“I will not harm the little wench,” Alaeddin promised. “I will just widen her world as I widen her sweet passage,” he finished with a grin. “I’ll not force her, my captain.”
“Good!” The captain exited his cabin with his mate. “Be certain that all the hides are aboard today, and see each is whole, not damaged. Check them individually. Accept none that are ripped or spoiled. I do not expect I shall be back until sometime tomorrow.”
The first mate nodded. “I wish you joy of your conquest,” he said, a twinkle in his dark eyes.
“We shall see,” came the reply. “These girls from Alba seem unpredictable at best, and totally wild at the worst. We shall see.” Then he went down the gangplank and up the street to the house of Donal Righ, where Regan MacDuff, now called Zaynab, awaited his coming.
Chapter 5
Karim al Malina found both girls in Donal Righ’s garden upon his return from the harbor. Oma bowed and discreetly attempted to depart so that her mistress might have privacy, but Karim stopped her, gently taking her arm. As fond as he was of his first mate, he did not want Oma believing that unless she succumbed to Alaeddin’s wiles she would displease everyone.
“Alaeddin ben Omar pays you court, Oma,” he began. “If he should at any time displease you, or frighten you, you have but to tell him to cease. He will. He is no barbarian. You will anger no one by refusing him or his attentions.”
“Thank ye, my lord,” Oma replied, “but I am nae afeared of yer big bear of a mate. He hae a soft heart, for all his bluster.” Then, with a mischievous little smile, she bowed again and went from the garden, leaving the two together.
“ ’Twas kind of ye, Karim al Malina,” Zaynab said quietly, glad that her friend would not be forced into an unpleasant situation.
He chuckled. “At first I feared for the little wench, but now I think I should fear for my old friend, Alaeddin ben Omar.”
Zaynab laughed. “Oma is strong-minded, yet she is also a kind girl. She longs to taste passion, I think. I believe your mate will eventually succeed with her because she wants him to; though perhaps not in his good time, but rather hers.”
“Passion should indeed come in the woman’s time, and not the man’s,” he agreed, his gaze locking onto hers. Then he took her hand in his, raising it up to his lips to first kiss the upturned palm, and next the tender inside of her perfumed wrist. “Last night you insisted most vehemently that you were ready for a deeper passion than I was willing to share with you. Are you still certain that you desire that passion, or have you changed your mind, my flower?”
“I dinna know now,” she told him. “Last night ye inflamed my senses with yer touch, and I longed to learn more. Now, however, I canna be certain. I dinna feel the same now as then.” She made to remove her hand from his, but he would not let her go.
“Come,” he said firmly, leading her from the garden. “Let us see if when I inflame your senses again, you feel the same way.”
“Perhaps ye will nae inflame me again,” she responded coolly, still a little angry with him.
He forced back a chuckle at her tart retort. “I have considered this day upon your history, my beautiful Zaynab,” he said as he led her upstairs to their chamber. “I think, perhaps, that you will not successfully learn what I can teach you if you are not settled in your own thoughts with regard to the act of making love. Maidens brought to me for training as Love Slaves are usually virgins. Their knowledge is either limited or nonexistent regarding what transpires between men and women. You, however, are different. You have suffered badly at the hands of two men. You know not how lovely the joining of lovers can be.
“When you finally desire it, my flower, I shall show you that the act of love is both sweet and hot, and wonderful. If you understand that, Zaynab, then we may make better progress in your education.”
“Possibly, my lord,” she allowed him.
“Now remove your garments for me,” he said when they were in the chamber. “The caftan is lovely. Where did you obtain it?”
“Donal Righ,” she told him, drawing the silk garment slowly off. “He told Oma that it is Moorish garb, and that we should get used to it. I like it. The feel of silk against my skin is most pleasurable, and far nicer than the linen and wool I am used to wearing.”
He nodded in agreement, saying, “Now disrobe me, Zaynab.”
