by Rea Thomas
His fingers pumped into her, welcomed by the hot, slippery wetness that verified her abundant arousal. Vikram felt her walls ripple—the orgasm building within her. He wanted to be inside her. Wanted to feel her convulse around his cock, milking his shaft.
Lisabeth’s writhes stopped and her body became still. “Vikram…” she said, sounding almost awed by the sensations rippling through her.
“Come for me,” he instructed, giving her swollen clit a hard pull. A wailing cry ripped from her throat, echoing through the trees like the squeal of a wild animal. Around his fingers her pussy contracted tightly, drawing him into her. Lisabeth’s hips rolled in tight circles, pressing her harder against the cushion of his lips. Vikram’s tongue was flooded by a torrent of her juices, spilling forth with an accompanied crescendo of rambling pleas.
Even after her climax had subsided, Vikram lapped at her clit in slow, soothing motions that brought aftershocks vibrating through her. She trembled, bobbing on the water, which was rising and falling on the disturbances her thrashing had created.
He withdrew his fingers from her, eliciting a feeble moan. Vikram pressed a final kiss to the inside of her thigh, removing her legs from his shoulders as he got to his feet.
Lisabeth looked up at him, her eyes glazed and distant. At least he was fulfilling his end of the deal—she certainly seemed to be satisfied. In fact, Vikram didn’t think any woman had ever come for him with such abandon before. In her post-coital haze, Lisabeth looked exquisitely beautiful.
“It’s getting too late,” he said to her, holding her hips tightly. “We really need to go back.” Despite the insistent throb of his cock, Vikram was uneasy at their vulnerability. He could imagine the yellow eyes of wildcats, peering at them through the trees, preparing to attack.
He helped Lisabeth to stand, surprised she didn’t brush him off or throw him a characteristic snide remark. She allowed him to touch her as they waded to the riverbank, but she said nothing, as though her voice had been lost.
Despite her silence, her eyes were a maelstrom of emotion and conflict. The minutes that passed brought the shutters back down and Vikram knew by the time they trekked back to the lodge, Lisabeth would be untouchable once more. She intrigued him, bringing a thousand probing questions to his mind.
“I hope I am adequately satisfying your needs,” he quipped, pulling his jeans over his still-wet body.
Lisabeth looked up at him sharply. Her expression registered embarrassment. He recognized it as the look of shame. She hated herself for losing control of her desires, for being unrestrained and brazen in her responses and commands.
“Let’s go,” she said, the edge back in her voice.
The journey back to the lodge was negotiated in silence. Darkness encompassed the jungle and it was difficult to navigate. Vikram stayed behind her, wondering how many more times he would get to have the aloof and mysterious Lisabeth Baker come in his arms. It was she who was pulling all the strings, deciding when the mood struck her. Vikram was just a participant in her plan and it caused him great discomfort to think he wouldn’t get release tonight.
As the lodge came into sight, he wondered what daylight would bring and what further agonies she would inflict upon him. Then, on realizing he was quite looking forward to it, Vikram concluded he was no less fucked up than she—and that maybe he, too, needed therapy.
Chapter Seven
Lisabeth had been watching a gecko traverse the hotel room for half an hour. In the cramped bathroom to her left, Vikram was showering. Once they had arrived back at the lodge, Vikram had left her to inquire about Wi-Fi. Not surprisingly, they were without Internet. Upon returning to the room, his departure to the bathroom had been swift. She had no doubt he was relieving himself under the tepid stream of water.
She could imagine him frantically stroking his cock, replaying their tryst in the water over and over. Lisabeth knew he had been left achingly dissatisfied, but she had not offered to assist him when they had closed the bedroom door. Instead, she relished the illusion of control that had been woven intricately in her mind as she had been lying there, following the translucent gecko across the wall.
Lisabeth was not a virgin, was not intimidated by sex or by asking for what she wanted. Yet Vikram Singh turned her into a trembling mess. He made her beg before him and when she came it seemed as though the world was crashing down around her, ending in spectacular bright lights that made her cry out…made her scream.
