by Lane, Nina
Gerald lifted his eyebrows. “Rohan? He’s very loyal. No reason to dislike him at all.”
“I don’t know. He gives me funny looks.”
“He’s just not used to you being here yet,” Gerald said. “Give him a chance.”
“I’m not so sure I’d be comfortable with him in the house when you’re gone,” Devora said, sitting down at the dressing table to unpin and brush her hair.
“Darling, please don’t be difficult about this. Rohan is a very decent sort of chap. He’s been with me since I first arrived here.”
“If you say so,” Devora muttered.
“Now don’t sulk about it.” Gerald paused behind Devora and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. “I know it’s an adjustment having servants about, but you’ll get used to it. You’re just still weary from traveling and socializing.”
“Perhaps.”
Gerald put his hands on her shoulders and massaged her muscles gently. “Come to bed. We can talk about this in the morning.”
His hands moved down to caress her breasts through the fine fabric of her slip. Devora’s body reacted instantly, her nipples hardening into stiff peaks against her husband’s hands. She looked at the movement of his hands in the mirror, finding it highly erotic to watch him touching her. He rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, then pressed his groin against her back so that she could feel the stiffening bulge in his trousers. Rotating his hips slightly, he rubbed his pelvis against her spine in a sensual movement that sent a wave of pure warmth to Devora’s lower body.
“Come to bed,” Gerald repeated in a husky voice.
He moved away from her and stripped off his clothes to reveal his slender, muscular body. Devora looked at him in the mirror, admiring the lean lines of his muscles and the shaft of his cock projecting forth from the nest of curls. Gerald pushed aside the gauzy mosquito net that hung over the bed like a canopy.
Devora stood, letting her slip fall from her shoulders and onto the floor in a silken puddle. Simply the way that Gerald was looking at her with such hunger heightened her own arousal tenfold. She went and placed her palms flat against his hairy chest, toying with the flat coins of his nipples, kindling the spark between them that had lain dormant for so long. Her blood began to pulse with fervor as Gerald lowered his head and pressed his lips against hers.
With a moan, Devora parted her lips to let him inside, loving the way his tongue stroked over the glossy surface of her teeth and licked the corners of her mouth. She grasped his penis in her hand as they sank down onto the bed, bodies sliding together with a desire that seemed intensified by their months apart. She almost felt as if she were exploring his body for the first time, discovering the small mole on his hip, the configuration of his muscles, the heavy sacs between his legs..
“Ah, how good you feel.” Gerald stroked his tongue over Devora’s neck, licking a little path of fire over her skin and to her breasts. He sucked on her nipples, biting down on them gently and tracing her dark areolae as his hand slid down her moist abdomen.
Devora parted her legs and allowed him to dip his fingers into the hot fissure between her thighs. Gerald’s breath rasped heatedly against her breasts as he began to stroke the folds of her sex, readying her for his penetration. Devora had almost forgotten how wonderful it felt to touch and be touched by a man, and she sank willingly into the myriad of sensations evoked by their carnality.
Gerald thrust his finger back and forth in her humid passage, then moved down to the tight ring of her anus. After lubricating it with her fluids, he probed gently at the untried aperture. Devora gasped, tensing at first, but then Gerald pushed his finger into her, and a wealth of sensations fluttered through her body with such force that she cried out in pleasure.
“Oh, God, Gerald, do it,” she whimpered. “Fuck me now.”
Grasping his cock, she urged him towards her. Her body throbbed with heat, her nerves tightening as her tension began to mount. She rubbed the head of his penis over her sex, a movement that caused Gerald to groan low in his throat. Slowly he slid into her, filling her channel with slow, lush ease. Devora clutched his buttocks and pulled him against her. She arched her back as he began pumping inside her, creating a slick, easy rhythm that burned in her blood.
“Oh, harder.” Devora dug her fingernails into Gerald’s back as his hips worked frantically.