“Yes, my lord,” she answered, attempting to be obedient. She took the long cloak from his shoulders, laying it carefully across the single chair. Next she unlaced the white silk shirt that he wore, opening it and drawing it off. She felt the temptation to smooth her hands over his muscular chest, but fought it back, instead placing the shirt with the cloak, and turning back to him. Her slender fingers fumbled clumsily with the large buckle on his wide leather belt.
“Let me,” he said, his hands covering hers for a moment, causing a wave of heat to wash over her. He pulled the belt off and laid it too upon the chair. “Touch me,” he commanded, and she raised startled eyes to him. “If my touch gave you pleasure last night, so can your touch give me pleasure. A man likes the feel of a beautiful woman’s hands on his skin, Zaynab,” he told her. Then he took her two hands in his and drew them up to his chest.
Tentatively, she began to move her fingers in little circular motions across the expanse of his skin, brushing lightly over the dark down upon his chest. To her surprise, it was not wiry when dry, but soft. Growing a bit bolder, she molded her palms over his broad shoulders, sliding them up and over, then down his long back. “Yer very strong, are ye nae?” she asked him, feeling the muscles beneath her fingertips. His body was hard and gave the impression of great strength. She moved her hands to clasp his narrow waist, and without being asked, she began to draw off his pantaloons, carefully loosening the drawstring, tugging at the waistband, which for some reason would not budge.
“It would be easier if you knelt,” he told her.
She obeyed, slipping to her knees before him, careful to keep her eyes averted from his manhood. She did not think she was quite ready to stare it in the eye yet. She let her gaze wander elsewhere. He had wonderful, firm thighs. They were well shaped, and hard to her touch, she discovered as she drew his final garment completely off. As he stepped away, she quickly rose, gathering up the pantaloons, smoothing the fabric neatly, and laying them with his other garments.
“ ’Twas not so hard now, was it?” he said with a small smile. Then he drew her into his arms, his lips brushing her pale hair.
Zaynab’s heart began to hammer against her ribs. What was it about this man’s touch that could render her so confused? “Does a Love Slave always undress her master?” she asked him, trying to regain control of her own emotions.
“If it pleases him. She bathes him as you did me today, and both dresses and undresses him. Everything she does for him is meant to give him pleasure of some sort. She is not simply a concubine. She is more. She must learn how to release her own passions so that even if her master is not the best of lovers, he will believe that he is. His mere touch must send her into a swooning fit of pleasure.” He tipped her face up to his. “Yet a Love Slave never loses command of the situation, even while in the throes of ecstasy. She is mistress of herself at all times, Zaynab. Do you understand me?”
“I am nae certain,” Zaynab said slowly.
“In time you will understand,” he told her.
“I must learn to separate my thoughts from my emotions,” she said thoughtfully. “Is that the secret to it, Karim al Malina?” She looked up at him questioningly. She really did want to learn. She never again wanted to find herself a victim of any man, even one who called himself her lord and her master. She must control her own destiny as best she could. It was obviously the key to her survival and success.
He nodded in answer to her inquiry, pleased that she had grasped the significance and the subtlety of his words, but then looking into her face, he said, “Have you any idea of how absolutely beautiful you are, Zaynab?”
“I know what I look like,” she told him slowly, “for Gruoch, my sister, was said to be identical to me in face and form. Only our eyes were different blues in their shading, but few ever looked. I hae also seen my face in the waters of the loch when it was still. Gruoch often bewailed our lack of a looking glass. We never saw one, but we were told that they were clear, smooth surfaces where one might look upon oneself. I know I am prettier than most but beautiful?”
“Aye, very beautiful,” he assured her, touching her cheek with just a single finger. “There are many kinds of beauty, Zaynab, but yours is superior. I do not think there is a single woman like you in all of Abd-al Rahman’s harem.” He pulled her hard against him, his hands reaching down to cup her buttocks, feeling the soft give of her thighs as they touched his own.
She put her palms against his chest to steady herself, struggling to draw a breath, for she found herself breathless. Then he smiled down into her eyes, his look enveloping her with its warmth. Zaynab’s legs gave way beneath her. Lifting the girl up, he placed her upon the bed. Then kneeling by her side, he looked into her face, saying, “A thoughtless man snatched your maidenhead. Another violated you. But in your heart and soul, Zaynab, you are yet a virgin. This night I shall make love to you as if that maidenhead were yet intact.”
