Soul Dancer (4 page)

He lowered his head and, one by one, kissed her nipples reverently. When he was done with the token of affection, he bathed the turgid tips with his tongue, wetting the cinnamon-colored aureoles, and bringing them to tighter, more painful peaks. