by Pamela Clare
Malik couldn’t agree more. “Can you help us get the vehicle out?”
Ranger Tinubu pointed. “I have a winch on my truck. We can try to pull it out. Then I’ll guide you to a safer road.”
Malik helped Tinubu hook the truck to the rental, then took the driver’s seat, started the engine, and put the SUV in reverse just as Tinubu activated the winch. The vehicle rocked, seemed to slide forward, and for a moment Malik thought it was hopeless. Then abruptly the front tires came free, the vehicle lurching backward. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
Malik hit the brakes, cut the engine, and climbed out. He met Tinubu at the back of the vehicle and shook his hand. “Thank you, sir.”
This was going much better than he’d hoped it would.
“You are welcome. But now you must tell me the whole story. We Nigerians love stories, and yours sounds very interesting.”
Under normal circumstances, Malik wouldn’t share information with someone he didn’t know, but his gut told him he could trust Ranger Tinubu. His gut was rarely wrong. Malik and Kristi took turns explaining what had really happened and why Malik hadn’t been mentioned during the press conference.
Tinubu seemed impressed. “You went in alone?”
“I had no idea what the Sky Kings were or even that they were involved until afterward. Now we need to cross the border so we can catch a flight home.”
Tinubu shook his head. “If you’re trying to get to Benin, you must cross the Niger River. There are only a few bridges, and they are all on major highways. If you can’t cross the bridges, you will have to take a small boat.”
“Then we would have to leave the rental vehicle behind. What about the old railway bridge?”
Tinubu’s eyes went wide. “You would be crazy to cross there.”
“Is it still standing?”
“Oh, yes, it still stands. It is rarely used these days, but it is narrow and a hundred feet above the river.”
Kristi didn’t look happy to hear this. “A hundred feet?”
“Unless you have a better idea, that might be our only way to get across without being seen.”
Tinubu seemed to consider it. “You need your rental car, so you can’t take a boat. If they are blocking the roads and bridges… You have very few options, my friends.”
Tinubu went to his truck, grabbed a map—the old-fashioned kind—and spread it on the hood of his truck. “You are here. To safely reach the park boundary, you need to turn back, and follow this road here.”
Malik took a photo of the map with his phone.
“This route will take you the rest of the day. If you stop here, you can stay in our ranger cabin for the night. No one is using it now. There’s a key hidden beneath a rock next to the door. It is not fancy, but it has clean well water, solar power, a latrine, a bed and a stove for cooking. It also has its own fuel pump. It is much safer than sleeping in the open. You must be careful, because there are both bandits and poachers in the park, not to mention predators.”
“We saw a lion last night,” Kristi blurted. “It walked right past our vehicle.”
Tinubu’s face lit up. “Can you describe him?”
Kristi looked confused for a moment. “Well, he was big and had a mane and…”
Tinubu grinned. “Was his mane dark or light?”
“It was dark—and the tip of one of his ears was missing. Oh! He had a scar on his nose, too.”
Tinubu seemed delighted. “You met Oba. That is Yoruba for King. He is the oldest male in the park. Was it far from here?”
Kristi shook her head. “Maybe a few miles in the other direction. Malik stayed awake all night in case he came back this way.”
“I’m afraid you would not have been much of a match for dear Oba, Mr. Jones. But let us get on our way. You have far to travel.”
Kristi took the wheel in the afternoon, while Malik rode shotgun, rifle in hand.
“There it is.” He pointed.
The ranger cabin.
She turned off the rutted road and followed the tire tracks to the front door. “This is not what I was expecting.”
The cabin turned out to be a cute little thatch-roofed cottage that looked like it belonged in a children’s story. It stood back from the road in a clearing, its walls painted the same rust-red color of the soil, an old-fashioned water pump out front, the setting sun glinting off the glass panes of its single window. The only sign that this wasn’t some idyllic retreat were the iron bars over the window.
She parked, turned off the engine.
“Stay here, keys in the ignition and lock the doors. I’m going to clear the place.”
“Okay.” She had no idea what he meant by that. Clear it of what?
She watched while he climbed out, rifle in hand, and moved around the house, body tensed for action, rifle raised, finger on the trigger.
Damn.
He moved with the grace of a predator—and it turned her on.
He disappeared behind the cabin for a time, emerging on the other side. Then he retrieved the key from its hiding place, unlocked the door, and walked inside. A moment later, he stepped out, rifle pointing at the ground now. “Clear.”
She took the keys out of the ignition, hopped out, and got her backpack and one of her bags out of the back.
“You get inside. I’ll bring whatever I think we need.”
“Okay.” She went inside.
The place smelled of wood smoke and was dimly lit, one bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, a simple wooden shelf holding spices near the stove. A table with two chairs stood against one wall, the bed against the other. The bed wasn’t much bigger than the one they’d slept in at Amundsen-Scott, the mattress bare, no pillows to be seen.
Malik stepped inside with his duffel bag and a few bottles of water. “It’s not the Hilton, but it’s more secure than the forest.”
“Are you kidding? After Jidda’s hut and last night, this place is a palace.” She set her backpack down on the table, then went into nurse mode, checking beneath the mattress for creepy-crawlies and bedbugs.
