Desire's Sirocco (16 page)

Dagan plucked at her nipple with his teeth then trailed kisses down her side, smiling inwardly at the path of goose bumps he left in the wake. One kiss stopped at her navel, his tongue darting inside to elicit a delicate shiver and a moan that spurred him further downward.

His lips joined his probing fingers as he closed his mouth over her clitoris. Once more his tongue jabbed at her sensitive flesh but this time the movement was neither gentle nor slow. Her moistness filled his nostrils with a scent of sweet musk and the taste of it on his tongue made him suckle her warm center like a babe at his mother’s teat.

The Master Trainer knew every trick, every nuisance, and every timed movement that would satisfy his lady. He had taught many a woman of the conclave how to pleasure both her man as well as herself. But he drew from the very depths of his sexual repertoire to bring pleasure to Jameela Kiel. From ancient tomes written by sex masters from all over the world, he employed techniques that would center all her delight between her quivering thighs. Where before the training of a woman had brought him no pleasure, had never once aroused this man the Healers said could never know physical gratification, the act of giving Jameela acute enjoyment, gave him a satisfaction he knew he would experience with no other.

He slid his tongue against his fingers, as far into her moist cavern as he could. He stretched her, using his free hand to pry apart the folds of her vagina, the back of that hand to press firmly against her lower belly, causing the clitoris to protrude.

Jameela’s hands tightened in his thick curls, gripping him almost painfully as he worked his mouth along her core. Her hips were arched toward him, her heels digging into the carpet. She could hear her own moans, his growls, and the rapid thunder of her heart in her ears.

He lifted his head and looked up at her, smiling at the expectant look on her face as she met his eyes. Even as he held her gaze, he withdrew his hand from her moistness.

“Dagan, no!” she whispered, so close to climax the removal of those strong, questing fingers made her whimper for their return.

Dagan smiled and it was a smile that made the hair stir on her arms and her womb constrict. She could not look away from that predatory leer but when his middle finger slid unerringly into her anus, her eyes flared and she drew in a quick breath.

“Come for me, Wench,” he commanded in a low, throaty voice. “Come for your man.”

She bit down on her lower lip, prolonging the moment as his finger wiggled inside her, going deeper until the feeling was part ecstasy and part pain. As his thumb slid into her vagina and arched upward, probing against the g-spot, ripples of pleasure began in her belly, spread to her vagina and the itch of climax began.

Her fingers were gripping his hair, bringing his head down. He could feel the tenseness of her vagina, the strong grip of her anus against his fingers. She was a breath away from climax as he took possession of her clitoris and began to suckle.

“Ah!” Jameela shrieked and the itch became a trip hammer tattoo between her legs.

Once.

Twice.

Three times the spasms gripped her. She clasped her thighs against the side of his head, her fingers like claws in his thick hair, and arched her hips as far upward as she could.

He felt the spurt of her cum oozing against his lower lip and pushed his thumb downward so he could taste that starchy essence. He lapped at her nether lips as the strong spasms became gentle little tugs then died completely away. Though he knew the area between her legs was supersensitive, his suckling—aye, the mere touch of his mouth against her—was a charged torment, he lathed her, sucked every dewy drop of moistness from her core, easing his fingers from her orifices as he lapsed into delicate licks that ended in a sweet kiss on her pubic mound.

Jameela was shivering, her thighs quivering. Her hands fell limply to her sides, she plopped down upon the carpet, boneless and well sated. Her head tilted to the side, her eyes closed.

Dagan moved up beside her and gathered her into his arms, one hand cupping her head upon his shoulder. Against his ribcage, he could feel the rapid beat of her heart.

“Did I please you, Wench?” he whispered, his lips alongside her temple with a wisp of hair tickling his nose.

“Um,” was all she could manage to mutter. She snuggled against him, sleepy and as content as a kitten whose belly was full of rich cream. One hand splayed across his chest, fingers entwined in the crisp hair.

“Milady?” he said softly. “I must leave.”

“No,” she protested, running her arm over his side to anchor him to her.

“I wish I did not have to go but duty calls.”

Jameela let out a long sigh accompanied by a groan of regret but she released him and sat up, turning to look down at him with eyes still smoldering from passion.

“You will be careful?” she asked.

“Aye,” he replied and got lithely to his feet. He held a hand out to her and when she placed her soft hand in his, he helped her up. He blinked as she threw her arms around his waist and plastered her face to his chest.

“I will miss you,” she said and he could hear tears in her voice.

Putting her firmly from him, he placed a quick kiss on the top of her head and turned away. He dressed quickly in his discarded clothing then strode to the door and was gone before she could stop him.

Jameela’s throat clogged with emotion and she sank to her knees, her arms wrapped around her body, and she began rocking slowly back and forth in despondency. Tears fell from her eyes even as her body longed for the pressure of the Master Trainer’s hand upon it.

“He will return as quickly as humanly possible,” the Grand Master—whose voice was so close to Dagan’s—said as he was wheeled into the room. Clad in a silk dressing gown and felt slippers, he looked ready for bed.

Lifting her head, her face stricken with misery, Jameela looked at her husband. “Not quickly enough, Your Grace. I fear for his safety.”

The Grand Master smiled. “I know in the past my brother has not been as conscientious of his personal welfare as his position in the Conclave warranted, but I will wager you he will be most diligent in that area henceforth.”

Jameela put her hands up to wipe away the tears. She sniffed then sighed deeply. “I pray you have the right of it, Your Grace.”

“Hagan,” the Grand Master corrected and at her worried look, shrugged. “In our own quarters, we are husband and wife. I’ll refrain from calling you Wench if you’ll cease belaboring me with my title.”

Jameela smiled despite her misery. She was glad her husband would not call her Wench for it would remind her too keenly of her lover.