She went hot at the memory of her pained, orgasmic groans, rising to the tops of the jungle trees. Vikram could make her yearn and she was unfamiliar with such tiring emotion.
The gecko slithered downward, toward Vikram’s bedside cabinet. Lisabeth followed it, her eyes coming to rest on his car keys. Lisabeth sat straight and dropped her legs over the edge of the narrow bed. Her devious mind kicked into gear and she envisioned herself pressing her foot on the gas, roaring into the Karnataka wilderness in a plume of dust, with the diamond and flute safely tucked away in her bag.
She listened to the shower and rounded the bed, looping the key-ring over her thumb. By the time Vikram found transport, she’d be halfway to Maharashtra. Lisabeth glanced furtively at the bathroom door and then at the safe where a fortune of treasure was housed.
Vikram had been in the shower for an age and Lisabeth knew that her time to escape was limited, decreasing by the second. Everything in her life, for so many years, had been reliant on speed, agility and cunning. She didn’t doubt her ability to outwit Vikram; she was the one in possession of the Flute of Immortality, after all.
Lisabeth understood herself well enough to know her emotions were governing her head, and she was letting her body’s sexual urges make decisions for her. Sex was, and had always been, a way in which she could vent the adrenaline rush that came on the heels of a successful raid. She enjoyed momentary bursts of pleasure with handsome, sexually competent men. Failing that, her fingers knew the exact notes to strum on her clit to reach a satisfactory crescendo.
What was not satisfactory, however, was collapsing into a trembling mess in the arms of an enemy. It wasn’t acceptable that moments after her climax had subsided she was already planning the next occasion in which she could make use of her agreement with Vikram.
Lisabeth clutched the keys in her hand and punched in the code for the safe.
She was running out of time.
* * * * *
Vikram took his time getting dried.
The shower had been, perhaps, the worst he had ever paid money for. In fact, he would wager that bathing under waterfalls in the Andhra Pradesh jungle had been more cathartic. The water had probably been warmer there too.
It was also his worst shower because, after bringing himself to orgasm under the spray, he still felt dissatisfied—as though he had somehow been robbed of the real thing.
Vikram was reflecting on this when he heard the low, whiny creek of the bedroom door. He went still, craning his neck to listen. The latch clicked shut and he sighed, dropping his chin to his chest. Women like Lisabeth were programmed to be devious but he had hoped she might wait at least until morning before trying something. Of course, he had known with a fair degree of certainty that she would try something, eventually.
He changed leisurely into a pair of sweats and a clean T-shirt, checking his reflection in the small, rectangular mirror above the sink. He needed a shave and a good night’s sleep.
Stepping out of the bathroom, Vikram crossed the bedroom and opened the door. The parking lot was empty, except for his Toyota, leading him to believe they were the only lodgers in the roadside establishment.
Vikram braced himself against the door frame, peering through the moonlit darkness at the shadow of her inside the car. Her head was bent, a look of agitated concentration marring her pretty features. He whistled and she jerked upright, staring out at him with startled, wide green eyes that registered surprise and, interestingly, guilt. Within a moment, Lisabeth was shrouded in defeat.
&n
bsp; She pushed open the car door, swinging her feet to the pot-holed ground.
“I believe you’re missing a battery,” Vikram said.
Lisabeth snatched her backpack in one hand, storming across the lot toward him, her strides jerky with agitation.
“You took the battery out of the car?” she asked. Her knuckles were white around the strap of her bag.
Vikram smiled slowly, reaching out to tuck a strand of loose hair behind her ear. He leaned forward, watching her stiffen at his proximity. His mouth was close to her cheek and her sweet, honeysuckle scent made him inhale before he spoke. “I might have made you come twice today, Lisabeth, but I’m not a fool. You’re no less a scheming bitch now than you were this morning.” He took the backpack from her slackening hand, patting the outline of the heavy golden flute. “I’m just protecting my interests.”
