by Lisa Torquay
Neither was Tariq able to prevent himself from drinking in her beauty. He strolled his eyes to her dishevelled hair, her perfect face, her smooth skin and her full breasts under the tunic. There must be no more dazzling woman to look at, he marvelled.
His kaftan came off as he usually slept without it. He’d been lying dressed in respect for her. Next, he unfolded the blankets and pulled her to lie down with him. In need to sleep holding her, like the other night. His sensuous lips blew the lamp.
But Lucinda found it impossible to keep still. Her hands wandered his muscled body, recognising his powerful shoulders, his thick neck, the smooth skin of his back and his deliciously haired chest. His manly scent drew her closer and their entire bodies touched.
He groaned with her caresses and moved his hips, so that she was able to detect how hard he became. “Lucinda.” He breathed. “You have no mercy on me!” He grazed her neck.
Lucinda just smiled in the dark and drew on. Exploring further, she couldn’t help it.
He sneaked his hand under her tunic. “You give me no choice.” And his mouth dived over hers.
This time everything happened slower and savoury. They touched each other everywhere as if they’d be laying in this tent their entire lives. After a long while, they took each other to the heights of passion.
Tariq opened his eyes just before dawn. His body spent, relaxed. Lucinda’s limbs and his entangled, her hair spilled over the cushions. They’d done very little actual sleeping during the night. Completely unable to stop himself, he sought her again and again. No getting enough of touching her. If time stretched endless, he’d start over and over to no end. But he had to get up and begin the decamping. Delicately, he moved his arms from her, not to disturb her. It tore at him to have to interrupt the most delightful night of his life. He dressed and left regretfully.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The day well advanced, the sun had already passed the mid-sky as Lucinda sat in her camel, which reins Tariq held. Oblivious to the amazing landscape around, her mind replayed the night over and over with the due effects on her body. How was it possible? They’d been satiating each other all night. Regardless, she craved more, never getting her fill of him. Would she ever?
He hadn’t turned his head to her once. Good, because, if he did, he’d read her starvation. It must be all over her, even though her veil covered her face. But not her eyes. And they’d give her away, certainly.
Tariq kept his head unmoving ahead. If he so much as cast the briefest glance at Lucinda, he’d pull her behind the next rock and take her. Hard and fast. The day dragged on as his guts wrenched with impatience for the night. He needed her. At once. Never had a woman catalysed him so irrevocably. He didn’t know why. He hadn’t even wondered. Didn’t care. All he cared about was that the sun set. Next minute.
Towards the end of the afternoon, they reached another village where they’d stop. As soon as they sat foot in its only dusty lane, sided by whitewashed flat houses, every single villager came to watch them pass.
Tariq and his ten men looked at those people quizzically. The populace murmured ‘Princess of the Desert’. He realised this was because of Lucinda and what happened to the band of thieves they’d met yesterday. He marvelled. Mere twenty-four hours dragged like a lifetime. So much had gone on since then.
Lucinda understood what the villagers had been murmuring, but the praise seemed a little too much. She had done nothing grand really, just scratched a few hands and that had been it.
Tariq unloaded his goods in the small caravanserai and overheard the talk among his men and the villagers. Apparently, the band had been plaguing this area for a long time. The villages scattered about this part of the route became extremely weary of them. Men from the band told the tale of a woman who shot like a djin, and it spread like wildfire.
No problem about that, he thought. But the outrageously steep offers to buy her began to get him in foul mood. She belonged with him, only him. Nobody else’s! And these people possessed little riches. How would they afford the amounts they flaunted? Senseless. His already impatient mood did not take it very much. He raked his hand through his hair. Not enough that he was febrile with desire for her. Now these other men wanted her too. Hell and damnation. He made an inhuman effort to focus on his work and get it done.
In the lodgings the villagers offered, Lucinda enjoyed the bath Tariq had requested for her. This tub more appropriate for clothes washing, smaller than the ones she used at home. The room appeared like the other lodges she’d been to: rug on the floor, latticed window, mattress on the rug and cushions. The fading twilight outside and the lamp inside cast a fiery light on the whitewashed walls.