“There is a matter to which we must attend,” Hagan said as his assistant rolled him toward the high bed. “A matter best seen to now before the Conclave has reason to question it.”

“What matter is that, milord?” she asked, not quite confident enough to call him by his given name.

“The consummation of our Joining,” he said. His assistant lifted him from the wheeled chair and sat him upon the bed, kneeling to pull off his master’s soft slippers. “At least mine and your part of it since I am sure Dagan took care of his end of the arrangement.”

Jameela blushed hotly and lowered her head, her long hair falling forward to shield her face. “Must we do that now?” she asked softly and did not see the stern look that passed over her husband’s handsome face.

The Grand Master bid his assistant to lift his legs onto the bed and help him to sit comfortably upon the mattress. That done, he waved the man away, ordering him to stand outside the door until called for. When the door to the chamber closed with barely an audible click, Jameela’s husband turned his head to look at her.

“One thing I ask is that you never question my commands or suggestions before the servants, milady,” he said firmly. “In private, you can call me anything you like and question every remark I make, but never within the hearing of anyone other than Dagan or myself.”

Jameela winced, closing her eyes but did not look up. “I am sorry, milord. I apologize, I did not…”

“No need to apologize,” he said. “Just take my statement to heart. As to the consummation, the Brothers must see the deed done in order for our Joining to be legitimate.”

She lifted her head. “The Brothers have seen you take me on several occasions and…”

“But not as man and wife,” he interrupted. “As mate and mate. As rightful Master and she who will bear his children.” He spread his hands. “No males other than myself and Dagan will ever be allowed to spend time alone with you so there will never be a question of who the father of the child will be.”

Jameela nodded. “I understand.”

Hagan Kiel reached out to her and smiled when she took his hand. “It is only necessary for one of them to see the deed done. The Lord Abbot will watch then report to his fellow Tribunal members and that will be that. I will not overstay my welcome, Wench,” he assured her. “I like you but I am not in love with you as my brother is.” He cocked his head to one side. “Give the Conclave an heir and we’ll be content. Sex is a pleasant diversion but my passion in life is chess. I win every match I play.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And with whom do you play, milord?”

“Hagan,” he corrected with a waggle of a finger.

Jameela swallowed then repeated her question using his given name though the effort put a strain on her lovely face.

“Dagan, most of the time,” he answered. “Sometimes with that idjut chancellor of mine but he is terrible and no opponent at all.”

“You win every match with Lord Dagan?” she questioned.

The Grand Master brought her hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. Looking up at her through his lashes, he chuckled. “I know his reputation among the soldiers but as long as I win, I’ll let him keep his arrogant head.”

“But should you lose?”

Her new husband shrugged. “Won’t happen, Wench. Dagan is smarter than he looks.”

“Even though he looks exactly like you?” she countered.

The Grand Master threw his head back and laughed loudly. His eyes were brimming with tears when he at last composed himself. “Touché, little one,” he granted. “You’ll keep us both on our toes.” He winked at her. “Even if I can’t stand on mine.”

There was great humor in this man’s eyes and a camaraderie she certainly had not expected. In her heart she knew if she treated him well, respected him as she was required to do, and kept to their bargain, her life within the walled compound of the Conclave would not be as bad as she had imagined it would be.

“Shall I bid your assistant fetch the Lord Abbott, then?” she asked quietly.

“Aye,” he replied. “I have instructed Lord Amanra to wait five minutes or so before he joins us. Perhaps you could arouse me so the deed can be done quickly once he arrives.”

Heat flamed across Jameela’s cheeks and she avoided his eyes as she got off the bed. She reached for the dressing gown lying across the foot of her bed and flung it around her, belting it securely then walked to the door. She frowned, and then looked back at her husband. “Your assistant, his name is..?”

“Manu,” the Grand Master supplied.

Opening the door, Jameela glanced shyly at the assistant. “Manu, would you fetch the Lord Abbot for us?”

The assistant inclined his head. “As you wish Your Grace,” he replied and bowed to her before backing away from her presence.

Closing the door, Jameela walked slowly back to the bed. Her head swam with the numerous instructions Dagan had given her over the last few weeks. Coming to stand beside her husband, she asked if she might straddle him.

Hagan Kiel grinned. “If you are asking if you will hurt me,” he replied. “These limbs are dead wood.” He doubled his fist and slammed it down on his left thigh. “I feel nothing from here on down.”

With ladylike grace, Jameela unbelted her gown and let the silk slide from her body. She saw mild interest in her husband’s eyes but not the ravaging passion that jumped out at her from his brother’s. With trembling hands, she leaned forward and unbelted his robe and pushed it aside to reveal her husband’s nakedness. Very carefully, she lifted her leg and climbed atop the Grand Master, her rump upon his thighs. Reaching for his flaccid member, she cradled it between her palms.

“Now
there
,” her husband said, “is where all the feeling my legs should have has gone to.”

To underscore his statement, his manhood began to stiffen.

Jameela smiled at his remark and began rolling the hardening member between her palms, alternating the movement as her hands moved up his penis, sliding gently down then began the process again.

The Grand Master sighed and closed his eyes. “Your touch is like the kiss of a butterfly’s wings, milady,” he said.

Cupping his ripening member in her left hand, she used her right hand to stroke him, spreading the seepage from its tip to soothe the length. Her fingertips traveled from the underside of the head to the wiry curls at his pelvis, stroking downward with firm, delicious pressure.

“Dagan is a hell of an instructor,” his brother mumbled, reaching up to grab the headboard above him.

Without a word, Jameela lifted one leg, then the other and positioned herself between her husband’s legs, but before she could lean forward to take him into her mouth, the Grand Master quickly reached for her, gripping her arms.