His lips touched hers with a gentleness she had never imagined a man capable of. Her heart hammered wildly. Both his words and his actions thrilled her. When he lay next to her, the feather mattress giving way beneath his weight, the mere touch of his naked body against hers almost did set her to swooning. Karim took her hand in his as she lay trembling, waiting for his next move. His words were burning into her brain. You are yet a virgin in your heart and soul. Aye, she was! How had he known it? How could he feel her pain when she herself declined to feel it, hiding it deep inside herself, refusing to acknowledge it? To admit to any weakness just gave others power over you, Zaynab thought bitterly. She had learned that lesson early in her life, when she was but Regan MacDuff, the unwanted daughter.
“A virgin,” he said softly, “should be approached with tenderness, never haste.” He raised her hand to his mouth, kissing the palm with a lingering kiss that seemed to score her skin. Then he kissed each finger in turn.
Those fingers tarried against his lips. Then, slowly, boldly, Zaynab explored his long, narrow mouth, feeling the faint yielding of the smooth flesh. She pulled away, startled, when he teasingly nibbled upon the curious digits.
Laughing low, he rolled over upon his side to face her. “It is good that you are inquisitive, Zaynab. A virgin always is. It is how she learns both to please and to receive pleasure.” His lips found hers again, and his kiss was slow and gentle at first.
Zaynab allowed herself to relax for a brief moment, stiffening only when the kiss became more intense. She sensed his desire, although never before had she truly known it. Her lips parted, allowing him to insert his tongue into her mouth. She felt him seeking, and shyly touched the probing tongue with her own. The sensuous contact sent a great shudder through her body. Her sensibilities peeled as hot flesh stroked hot flesh. She knew that she didn’t want the communion between them to end. She was breathless when he finally ceased kissing her, smiling down into her eyes as he did so.
“Did you like it?” he asked, knowing what she would answer, for he had divined her enjoyment.
Zaynab nodded, wide-eyed. “Aye!”
He bent over her again, kissing the tip of her nose, her chin, her forehead, her fluttering eyelids. “Now you do the same,” he told her, combining a lesson with her desire to be made love to by him. He lay back.
Raising herself upon her elbow, Zaynab leaned forward, touching his face with her lips; first the high cheekbones, the corners of his mouth, and then, unable to resist, his lips. She could feel a pounding heat beginning to suffuse her body. Her pulses leapt when he wrapped his arms tightly about her, drawing her down so that her round little breasts pressed against his chest.
“You’re too quick, my flower. Ye have absolutely no self-control,” he chided her gently.
“Nay, none,” she admitted. “Something drives me, but I dinna know what it is, my lord. Am I very bad?”
“Aye.” He grinned. “Totally incorrigible, my jewel. You must be patient. You want too much, too soon. Making love is a fine act. It should be done slowly in order to give and to receive the most pleasure.” He rolled her over onto her back, lowering his head to kiss her breasts. “Such pretty, saucy little tits,” he told her. “They beg for a caress.”
“Aye, they do,” she responded boldly.
He fondled her, feeling the soft flesh give beneath his touch. He cupped a single breast within his palm, gently pinching the nipple with his thumb and forefinger. She stirred restlessly beneath his touch. He transferred his attentions to the other breast, then bent his head to suckle upon her nipples. His tongue flattened, and smoothed along the valley between her breasts. Then it began to tease at the already tight buds of her nipples, flicking back and forth until she moaned low with the pleasure he was giving her. He bit gently upon a nipple, and she cried out. His kisses soothed where he had given her tender pain.
The touch of his mouth upon her body left Zaynab almost mindless with pleasure. His big hands caressing her flesh caused the most wonderful of sensations. Enfolding her in his embrace, he raised her body up and began covering it with hot kisses. She lay weak with pleasure within his arms as he began to lick at her perfumed skin.
“Ohh, yes, my lord!” her gasp of delight came, telling him that he was pleasing her.
