Garden of Desire: 1 by Delilah Devlin Read Free Book Online Page A

love a breeze caressing my skin at night,” one said, casting him a saucy glance. “It gets very hot,” she’d said, as she walked her fingers up his chest.
    “But you’d freeze your arse off in the winter,” he replied. He had thought to end this ridiculous line of conversation, when he asked, “What makes any one of you more worthy of the window?”
    This question launched a lengthy debate over the comparative gravity of their crimes, the severity of their sentences, the length of their menses, and finally, their body weight.
    In the end, Cantor showed them the Wisdom of Solomon and ordered the window boarded up.
    He had exhausted himself a-purpose this day. He had to protect the girl from his low-down, horny-dog cock. The thing threatened to overcome his best intentions. No amount of deep-breathing meditation would bring it down. He’d walked around with his shirt outside his pants to hide his sorry condition the whole bloody, goddamned day.
    He’d taken himself in hand—twice—to relieve his blue-ball hard-on. As helpless as any teenaged male against the onslaught of testosterone, bathing his brain with images of dark, dusky nipples, smooth-as-silk nether lips, and beguiling brown eyes. Even now his cock was heavy and full, pressing painfully behind the placket of his breeches.
    Thank God, he’d had an extra mattress sent to his cabin. He’d give the girl the bed and make due with the mattress on the cold floor. So long as he didn’t have to bear the torture of sleeping inches from her, he might calm his “inches” long enough to get some sleep.
    He took a deep breath and pushed open the door. Two heads, one light, one dark turned toward him. Two pairs of puppy-dog brown eyes stared at him. Now along with the pressure in his cock, he felt tension cinch around his neck.
    Martha! His stomach knotted. He didn’t want to hurt Martha any more than he already had…but then again, she did know the score. Her expression appeared a little strained and furtive, and then she licked her lips and dipped her eyelids. Halleluiah! Now, how would he convince her to step outside the door for a quick poke without embarrassing the girl? Immediately, he felt shame wash over him. Martha definitely deserved better than to be used to simply ease an ache.
    Then he noticed the two sat cross-legged on his bed, wearing short shifts that couldn’t possibly hide their mons should he walk deeper inside. Light from no less than six phospher-pots were placed around the room, chasing away the shadows.
    Sweat broke on his forehead despite the cool air at his back. “Good even, ladies.”
    “Hi, Cantor,” Martha chimed brightly, and then she nudged Little Flower.
    “Hello, Can- torr .”
    He sucked in a deep breath and nearly turned to flee the cabin. The girl’s sweet voice rolled the R’s like a kitten’s purr. His treacherous body tightened hard as a rock. Walking stiff-legged into the room, he closed the door behind him, shutting himself inside with their sweet scents. He tried not to breathe too deeply, but Martha’s petal-soft smell mingled with a fresh, minty-spice that he knew must be the girl’s.
    A desperate glance around the room and he realized something was wrong. “Where’s the damn mattress?” he asked, dismay making his voice harsh.
    “We had it taken back. There are so many far more crowded than you are, Cantor,” Martha replied, her eyes alight with merriment.
    Cantor’s narrowed, suspicion creeping into his testosterone-soaked brain that Martha was up to something.
    “Turn around, Violet,” Martha said. “Let me braid your hair for bed.”
    Violet? It suited her. Sweet—and crushable. And seventeen, for fuckssake! Sweat broke on his upper lip. She was getting ready for bed. Violet shifted around on the mattress and the shadowed area between her legs was exposed for a moment to his gaze. Her plump lips were indeed bare.
    His knees wobbled. “Perhaps, I should head over to the men’s dormitory…”