by Lane, Nina
She felt the maharaja draw slightly away from her. She opened her eyes, her breathing hard as she turned to look at a woman who stood before them. An incredibly beautiful woman, dressed in a dark green, silk sari and draped with gold jewelry. Her eyes were lined with kohl, and a small diamond pierced her nose. She wore dozens of gold bracelet and rings, including several on her toes.
Devora stared at her as if she were a vision out of nowhere. Good God, what if this was the maharaja’s wife?
“Who…” Devora swallowed hard and tried again. “Who are you?”
The woman looked at the maharaja, who nodded slightly.
“My name is Alpana,” she replied, her words hesitant and tinged with a heavy Indian accent. “I come to please you, yes?”
Devora looked from Alpana to the maharaja and back again, suddenly getting a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as she realized what Alpana was implying. “No!”
“Wait.” The maharaja put his hand over Devora’s, shaking his head as he started to laugh. “She means that she will bring us tea and sweets,” he said.
Devora’s heart was pounding so hard that she could hear it inside her head. “That didn’t sound like what she meant.”
The maharaja said a few words in Hindi to the woman, who padded off in a rustle of silk and gold. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hawthorne. Her English is not very good.”
A thought occurred to Devora as she recalled Kalindi’s words. “Is she part of your harem?”
The maharaja laughed again, that deep, throaty chuckle. “You’ve heard of my harem, have you?”
“Yes. Do you have one?”
“I do enjoy women, if that’s what you mean,” the maharaja replied.
“Does that mean yes?”
The maharaja shrugged and waved his hand towards one of the servants. “I fear I have frightened you.”
Devora didn’t reply, although she acknowledged that he had. She suspected this situation might present her with more than she had bargained for. Excitement was one thing, but to be confronted by a harem woman was quite another. Devora remembered her and Gerald’s last coupling when he had questioned her about her interest in other women. The mere memory caused a rush of heat to flood her body.
A different servant brought them cups of tea and a silver platter filled with milky sweets. Devora popped one of the sweets in her mouth and sipped her tea, trying to collect her thoughts. She licked sugar off her finger and eyed the maharaja.
“What exactly do you want from me?” she asked.
“Why, nothing at all, Mrs. Hawthorne.”
Devora smiled at the innocent tone to his voice. “Now, why don’t I believe that?”
The maharaja pressed a hand against his chest as if she had mortally wounded him. “I want to be your friend,” he said. “Can you accept my friendship?”
“That kiss felt a little more than friendly.”
“You didn’t like it? Then I will never attempt such a brash act again.”
Devora smiled again. Such melodrama. She surprised herself with her next words. “Well, I didn’t say that,” she said.
The maharaja glanced at her. “You would like it again?”
“Possibly.” Devora didn’t know what she was thinking, but she did know that the maharaja’s kiss had been a heady one. She didn’t even really consider the notion that she was being unfaithful to Gerald, for it felt as if she were in a completely different world, one removed from the conventions of Western propriety.
When the maharaja leaned towards her again, she didn’t pull away. She let him touch her lips with his in a kiss that again deepened slowly. Devora sank back against the pillows, her bones going weak as she let him move over her. Men had touched and kissed her before Gerald, but none possessed the same kind of seductive heat as the maharaja did.
His hands skimmed lightly over her body, lingering at the hard points of her nipples and the curve of her waist. His touch was feather-light, almost purposely gentle, as if he were afraid of scaring her away. His body pressed against hers. He was a large man, hardly slender, and the weight of his physique pushed Devora against her bed of pillows until she felt wholly surrounded by him.
She had never been so close to a man like him before, and her senses spun with a myriad of sensations. Her legs parted almost unconsciously to accommodate him, her blood surging as she felt his erection pressing against her thigh.