Gerald bent over her, rasping his tongue over her breasts, licking at the swollen, pink crests. He thrust into her once, so hard and fast that Devora’s body jerked in surprise and her eyes flew open rapturously. Gerald braced his hands on either side of her head as he began a firm, steady plundering. Devora fairly squealed her pleasure, her hips pumping upward to match his every stroke.
“Oh, Gerald, yes, like that,” she panted.
Her hand slipped down to the damp curls between her legs, and she rubbed frantically at the swollen nub as her throat arched and her expression grew strained. For a second, her entire body hovered enticingly on the precipice of rapture, and a final thrust from Gerald sent her over the edge. A scream broke from Devora with unrestrained abandon when violent trembles wracked her body. As Devora was still convulsing, Gerald pulled out of her and grasped his penis again, stroking the shaft rhythmically in his clenched fist before he groaned hoarsely and came on her belly.
“Oh, Christ.” With a grunt, Gerald flopped down next to Devora, his chest heaving. “God, Devora, you’re incredible.
Devora smiled languidly, stroking a hand down her damp body. Such uninhibitedness from a man who had fairly blushed at the idea of erotic sculpture. Devora was beginning to have a very clear idea of what kind of hypocrisy seethed underneath the proper, British veneer.
Gerald reached out and took Devora’s robe from the chair on which it was folded. “Put this on in case one of the servants should happen to come in at night. We don’t want to give them any ideas.”
Devora slipped into the robe. “I thought they already had plenty of ideas of their own,” she said. “According to some of the women at the party, the Indians have very lascivious natures.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, but this isn’t the most civilized of countries,” Gerald replied. “It’s best to be on guard.”
Devora rolled onto her side to look at her husband. She stroked her palm down his chest and touched the decreasing tumescence of his penis. “So, what have you done with yourself these last six months?” she inquired.
“Worked, of course.”
“I mean sexually.”
“Devora, really.”
Devora lifted herself onto one elbow and gazed down at him. “I’m serious. Have you had a mistress?”
“I’m not going to discuss this with you.”
“Was it that servant?” Devora persisted. “Kalindi?”
“Devora, for heaven’s sake.” Gerald glared at her and swung his legs over the side of the bed as he reached for his dressing gown. “I’m getting a drink.”
He stalked out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Devora rolled onto her back and stared up at the mosquito-net canopy. She was surprised to realize that she didn’t particularly care if Gerald had been unfaithful to her. Instead, she was somewhat intrigued by the idea of him and the Indian woman.
She wondered what they must look like naked together, how Gerald’s pale skin would contrast with Kalindi’s darker tones. And she wondered what they would do together, if Kalindi really did have some sort of innate eroticism that spilled forth in hot displays of carnality. And where had they done it, right here on the bed? Devora ran her hand over the wrinkled sheets, still warm from her and Gerald’s passion.
As she closed her eyes and began to drift into sleep, an image of her husband and the Indian woman appeared behind her eyelids. Limbs tangled together, moans emerging from their throats, sweat bathing their skin. A tendril of arousal uncurled in Devora’s belly, spreading fingers through her loins.
Furtively, she slipped her fingers through the damp curls of he
r mons and into the furrow of her sex. The vision of her husband and the servant unfolded rapidly, images of Gerald’s thrusting hips, his cock sliding in and out of the woman’s tawny sex.
Devora gasped, pressing her fingertips hard against herself as her arousal intensified, as her mind swam with images of Gerald and Kalindi. With a cry, she thrust a finger into her slit. An orgasm rocked her body, shuddering through her like hundreds of little firecrackers. She sank back against the pillows and absorbed every last sensation.
Heavens, she thought, two intense orgasms within the span of an hour. Maybe there was truth in the statement that India brought out the carnal nature of a person. How utterly delicious.
***
CHAPTER THREE
Gerald stepped onto the veranda, filling his lungs with the humid, spicy air of India. He’d been thrilled to receive a posting here, knowing that it would not only further his career, but that the experience would simply appeal to his sense of adventure. And, of course, it didn’t hurt having Devora with him now.