The door opened with an impatient click. She lifted her eyes. Tariq. Her heart skipped a beat and started pounding like war drums. Obsidian hair ruffled, stubble shadowed his handsome face and his tall frame dominated the room. Those cognac eyes on her hour-glass figure. If she did not already sit, her knees would have given.
“You’ve become quite popular.” The hoarseness of the comment betrayed him. He looked at her. The tub was too small, and the water covered her only up to her ribs, leaving her dusky breasts bare. The water flapping over and under them so intensely erotic he turned instantly hard as a rock. She stared at him bathed in the lamp light, her lips parted, her delicious hips visible through the water.
Their gazes met and lightning struck the room. Her eyes darkened. “Over little more than nothing, I’m afraid.” The answer breathy and low, seductive. Her body responded under his scrutiny, made her turn to jelly and she melted further. Chestnut hair floated about her shoulders, grazing her sensitised skin.
He strode to her like a panther, his kaftan waving, and knelt beside the tub. “The men in the village want you.” His murmur edgy and vexed. Lowering his head, his mouth sought her breast, hungry as he filled the other hand with the other full mound.
Lucinda moaned with the intense sensation, her head fell back and her wet hand grabbed his sleek hair. Her core burned like lava, the whole world tunnelled on him touching her.
Her breast sucked deep in his mouth while his thumb and forefinger tortured her even more. He lifted his head and his eyes found hers in a haze. “But you’re mine!” Abruptly, he took her from the tub and lay her on the rug, water dripping all around, her wet hair spilling everywhere.
He came over her, breath irregular. “Only mine!” And his mouth captured hers in a thirsty-like-the-desert kiss. He made her open for him until the kiss became total consumption and engulfed them in a desperate paradise. He turned his head to gain more access to her, and she opened even more for him as he embraced her under her watery back.
The sensations in her body seared deeper. She was completely involved, immersed in the way he made her feel. It was like a cloud of warm steam had enveloped her body, soul and mind in irreversible surrender. All she had in her, she gifted to him.
The feel of his clothed strong body against her wet one enticing. She embraced him, arms and legs, wanton and eager. She took off his kaftan in hasty movements, her hands demanding contact with his smooth skin.
Tariq became so hard he believed he might explode at any moment. His arms braced him as he looked into her pepper-mint eyes. “Lucinda, I need you!” His breath short and quick. “I can’t wait!”
She required no more encouraging. In total blur, she lowered his sirwaal, mesmerised as his straining, hot manhood popped out. Next second, he took her in one delicious long stroke. Her head fell back, moaning in utter delectation when his fingers found the swollen desire in her middle.
The sound of her, the pleasure that overtook him robbed him of any control. He thrust deep, and then he thrust deeper, extracting sighs and more urgent sighs from her.
He didn’t have a clue as to what all this meant. His voracity for her so intense, his mind so clouded, his heart so wrenched, he acted by instinct, letting go of any care. What mattered was having her in his arms, the rest be damned. This crave he had for
her surpassed any carnal desire, it sank to more profound levels and rendered him at her mercy.
She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms firm about his neck, holding him tight as if she would drown. He continued lunging as their short breaths mingled. His repeated strokes drove her to the edge. “Tariq, more!” She held him tighter. “More!” She panted in his ear.
“Lucinda…I…” He breathed heavily. And then she plunged in a delirium of ecstasy, carrying him with her, as they submersed in a sea of pleasure. Tariq planted himself in her further, face contorted, and lost everything he had to her. “Lucinda.” He grunted, when there was nothing left.
He fell on her while their bodies entwined in a mess of release and exhaustion.
A long time later, Tariq sat in the small tub of already lukewarm water and Lucinda took the washcloth to bathe him. She crouched behind him, out of the tub. His long legs crossed and his torso out of the water.