Her jaw clenched as she slipped past him, back into the room. He saw something flash in her eyes—perhaps contempt, but Vikram was more inclined to believe it was annoyance directed toward herself. Lisabeth had been outwitted and it made her skin crawl to think someone else was a step ahead of her. Vikram, on the other hand, was delighted to have had the foresight to remove the battery. It hadn’t even taken him a full day to get into the nuances of her mind and work out how she ticked. Rather, it had been somewhat simple—if there was an opportunity to be devious, Lisabeth was going to snatch it with both hands—and people like that never changed.
She had stripped down to a pair of cotton panties and a navy T-shirt. The dark contrasted against her alabaster skin and the hemline emphasized her endless legs. Vikram realized that although he did not trust her for even a passing second, he was certainly aroused by her. Even in her humble attire, Lisabeth oozed a potent kind of sex appeal. She was the oily, long-limbed goddess of Calvin Klein posters. The kind always taken in black and white, to look gritty, arty…alluring.
Lisabeth pulled back the light top sheet on her bed and crossed the room to crank up the air-conditioning. She did not say a word as she climbed onto the mattress.
Vikram removed the flute and diamond from the bag, permitting himself opportunity to inspect the pink Lotus Star. He was sure the brilliant gem would fetch Lisabeth a fortune. This diamond had been cut long before the days of laser inscriptions and there would be little waste if a buyer decided to cut it into several large stones for jewelry. If it was his, though, Vikram would have kept it as it exactly as it was.
Lisabeth propped herself against two thin pillows and crossed her legs. The T-shirt crept up her thigh, revealing her slender hip. “Where is your next hit?” she asked casually, combing her hair with her fingers. The dark tresses fell about her shoulders in sleek waves now she had removed the tight braid.
Vikram returned the items to the safe and slammed the door shut. “The flute was supposed to be my last job,” he told her. He wondered how she could so readily deceive one moment and transform to a conversationalist in the next.
“But now you’ve changed your mind?” she prompted, twisting her hair.
“I received some information in Tamil Nadu that made me reconsider, yes.” Vikram climbed onto his own bed, removing a container of Bombay mix from his bag. It had been hours since they had eaten and his stomach was knotting in protest.
“People like you never give up the chase,” Lisabeth said, drawing her knees to her chest.
“What exactly does that mean? How am I any different than you?” Vikram asked. Despite wanting her to suffer for her treachery only moments earlier, he extended the container of mix toward her.
Lisabeth took a handful and began to pick through the spicy contents. “I’m not saying we don’t have similarities. Only that I can stop living this life any time I choose.” She abandoned her efforts to separate the lentils from the noodles and tipped the whole lot into her mouth, brushing her hands together to remove the residue of spice. She chewed and swallowed before continuing. “You’re one of these people who need the thrill of the chase. Like a hardcore adrenaline junkie.”
Vikram shook his head. “I hardly think you are any different,” he said. “I can’t imagine you sipping iced-tea from a cottage nestled in a nice, quiet cove.” Lisabeth shrugged, not bothering to deny it. “I have one more thing to attend to and then I will disappear.” He offered her the container again and she shook her head.
“Disappear where?” Lisabeth asked, wrapping her arms around her knees. She looked almost vulnerable with her chin resting upon her legs and her hair covering her cheeks.
Vikram studied her for a long moment. “It’s not really disappearing if you tell people where you are going.” Eventually, he shrugged. “I think, most probably, Polynesia.” In fact, he had carefully planned his retirement—had put the wheels in motion to acquire the perfect thirty-two-acre private island. He could already feel the sun on his skin, the sugary sand between his feet and smell the coconut. In six months, Vikram was absolutely certain he would be testing out the warm Oceania waters and relaxing in a hammock. And he would not miss the thrill of the chase.
Lisabeth swept her hair from her face. “Where is your last job?” she asked.
Vikram laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t think so. Do you think I’m going to risk another situation like this?” He gestured to their shabby room, then to the locked safe. “After Rajasthan I hoped never to cross paths with you again.”
Lisabeth smiled slowly, a knowing and not-altogether-pleasant smile.