Over the past six months, his physical needs had been well met by Kalindi, but he’d missed Devora’s rather lusty nature. He just hoped she wouldn’t make a habit of complaining about the servants. Or of pressing him about his extramarital affairs.
He turned at the sound of Rohan’s soft footsteps and eyed the tall Indian. Whatever Devora’s problem was with the man, Gerald was certain that it must be in her imagination. Why, Rohan had barely spoken to Devora, let alone exhibited any cause for concern.
“Sahib, a messenger from the maharaja’s palace in Varitsar is here. He wants to know if you plan to attend the maharaja’s dinner party on Saturday evening.”
“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten about that. Yes, you might as well tell him that we’ll be there. Devora will enjoy visiting a prince’s palace.”
Rohan hesitated.
“What?” Gerald asked.
“I don’t believe the memsahib was invited.”
Gerald frowned. “What are you talking about? Of course she was invited. She’s my wife.”
“Yes, but the invitation arrived a month ago before she was even here,” Rohan replied.
“Well, then, send a message that I’ll be attending the dinner party with my wife,” Gerald snapped. “Good God, the maharaja wouldn’t uninvite me because of that.”
“Yes, sahib.” With a slight, respectful bow, Rohan went back into the house to convey the message.
Gerald turned back towards the yard and caught sight of Kalindi coming up the narrow pathway that led to some of the servants’ quarters. She had a waterpot tucked underneath her arm, and even from a distance, Gerald could hear the soft tune she was humming.
She glanced up and saw him standing on the veranda, then smiled and approached him. “Good afternoon, sahib.”
“Hello, Kalindi.”
“Your wife is enjoying herself?”
“Yes, thank you. She admires India very much.”
Kalindi paused at the bottom of the steps and looked up at him. She was quite an attractive young woman, the curves of her breasts and hips clearly evident beneath the folds of her sari. Gerald had vivid memories of sliding his hands and lips over those very curves.
“I am not seeing you in a few days,” she said.
“I’ve been busy.”
“I know. Perhaps you will come this evening?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Gerald replied, thinking that at least the girl had realized that any future liaisons wouldn’t take place in Gerald’s bedroom.
“Gerald?”
Gerald swore softly under his breath at the sound of Devora’s voice. He turned and saw her step onto the veranda. She looked both cool and pretty in an off-white dress with a broad, floppy hat dangling from her fingers. In the week that she had been in India, a sprinkling of freckles had decorated her nose. They gave her a very charming look.
Devora’s gaze went from Gerald to Kalindi. “Hello.”
“Memsahib,” Kalindi murmured deferentially.
“I was just instructing Kalindi on her duties for the afternoon,” Gerald said.
“I see.” Devora sank down into one of the wicker chairs and crossed her legs. “How thoughtful of you to inform her yourself rather than telling Rohan, as you do for all the other servants.”
Gerald frowned. “Don’t start, Devora.”
Devora looked at Kalindi assessingly, as if she were trying to determine something that wasn’t readily apparent. “Where are you from?” she asked.
“A town called Cawnpore.”
“And what brings you here?”
“Work, memsahib.”
“Ah, I see. Lots of work available, I imagine.”
“Devora!” Gerald snapped out her name.
Her eyes went innocently to his. “I’m just asking questions, darling.”
“Kalindi, that will be all for now.” Gerald waved his hand in a dismissing motion. “You may leave.”
Kalindi nodded and walked off, the tune of her humming drifting on the slight breeze. Gerald gave Devora a hard look.
“Devora, I won’t have you interrogating the servants, do you understand?” he said. “I told you that you shouldn’t associate with them, and I mean it. Do you understand me?”
She looked as if she were about to respond with a retort, but then her mouth compressed into a thin line. She nodded.
“Yes, I understand.”
“Good. Now I don’t want to have this conversation again.” Gerald removed his cigarette case from his jacket pocket and took out a cigarette. He tapped it against the case and lit it, drawing in a deep rush of smoke. “Now, I have some good news.”
