the whole, humming length stretching her from the inside, she couldn't resist being catapulted into the stratosphere. She had to clap a hand over her mouth to muffle her scream.
For a moment, she lay there, helpless, still seeing stars, until she felt yet another orgasm building. Her body felt limp, wrung out, and yet she wanted this more than anything she'd ever wanted before. She wanted all the orgasms Harlow could give her. With his hands and his hard cock and maybe even his mouth...
The next, shuddering orgasm brought tears to her eyes. More than anything, she wanted to feel this with Harlow, not some battery-operated piece of plastic.
With shaking hands, she switched it off, and let it slide out of her onto the bed. That had been...amazing and disappointing in equal measure.
She wiped down the vibrator and put the box away in the back of the drawer, vowing never to use it again. Because despite all those orgasms, she still ached, and she knew in her heart no one could soothe that ache but Harlow. The monster protector she wanted more than anyone else, if only he'd have her.
TWENTY
By the next evening, Octavia had managed to get her raging hormones under control. Or she thought she had, until she was in the studio with Harlow, as she tried and failed to concentrate on creating the pilot for her little virtual world. As with the original pilot, she'd tried to focus on just Fremantle, but the more she thought about it, the more she wanted the mill and Clarence or Hooghly Town or whatever the place was called in there, too.
Harlow's hand appeared over her shoulder. "You should make those tents more brown. The canvas was cream to start with, but under a tree, wherever the leaves fell or when it rained, they started to turn brown. Much like the Swan River, when you look at it up close."
Octavia nodded, trying not to think of what else she wanted Harlow to do with that hand. With both his hands, and every other part of him.
It hadn't helped that she'd dreamed about him, too, and the dreams had been far more lurid than anything she'd imagined.
So with him so close now, it was driving her mad with want. Or lust. Or some other inexplicable urge to jump his bones. She'd never understood the phrase before, but now she wanted it, it made perfect sense.
Finally, she shook herself. "Can we go out to Hooghly Town again? I'd like to get some photos I can use for the topography, as a base for the background before I try to recreate the town, and if you can tell me what was where as I do it, I can record your commentary so I can work on this during the day when you're not around, too."
"If that is what you wish, then that is what we shall do."
Was he reading her mind or something? Because her wishes were definitely way past a PG rating and rapidly sinking into R territory. She prayed he couldn't read her mind.
"Right. Just let me get my camera gear and a tripod, and we can go." If she was lucky, the fresh ocean breeze would blow some sense into her head. Or at least blow some of these lustful thoughts out of it.
The full moon was still high in the sky when they pulled into the car park, silvering the landscape like early morning frost. With the sky so clear on a winter's night, there might well be frost by morning.
"Please promise you won't vanish on me this time," Octavia said.
"I cannot apologise enough for that. I will never let dawn creep up on me again. Here, let me carry those for you." He held out his arms.
She relinquished the tripod and, after a moment's hesitation, the heavier of her two bags. Then she paused to slip into the harness that held her action camera, and switched it on. Now she'd at least have a record of whatever Harlow told her about what had once happened here, so if her pictures tonight didn't turn out, she could come back in daylight for a reshoot.
The cemetery was their first stop. She'd read about it in the archaeology reports, but it was different standing there in that miserable bowl where the ocean breeze could not reach, as Harlow told her about the men, women and children he'd buried beneath the golden sand.
Now she understood why he hadn't been able to move from this spot the first time. It wasn't long before she couldn't even see the camera for the tears streaming down her face. All because of Thomas Peel and his desire for wealth, he'd brought them here to their deaths, not caring for their plight in the place that was nothing like he'd promised.
Through his conceit and negligence, Peel had murdered these people. Octavia only wished he was still alive so he could be brought to justice, but it would be two hundred years too late for these people.
"What sort of grave markers did you give them?" she asked. It was one thing that hadn't been in any of the reports, and she'd always wondered.
"Wooden crosses, mostly, or ones made of seashells, laid over the grave. There wasn't much stone to be had, and no money to send to Fremantle for a stonemason to carve a proper gravestone. Heaven knew Peel owed it to them, but the only thing he cared about was the land he felt the Governor owed him, which he believed he'd been cheated out of, and that's what he told us. It wasn't until some of the Governor's men came to the camp in answer to the many letters people had sent, to see the squalor for themselves, that we learned the truth. Peel's ships had arrived late, weeks after the date they were supposed to arrive, so he was lucky to receive any land at all, let alone the acres he'd forfeited by the delay." Harlow just shook his head.