“What are you doing?” Malik stood there watching, a puzzled look on his handsome face.
She used his language. “I’m clearing it.”
He watched, obviously still confused.
“Clear.” She settled the mattress back into place. “No bedbugs.”
“Good.” He chuckled, dropped his duffel onto the floor, unzipped it. “The latrine and gas pump are out back. Let’s get some grub, and then I need a few hours’ sleep.”
“Yes, you do.” She knew he must be exhausted. She’d once gone forty-eight hours without sleep when a bus full of school kids had gone off the road and rolled. By the end, she’d been running on fumes. By her count, Malik had been awake for about thirty-six hours now.
Malik held up a couple of MREs. “Do you want the spaghetti in meat sauce or the meatballs in marinara sauce?”
“You choose.” She sat at the table, set the hand wipes out for him to use. “You’re the one who stayed awake all night.”
“I’ve eaten both of these so many times…” He set them on the table, tore open the boxes, and went through the same process as this morning.
While they ate, they talked about what they’d seen along the way. Different kinds of monkeys. Another pangolin. A small herd of duikers. A mother warthog with her brood of three.
Kristi took her last bite of spaghetti, chewed. “I always wanted to go on safari. If we weren’t running from killers, it would have been a really fun day.”
He reached across the table, covered her hand with his. “We’ll get through this.”
She wanted to believe that. “I hope so.”
He collected their trash, packed it into a plastic bag, and shoved it into his duffel.
She spotted a water bucket by the door. “I’m going to go out and get some water to take a bath.”
“Let me do that.” He grabbed his rifle and the bucket and opened the door, glancing outside.
“You never know if one of Oba’s cousins is hanging around.”
He returned a few minutes later, bucket brimming. “It’s cold.”
“Good!” She unzipped her bag, took out a little washcloth and her bar of soap.
“I’m going to refuel the truck in case we need to leave in a hurry.” He grabbed the keys, and left once more, rifle still slung over his shoulder.
A moment later, she heard the SUV’s engine start.
Kristi undressed, set her clothes on the bed, then lifted the bucket of water onto the table. She dipped the washcloth to wet it, got it good and soapy, and then washed, starting with her face and moving down her body.
The cool water felt so good, sweat and dirt from the past two days washing away, leaving her skin clean.
She rinsed over the bucket with small handfuls of water, then bent over and washed her hair. She was in the middle of rinsing the shampoo out of her hair when the door opened and Malik walked in.
He shut the door, locked it, and stood there, watching. “Damn.”
She saw the lust on his face, felt the trill of desire. “Get a fresh bucket of water, and I’ll give you a bath.”
15
Malik set the bucket of clean water on the table, unable to take his eyes off the woman who stood naked before him, drying her hair with a towel, her breasts swaying, her brown skin damp. A few minutes ago, all he’d wanted was sleep.
Now, he wanted her.
He took the towel from her, dropped it on the table. “You’re so beautiful.”
Her black hair hung in thick ropes, her dark nipples peeking out from between the strands, already puckered. “Are you sure we should do this? I know you’re tired.”
“Oh, there’s no going back now, angel.” He caught her wrist, drew her to him, and bent down to kiss her, his body alive with anticipation, his cock already hard.
She kissed him back, her hands sliding beneath his T-shirt, cool fingers setting fire to his skin. She drew back, reached for his zipper. “Get naked, soldier.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He made short work of it, tossing his clothes and boots onto a chair, until they stood together in nothing but skin.
She took a clean washcloth, wet it, lathered it with soap, then rubbed it over his chest, abs, arms, and groin, cold water making him suck in a breath, his nipples drawing tight. She rinsed him and then knelt to wash his legs. “God, I love your body.”
He let her indulge herself, checking his own impulses to let her have her way, sliding his fingers into her wet hair. “I fantasized about you every damned night, Kristi.”
It was the truth.
She looked up at him through those beautiful dark eyes. “You ruined me for other men—not that there have been other men.”
“Good.” He felt a fierce wave of possessiveness, a question he hadn’t asked her now answered.
She stood, move behind him, her hands moving methodically over him, lingering on his shoulders, his hips, his ass, her touch raising goosebumps on his skin.
But the torture wasn’t over.
She rinsed him, pouring water over his skin, letting it pool on the wooden planks at his feet. She walked back to the table, set the washcloth aside, her sweet ass just beyond his reach.
At the end of his patience, he moved in on her, drew her back against him, one hand squeezing a breast, the other sliding between her thighs to cup her. “I want to fuck you so bad it hurts.”
“Yes.”
But this wasn’t going to be like the other night in the hotel.
He was going to make this last.
He closed his eyes, focused on the feel of her, the pebble-hardness of her nipple, the slick, sensitive nub of her clit, her silky skin.
She leaned against him, her hips moving in time to the motions of his hand, one of her hands holding onto his forearm for balance. “Malik.”
“I love how you say my name when you’re turned on.”
Her head fell back against his chest, her brow furrowed, her lips parted. “You’re so good at that.”