She closed her eyes. The maharaja slid his lips to her neck, flicking his tongue into the hot hollow of her throat. Sweat broke out on Devora’s forehead as she became immersed by heat, scents, and spice. The maharaja’s hands slipped underneath the wide straps of her dress, pulling them over her arms as he slowly bared her body to his gaze.
Devora’s breath caught in her throat as she realized the sheer magnitude of what was about to take place. She couldn’t have stopped him even if she wanted to, for she felt as if the tides of the ocean itself were rising inside her.
Some dim, rational part of her mind made her turn towards the door to see if the servant was still standing there, but the room was empty. Sunlight filtered through the marble lattice.
Pushing aside any lingering inhibitions, Devora gave herself up to the pure sensuality of her surroundings and her lover. As the maharaja cupped her breasts in his hands, he began murmuring words in Hindi that sounded exotic and musical.
Devora experienced a momentary fear that her slender, small-breasted body, so wholly different that the voluptuous, Indian fertility goddesses, would be displeasing to him. The maharaja soon alleviated her fears by fairly worshipping her body, stroking his hands and lips over her skin with a kind of reverence. He pushed her dress off her body, then threaded his fingers through the dark curls between her legs.
Devora lay back and let him touch her, awash in the feeling of another man’s hands on her. Warm and slow, the maharaja’s hands caressed her as if he had never touched a woman before. Devora wanted to tell him to take off his clothes, but then she recalled the paintings that contained images of half-dressed people. Maybe it was an Indian custom that men remained clothed during love-making.
The maharaja soon disproved Devora’s theory when he moved away from her and unfastened his kurta. His dark eyes burned with an edge of lust as he then pushed off his trousers to reveal the short, thick stalk of his penis. Devora’s gaze raked over him, his barrel-like chest and heavy belly, the darkness of his skin, the lush mat of black hair.
His stocky physique was not one that she would have normally considered beautiful, but then there was nothing normal about this situation. Need boiled inside her like an overflowing teapot. She wanted to be crushed and taken by him, to feel the weight of his body on hers.
A moan of pleasure escaped her when the maharaja leaned over her, his cock seeking out the humid fissure between her legs. Devora wrapped her arms around him, touching the abundance of his flesh and the strength of his body. His chest hairs rubbed deliciously against her nipples, creating a most delightful friction. With a grunt, the maharaja slipped his hands underneath her thighs to push her legs farther apart. His hot breath rasped against Devora’s lips as he began edging forward, the knob of his penis rubbing against her.
Devora gasped, pushing her hips upward with the need to feel him inside her. She clutched his shoulders as he positioned himself and thrust into her. The sensation of his penis immersed in her snug channel was enough to make Devora cry out. He wasn’t as large as Gerald and thus didn’t fill her as thoroughly, but oh, what pleasure it was be so totally possessed by him.
Her broken moans filled the air as the maharaja began thrusting into her, each thrust accompanied by a heavy grunt. He was heavy and hot above her, and Devora reveled in the sheer weight of him. She wrapped her legs around his thighs and gave herself up to their raw carnality, only to be startled when the maharaja pulled out of her.
Devora looked at him in surprise. “What happened?”
“We will try another position, of course.” The maharaja settled back against the pillows an
d wrapped his hand around his cock.
Mesmerized, Devora stared with unabashed curiosity as the maharaja began to stroke his own flesh. She was fascinated by the rhythmic movements of his hand.
“Another position?” she repeated.
“Yes. Like The Kamasutra says. Love-making consists of many different postures and pleasures, not merely one.”
“What do you want to do now?” Devora asked. Her sex fairly quivered with anticipation.
“Come here,” the maharaja said. “Straddle me.”
Devora’s heart slammed against her ribcage. She had been thinking of this position just yesterday. Had it only been yesterday? It felt like such a terribly long time ago. She moved towards him, her gaze fixed on his jutting penis. She straddled his pelvis, bracing herself on the wide expanse of his chest as she leaned back into him.