“Neither of us believes that,” she told him. “You can at least tell me what it is then?”
He tossed back another handful of nuts and lentils, chewing thoughtfully. Lisabeth watched his movements, trying as always to gauge him. She was worrying at her lower lip, concentrating hard.
“It’s a sword,” Vikram said.
“What sword?” Lisabeth visibly straightened, her interest piqued.
Vikram sealed the container of mix with an audible click. “That’s all you’re getting,” he said. “Lights out. We have an early start in the morning.”
After the room was plunged into darkness, Lisabeth lay on her back and listened to the hum of the air-conditioning as it struggled to cool the humid air. She let the drone lull her into an almost meditative state as she stared upward at the ceiling, drawing patterns with shadows cast by the moonlight.
She knew better than to attempt to make another run for it. Vikram probably wouldn’t be so forgiving if she tried anything else en route to Mumbai.
“Is it a mythical sword?” she asked him, the sound of her voice piercing the darkness, almost loud. He was silent, and for a few beats she wondered if he was feigning sleep. Then she heard his sigh—an infinitesimal noise. “Oh,” she said. “It is. You have quite an interest in the mythical, don’t you? First the flute…and now a sword. Let’s see…” Lisabeth clicked her tongue in thought. “Which region is it in? I’m guessing it’s not Asian. You’ll be giving Asia a wide berth for a while, I expect.”
The profile of Vikram’s face in the darkness was hard and unrelenting. Lisabeth thought it fun to tease him, especially after the stunt he had pulled with the car battery. The man was shrewder than she had initially given him credit for.
“Scandinavia?” she tried. “Norse mythology?”
“Give up, Lisabeth. Even if you did guess right, I wouldn’t say.”
She mulled it over, trying to predict what kind of artifact would get Vikram’s pulse in a flurry. Lisabeth reflected upon it silently until she felt tired, the events of the day finally bringing her adrenaline to a screeching halt. She thought of a dozen famous swords and filed their names away in her mind for further probing at a later time, before falling into a slumber filled with erotic imagery of the day.
Chapter Eight
Lisabeth woke with a start, bolting upright on the bed.
Sunlight fanned across the dreary room in golden slants, stinging her eyes as she tried to orientate herself to the unfamiliar surroundings. It felt as though the day before had been one lon
g, intricate and fantastical dream. Yet, as Lisabeth rose from the bed, the recollections came fast—like a blurry picture becoming clear.
The bathroom door was closed and the creaking pipes indicated that Vikram was taking another shower.
Lisabeth glanced at her watch and saw it had barely gone past five-thirty and yet she felt as though she had been asleep for an eternity, dreaming about diamonds and flutes and angry businessmen.
And sex.
Her heart immediately gave a flutter, and she turned her thoughts to Vikram Singh.
She could imagine his smooth, mocha-colored skin and the sprinkling of coarse, dark hair trailing over his firm belly. The picture was a pleasant start to the day and one which set her pulse racing. There had been no other man in her life—ever—who’d had the ability to make her forget about the next big raid, or the masses of money that could be transferred to her bank account. Lisabeth had been solely focused on being an exceptional thief for such a long time that personal feelings stirring at her mind, and her loins, was a distracting notion. Her sexuality had never blossomed so fiercely before.
Getting to her feet, Lisabeth stretched her arms above her head and rolled her neck. This place needs to invest in some better pillows, she thought when her muscles gave a painful twitch.
The pipes ceased to protest as the water stopped and only the hum of the air-conditioning—which had miraculously survived the night—penetrated the early-morning calm.
Overcome with uncharacteristic vanity, Lisabeth checked her reflection in the mirror. She looked okay—a little disheveled, but her under-eyes were blotch-free and she looked refreshed. Refreshed and horny, she thought as she flashed herself a cheeky wink. Vikram might just get lucky this morning. If he hadn’t already satisfied his own urges in the shower again. Somehow, Lisabeth didn’t think it would prevent him from stepping forward for round two though.