She slid the washcloth from his strong neck and his muscled shoulder. He propped his head against her breasts and sighed with delight.
“People heard about the skirmish, I gather.” The washcloth washed one of his taut arms.
“Yes. You’ve become famous.” The drawl spoke of delectation.
“Over so little?” The cloth travelled down the other arm. Water splashed over him.
“Never had a woman taken such actions.” His wet obsidian hair tickled her skin.
“Circumstances make us do what has to be done.” Now she rubbed his hair sprinkled chest, one olive nipple.
He moaned with her touch. “I agree. You have to understand this is very foreign for them.”
“As it may be for you.” She dared him to admit it.
”True, but I have a certain awareness of different ways of living.” Her loose hair fell around her shoulders and caressed his back. Only under threat he’d confess how much he strained for her safety.
She tilted her head behind him. “It won’t hurt if your desert villagers learn a little of it too.” The cloth slid slow down his chest, following the narrow trail of soft wet hair, leading under the water. When she found his alert manhood, she started to ‘wash’ it, naughtily.
“Lucinda!” He groaned. “What are you doing?”
“Bathing you, of course.” She answered casually. And the cloth rose and fell. That body part reacted ever fierier. Rose and fell. It twitched. Rose and fell. It wept.
“Lucinda, please!” He murmured in agony. “The villagers are expecting us for the gathering.” This one would be special, he predicted, because of the last events.
“How unfortunate!” She mocked.
She continued his ‘bath’ and he closed his eyes, savouring her caresses. The washcloth gave special attention to his hardened tip. Tariq gulped air.
“Tariq.”
“Hm.”
“I was wondering…” Her other hand ‘washed’ his muscled thigh.
He gulped more air. “What?” He could barely speak now.
“You did…things to me with your mouth.” She’d left the cloth and had wrapped her hand around his stony shaft. Paused. And her hand started moving ever so slowly up and down its thick long length.
“Yes?” His voice hoarse.
“So I was wondering if I…can do the same.” Her hand moved up and down quicker.
A jolt of lightning took him over at the image of her kneeling before him with his flesh in her mouth. Blast, but she was a quick study! Her hand and his fantasies tortured him.
“Naturally.” He croaked, his hips pushing up, seeking release, his hard tip reaching the surface, standing proud and ready.
“Oh.” She said simply and stood up, a mischievous smile on her face.
“Lucinda!” Her name a demand.
“We have to go, you said.”
Damn woman! She played with fire! Later she’d see her actions ‘rewarded’, he promised himself.
Indeed, much later that night, he was the one rewarded with her ‘quick study’ methods.
Next day they hit the road early as usual. The sun merely up and the silhouette of the rocky hills in the horizon punctuated the sandy landscape. Lucinda admired the view as Tariq pulled the reins of her camel. They headed straight north now. Inexorably falling in love with the desert, she admitted. The vastness, the tawny shades tinted by the sun and coated by deep blue sky. The cool nights embroidered with millions of stars.
Or millions of kisses. The nights, oh, cool outside, steamy inside. Raw passion, melding bodies. The idea of the desert would always evoke the nights she spent in his arms. Who would blame her? She wasn’t made of stone and she discovered an inner earthy nature, which she didn’t regret at all. Their joining happened so searing that inwardly she knew how to respond to him. It came from how he made her feel, not from experience.
Lucinda yawned, as the camel rocked ahead. Not that she had slept a lot last night, or the night before, for that matter. The gathering in the village proved cheerful, with the women giving her a lot of attention and the men watching her surreptitiously. Men didn’t usually talk to women in public, unless they worked as vendors and buyers in a market, or some such. She sensed Tariq guarding her from a distance, he’d sat with the men’s group, his body tense, his eyes alert.
And when bedtime came, well, better not remember it. Her skin would revive every moment and end up craving more. As if she didn’t already.
A thunder of horse hooves, pounded behind them. Lucinda started and turned her head back. A group of face covered men. A cold shiver ran through her spine. The band of thieves.