He laid her back and pushed a pillow beneath her hips. Parting her legs, he slid between them, slowly drawing them up over his shoulders. “Now,” he whispered, “I will show you a sweet and secret pleasure, my fair Zaynab.” Leaning forward, he gently parted the soft pink flesh of her nether lips. The flesh within was already pearly with her love juices, although she was not even aware of them. He gazed spellbound a moment, for she was so perfectly formed. Then his tongue sought the tiny badge of her sex and he began to caress it fervently.
For a short moment Zaynab was not certain what it was he was doing, and then the knowledge burst upon her. She opened her mouth to gasp with her shock, but no sound would come out. She could not even draw a breath. She wanted to protest this incredible invasion of her body, yet … yet … The tongue worked fervently against her flesh, and the faint heat she had felt earlier flared suddenly into an all-consuming flame. A husky sound rose up from her throat and echoed about the chamber. She was gasping for air. Stars exploded in her head and she cried out to him.
In answer, he drew her legs down from his shoulders, and taking his manhood in one hand, began to rub it against her tiny jewel. He was hard, and eager for her. She saw it in his eyes when she managed to open them to gaze spellbound at him. “Take me,” she begged him. “Take me now!”
“A man should enter a virgin slowly, with tenderness,” he said through gritted teeth as he pushed himself into her. She felt him filling her with his warmth, his length, his bigness. Instinctively, Zaynab wrapped her shapely legs about his torso, that he might drive himself deeper into her. She needed him deep inside of her. He groaned at her action, his full length sinking into her like a man drowning in quicksand. She shuddered when he was finally sheathed. She could actually feel him throbbing within her. She sensed that at this moment he was as helpless as she was. The realization gave her a new strength.
He began to move upon her, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. His handsome face was tense with passion. She could look no longer! Her aquamarine eyes closed as the pleasure began to claim her as well. The stars that had earlier exploded within her head returned, joined by another galaxy. Neither of the two men who had previously used her had prepared her for this … this … wonderment. She was swept away upon a tide of rapture so great that she thought she might die from it. The ecstasy reached its magnificent crescendo, and Zaynab was lost amid the splendor of her starry passion.
&nb
sp; Her returning awareness was marked by his kisses upon her wet cheeks. Zaynab realized that she was weeping. Slowly, she opened her eyes, gazing into his, amazed. No words were needed between them now. He had moved off her, and now he enfolded her in his embrace, saying but one word, “Sleep.” She willingly obeyed, realizing to her surprise that she was exhausted.
He watched her as she tumbled into unconsciousness. He had had so many women in his twenty-eight years. Each, in her own fashion, had been different. Each had presented him with a challenge. Making love was not just a physical act. It was sensing your partner’s needs, fathoming their vulnerabilities, filling their lives for the time that you were with them. None of those women had ever moved him. None of those whom he had taken, had trained in the erotic arts, not one of them had ever touched his heart. It had been impregnable. Until now. Why had this barbaric little infidel from a cold, wet, northern land affected him? It wasn’t simply her beauty. He wasn’t even certain what it was about the girl that reached out to him.
He lifted a lock of her silvery gold hair to his lips, sniffing at the lush gardenia fragrance, tenderly kissing the silken tresses between his fingers. It was utter madness! In even thinking such thoughts he was breaking the cardinal rule of a Passion Master. One did not fall in love with his pupil, and one made certain that his pupil did not fall in love with him. Had he not learned anything from his previous disaster? This was not just any slave girl. This girl belonged to his father’s friend. She was intended for the harem of the Caliph of Cordoba. Utter madness.
How fair she was in all aspects of her person. The thought slipped by him before he might stop it. He let his eyes wander over her voluptuous young body. He had surely named her well. Abd-al Rahman would be ravished by this girl, and indebted to him for having schooled her to become the finest Love Slave ever created. The caliph would be equally grateful to his loyal friend, Donal Righ of Eire, who would then owe him, Karim al Malina, a debt that mere gold could not satisfy. Having a man like Donal Righ in one’s debt was not such a bad thing. Yet how much more he would have rather had Zaynab for his own.
The Love Slave Page 12