He put one hand on her hip, while guiding his cock towards her with the other hand. Devora groaned with pleasure as she sank down onto him. In this position, he seemed to fill her more completely, sending heat throbbing through her inner walls. Moreover, her sex rubbed against him, stimulating her own arousal to unfathomable depths.
“Oh, God.” Devora didn’t quite know what to do, but she went with her instincts and began to move up and down. She looked down at the maharaja’s languid expression, his harsh breaths telling her that she was doing this right.
This was an oddly liberating position, allowing her to create a rhythm of her own liking rather than always leaving it up to the man. Devora lifted her body and brought it down again, spurring herself towards her release. She began to ride him more and more frantically as the pressure built. She cried out loudly as an explosion of rapture rained through her body, writhing her hips to derive every ounce of pleasure.
Letting the maharaja slip out of her, Devora moved back on his thighs and grasped his shaft. She stroked his oiled cock from base to tip in a quick, fast rhythm. Within seconds, the maharaja grunted, his seed spurting from him in milky jets. Devora continued stroking him until he became flaccid again.
“I’ve never done that before,” she admitted, rolling back onto the pillows. Her breath came in heavy gasps. “That position, I mean.”
“Straddle a man?” The maharaja turned to look at her.
“No, never.” Devora couldn’t believe that she had just done that with the maharaja, of all people in the world.
“Pity,” the maharaja said. “That position is exquisite for both the man and the woman.”
“Yes, it is.” Devora looked at the sweaty roundness of the maharaja’s face. “You’re not going to tell anyone about this, are you?”
He pressed a hand against his chest. “My dear Mrs. Hawthorne, of course not. This is our secret. I am honored that you trust me enough to attempt a new position with me.”
“Yes, well, there are a number of postures I haven’t tried, at least if The Kamasutra is anything to judge by.”
“Then you’re missing many of the greatest sensual pleasures,” the maharaja said. “Attempting different postures is most fulfilling.”
“My husband is passionate, but not very experimental.”
“Then perhaps you require a different teacher.”
***
CHAPTER SIX
Devora crept up the steps to the front door, feeling like a naughty girl who was trying to sneak into the house past her bedtime. She’d stayed with the maharaja until well past nightfall, and now it was close to ten. Stepping inside, she was relieved to find the bungalow dark and silent. She wouldn’t have put it past Rohan to be sitting up waiting for her.
Devora went into her bedroom and kicked off her shoes. Her body still quivered with the remnants of passion, and her sex felt deliciously sore. In spite of the maharaja’s somewhat small size, the difference of positions seemed to have touched in her previously unreached places, leaving her feeling thoroughly taken. A shiver of delight raced through her at the crudity of the thought. How terribly clandestine and rebellious it was to have done what she did.
“Memsahib, you’re back.”
Devora whirled around at the sound of Rohan’s voice. He stood in the doorway, wrapped in shadows like some sort of demon.
“Yes, I am, thank you. You may leave now.”
“I might suggest that returning after dark is dangerous,” Rohan said. Disapproval threaded his voice. “There have been incidents of gangs attacking people on the road.”
“Well, as you can see, I have arrived safe and sound,” Devora replied coldly. “Thank you, however, for your concern.”
“Also, it is not a good idea to stay at the palace alone at night,” Rohan continued.
“Don’t tell me,” Devora said, wondering just how much Rohan suspected about her activities with the maharaja. “There have been rumors of the maharaja’s crazed orgies or something.”
“I am required to look after your safety.”
“Has it ever occurred to you that I can look after my own safety?” Devora said in exasperation. “I told you that I’m not interested in being treated like a child.”
“Then perhaps you should act like an adult.”
Devora gasped with outrage. “How dare you speak to me like that? I’ll have my husband dismiss you when he returns!”
“I am only concerned with the matter of your reputation, which of course reflects on that of your husband.”
Devora clenched her hands into fists, fairly trembling with fury. “Excuse me? My reputation is none of your business. You’re nothing more than a servant, and I will not having you talking to me like that!”