They flew upon them in seconds, shouting, coming from behind the hills. Not a chance to escape. Camels rode much slower than horses, and, loaded with goods, they were heavier. The caravan halted at Tariq’s raised hand. His fingers tightened on her camel’s reins.
Covered-faces surrounded the caravan’s head, armed with their muskets pointed at them. They were six or seven. The leader advanced a little more to near Tariq. Not so tall, piercing dark eyes shone through the rags smothering his face. His soiled kaftan of a poorer fabric, his horse ill-treated. The other criminals dressed like him and their horses showed the same condition.
The leader looked at Tariq and said something, his chin motioning to her. Lucinda understood scattered words. The woman…no harm…the riffles. They wanted to take her and the fire arms with the—doubtful—promise to leave the caravan in peace.
Blind revolt dominated Tariq’s guts. He would gladly give everything he had. But Lucinda. Never her. Never! To think what could happen to her in the hands of those villains. A cold rage and a fierce sense of protection overtook him.
Lucinda perceived his reaction. He’d put his life in danger if he acted so hot headed. She wanted to shield him from doing something unwise, even if she knew he’d twist his nose at the idea of a woman protecting him.
“I’ll go with them.” She murmured to him under her breath. “We don’t want bloodshed.”
His cognac-against-fire eyes darted to her and they burned with fury. He said nothing, but her demeanour did. It told him to keep calm. A worked up temper would blur his clear mind. For her, he tamped down his emotional reaction and his expression shuttered. Tariq would do what he did best. Negotiate.
He turned to the leader and talked to him even-voiced. “You can take the riffles, not the woman.”
The leader gave a loud mocking laugh. “We are not one of your buyers!” He stopped laughing. “We’re taking what we want!” A simple order.
Tariq stared at him striving to keep serene. He had to find a way out of this. He couldn’t bear the idea of Lucinda being harmed in any way. Not even a scratch. If something happened to her, he’d follow the band to the end of the world and rip them off it.
“Tell her to dismount and to walk to my horse slowly.” The leader commanded. “We are going to teach her what happens to those who shoot right hands.
She observed them behind her veil. Three of them had their right hands wrapped in rags, una
ble to carry guns properly, she reckoned. Good. A plan already forming in her head. Timing would be essential now.
“He wants you to dismount and go.” His voice hollow. “I’ll follow them and rescue you, be sure of that.” He lowered his head and muttered. “If you manage to escape, follow north, there’s a village not far from here.”
His trust in her skills hit her as a flattering surprise. She just blinked to show acknowledgement and moved to dismount. But what she did was throw herself on the ground, faking a fall. The sand warmed her back through her tunic and her sandals filled with hot grains. She lay on the floor holding her knee, as if she’d hurt it, screaming.
The leader looked at her, suspicious. She intensified her act. Surreptitiously, she surveyed the other men. Not so well nourished, she concluded. Tariq’s men could easily overcome them. Determined not to give in by any means, she kept her focus.
Tariq moved to dismount to help her. The leader nudged his musket on him to prevent him from doing it. The idea she could have hurt herself stung him. She wouldn’t be fit for a runaway if the opportunity presented itself. The exertion of maintaining a cool mind and not taking action made his muscles tense. He congealed, waiting for things to unfold as chilling sweat ran down his skin and his heart pounded a war-like tattoo.
Still pointing the gun to Tariq, he dismounted his horse, vigilant. He paced to where she lay and crouched next to her, gun trained on Tariq. His filthy stink invaded her nostrils, causing her stomach to churn. He commanded her to something, but she didn’t move. Tariq said something, probably that she didn’t understand their language. The leader seemed exasperated. Laying the musket on the ground, he made to lift her. But she moved quick as lightning at the cue. She grabbed the musket and pointed it at him. And glared at his sooty face head on, intent on her endeavour. Her stance didn’t flinch as she fully communicated she’d shoot if he reacted.