“What good news?”
“The maharaja has invited us to a dinner party this Saturday at his palace in Varitsar.”
Devora’s eyebrows lifted. “A dinner party at the palace?”
“Yes. Everyone from around the district will be there, I’m sure, including British dignitaries.”
A spark of excitement lit in Devora’s expression. “Really? We’re going to the palace?”
Gerald smiled. “Yes. I hope you brought some evening dresses to wear.”
“Oh, I certainly did. My goodness, how exciting this is. Mrs. Thompson was just telling me about the maharaja.”
“Really? What did she say?”
“Well, she mentioned the rumor about his sexual perversities,” Devora said.
“Devora! You shouldn’t be talking about things like that.”
She blinked, giving him an innocent look. “I didn’t start the conversation, Gerald. Mrs. Thompson was all too eager to volunteer the information, including the part about his wife committing suicide because she couldn’t stand his sexual inclinations.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, that is the most salacious thing I’ve ever heard,” Gerald said disparagingly. “People just love to spread rumors about him. He’s a perfect gentleman in my estimation.”
“Your estimation appears to be based on only two or so meetings,” Devora remarked.
“That’s still more than Mrs. Thompson has had, I dare say,” Gerald replied. “Now, don’t go about spreading those kinds of rumors about the maharaja. He’s a politically astute figure, and we can’t risk upsetting relations between him and the British. I would hate to have him discover that the Assistant Collector’s wife is one of the gossip-mongers. Am I making myself clear?”
Devora yawned, patting her hand daintily over her mouth. “Yes, darling. Forgive me, but I fear I’m still suffering a bit from the journey.”
“No doubt. I thought you were going to the ladies’ bridge party this afternoon.”
“Yes, that’s at three.” She rose, brushing the wrinkles from her skirt. “Perhaps I’ll take a little nap before then.”
“Good idea. And, Devora?”
She looked at him. “Yes?”
“Don’t cause trouble.”
Devora smiled and walked over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Oh, darling, of course I won’
t. You simply worry too much.”
“Heavens, I’ve got butterflies in my stomach.” Devora secured her final hairpin and examined herself critically in the mirror. She wore her best dress, a deep blue, silk gown with a beaded bodice. A strand of pearls decorated her neck. She turned to look at Gerald, who looked quite stunning in a tuxedo and bow-tie.
“You look lovely, darling. I’ve never seen you look so beautiful.” Gerald patted Devora on the bottom, then gave it a quick squeeze.
“What does one call a maharaja? Sir? Your Highness?”
“I’ve always called him ‘sir,’ so I believe that’s appropriate unless you hear someone call him something else.”
“Must we take a carriage there? The roads are so dusty.”
“No, I’ve managed to procure a car for the evening.” Gerald pulled out his watch and flicked it open. “Darling, we’d better leave or we’ll be late.”
“All right, I’m ready.” Devora powdered her nose one last time, picked up her pocketbook, and followed Gerald outside. To her surprise, their previous driver wasn’t waiting at the car for them. Instead, Rohan stood next to the open car door. He looked rather magnificent in a white jacket and black trousers, his expression as stoic as ever.
“What’s he doing here?” Devora whispered to Gerald as he helped her up into the car.
“He drives when we’re going somewhere particularly important,” Gerald replied. “It has to do with prestige among the servants, I believe.”
Devora settled into her seat, gazing out at the landscape, the ribbons of orange and gold that were just starting to paint the sky. The sun hovered like a huge, golden bubble above the distant hills.
They drove through the town of Calipore, a bustling mecca of noise and activity. White, sacred Brahmin cows wandered the streets placidly amidst the frenzy of the marketplace. Stalls lined the main street, each one filled with flowers, vegetables, silver jewelry, and bowls of colorful spices and dyes.
Devora couldn’t stop staring at the people, the Muslim women dressed entirely in black, the middle-class Indians wearing suits, the toothless beggars and poverty-struck children. The sights alone encompassed more uniqueness than she had imagined of India.