“I will have to insist that I accompany you on your next outing.”
“You will do no such thing! Don’t you countermand my orders!”
“My orders come from your husband.”
“Not when he’s away, they don’t!” Devora was even angrier that Rohan didn’t appear irritated in the slightest. His expression was as unreadable as ever, his words spoken without infliction. She was ready to slap him to see if that at least would provoke a reaction.
“I said you may leave now,” she snapped.
Rohan looked at her for a long moment. Then, without another word, he turned and left.
Furious, Devora slammed the door behind him and stripped off her clothes. Who did he think he was? Simply because Gerald was gone gave him no right to question her like that.
So why did his obvious disapproval bother her so much? Devora scowled at her reflection in the mirror as she brushed her hair. She wished she had an answer to that question. She didn’t even like the man. Why did it matter what he thought of her?
Devora climbed into bed, suddenly exhausted from the events of the day and her confrontation with Rohan. She fell into a deep sleep saturated with lovely dreams of herself being kissed and touched with extraordinary reverence.
“Devora?”
Devora opened her eyes to the gauzy fabric of the mosquito netting. She yawned and blinked as she focused on Louise’s slender figure behind the net.
“Louise, what are you doing here?” Devora buried her face in the pillow and closed her eyes again, wanting to sink back into the lushness of her dreams.
“I wanted to see if you’re still coming to Agra with us.” Louise pulled aside the netting and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Kalindi told me you were still sleeping.”
“Mmm, I’ve been awfully tired.” Devora yawned again. She squinted as sunlight brushed against her eyes. The morning sun spilled through the lace curtains, creating an intricate pattern on the hardwood floor. “What time is it?”
“Past nine. You’re not feeling ill, are you?”
Devora latched on to the explanation. “Well, I do have a rather bad headache. When are you leaving for Agra?”
“Tomorrow morning. Have you forgotten already?”
“No, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to go,” Devora said. The last thing she wanted to do now was spend several days in the company of the Thompsons and other British people. “I’m not
feeling up to it.”
“I hope you’re not coming down with malaria or anything.” Louise reached out and put her hand on Devora’s forehead. “You do feel a little warm. Maybe I should stay here with you.”
“No, I’d really rather be alone, thank you,” Devora said, thinking she would have a perfect opportunity to see the maharaja again if the Thompsons and Louise weren’t around to keep an eye on her or to question her whereabouts. “You go and have a good time. I’ll see the Taj Mahal some other time.”
A crease of worry appeared between Louise’s eyebrows. “You’re sure? I hate to think of you all alone here.”
“Really, Louise, I’ll be fine. I’ll just sleep a lot over the next few days. You’d be terribly bored sitting around here.”
“Well, all right. I do wish you could come with us, though.”
“I’ll come on the next trip.”
“I hope so. I’ll leave you to get some sleep, then.”
“Thank you for stopping by. Please give my regrets to the Thompsons.”
“I will. Take care of yourself.” Louise let the mosquito net fall back into place as she left the room.
Devora rolled onto her back, feeling guilty over having lied to her friend. Still, having Louise and the Thompsons out of town for a few days was exactly what she needed. The British community could be decidedly suffocating.
She got out of bed and went to take a bath, aware of a lingering soreness between her legs. As she sank into the hot water, she let her thoughts drift back to her day with the maharaja, a day of pure carnality. Just before she had left to return home, the maharaja had said that he hoped to see her again and to take her to the Khajuraho temples.
As she slid the soap over her body, the scent reminding her of the sandalwood incense in the palace, Devora acknowledged that she hoped he would, too. Of course, she felt guilty over being unfaithful to her husband, but then, he had also been unfaithful to her. And it wasn’t as if she had any intentions of ruining her relationship with Gerald. All she wanted to do was explore avenues that she would probably never have a chance to explore again.