“At what? This?” He pinched her nipple, felt her tense. Then he ran his finger quickly back and forth over her clit. “Or this?”
All he got was a moan.
But he wanted more.
He pushed her up against the table, turned her to face him, kissed her hard and deep, breathing in the sweet scent of her skin, taking her breath into his lungs. She arched against him, her arms going around his neck, drawing him closer.
He lifted her off her feet, bore her back onto the table, then dropped to his knees, draping her knees over his shoulder. “I let you play. Now it’s my turn.”
He parted her, tasted her with a long, slow lick, her taste exploding on his tongue. Then he closed his mouth over her, suckling her clit, teasing it with his tongue, drawing it into his mouth.
She arched, moaned, her fingers sliding through his hair. “Malik.”
That sexy whisper again.
He found a rhythm, stayed with it, her clit swelling as he sucked, her breathing erratic, her body arching. He knew how to read her, knew she was close to coming. Oh, but he wasn’t going to make it easy for her.
He stopped, brushed kisses over her inner thighs, grinning at her frustrated moan.
“Maliiiik!”
This time, he started with his fingers, sliding two deep inside her, stroking her, letting it build before taking her with his mouth again, her scent filling his head, her taste sliding down his throat until he was drunk on her.
Again, he brought her to the brink, and again, he stopped, letting her cool down, making her wait, his blood burning for her.
“You’re torturing me.”
He chuckled, went back to work on her, until she twisted and writhed, forcing him to pin her hips to the table with an arm. Still, he kept up the rhythm, her body tensing, her climax drawing near.
“Oh, yes! Fuck! Yes!”
For eighteen long months, he’d had to remember the sexy sound of those cries.
Now he was going to make her scream.
He sucked hard, thrust his fingers deep—and felt her shatter.
She bucked, cried out, arching off the table, her inner muscles clenching around his fingers.
He stayed with her, made it last, until she lay limp and breathless.
He stood, smiled to see that her eyes were still closed, the aftermath of bliss on her sweet face. Then he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
Kristi felt Malik lower her to the bed and stretch out beside her. She looked into those intense dark eyes of his, his dilated pupils turning them almost black. She spread her legs for him, slid her fingers into his short hair, drew him down. “Kiss me.”
He settled his hips between her thighs and kissed her, soft and slow, his hard cock resting against her belly. Lord, he could kiss, the lips and tongue that had just made her scream teasing her, arousing her again, carrying her taste into her mouth.
He broke the kiss, looked down at her, one big hand moving over her, his gaze following his touch. “Kristi … angel. I missed you so much.”
He cupped one breast, lowered his head, and sucked her nipple into the heat of his mouth, the sweet tug of his lips sending jolts of arousal to her belly, rekindling the fire he’d just quenched.
Oh, she loved this, loved the way he made her feel desperate and needy, the way he made her ache as he feasted on first one breast and then the other, drawing her nipples to tight peaks. Then he reached between her thighs, careful with her, knowing she was hypersensitive now, the gentle probing of his fingers adding to her arousal, fanning the flames of lust.
She slid one hand along the curve of his back, drank in the feel of him, hard muscle shifting beneath soft skin. She was more than ready for him, but he wasn’t the kind of man to rush her. He always took his sweet time with her, never once putting his pleasure ahead of hers, slowly unraveling her until she came completely apart.
Oh, she was so far gone already, her body taut with sexual need and lon
ging for him. “I want you inside me.”
He lifted his head, grinned. “Yeah?”
“Now.”
He shifted his hips, lifted himself up, holding his weight with both arms.
But when she reached down to guide him inside her, he stopped her, drawing back, pulling his cock out of reach. “Not yet.”
Anticipation shivered through her.
That was the thing about Malik. He was amazing with his mouth and his fingers. He was even more amazing with his cock.
He rested his erection against her clit, made little thrusting motions with his hips, rubbing her with the head of his cock, the friction enough to make her want him even more, but not enough to make her come.
“You’re driving me crazy.”
“I love to watch you squirm.”
Soon, she was doing exactly that, her hips lifting, her body instinctively reaching for his. Then he reached down, rested the tip of his cock against the opening to her vagina—and she moaned. But he didn’t enter her—not yet.
Instead, he teased her, rubbing himself over her entrance, his brow furrowed with concentration—or pleasure. “You are so wet.”
When she couldn’t take it any longer, he nudged himself into her with deliberate and agonizing slowness, inch by delicious inch.
Kristi’s exhale became a long moan as he went deeper. She wanted all of him, wanted him to fill her completely. But he had other ideas.
He withdrew and then entered her slowly again… and again… until it was almost maddening. She reached down, took hold of his ass, tried to pull him into her. He chuckled, kept up his assault on her senses, not yielding to pressure.
Then without warning, he changed the pace, driving into her hard and fast a few times, making her cry out. Then he withdrew and entered her with another achingly slow thrust. He did this again and again, carrying her closer to the brink each time, only to leave her hanging.
“Malik.”
He chuckled again, but there was just a hint of a moan at the end, a tightness to his voice, proof that it was getting harder for him to hold on, too.
Two could play at this game.
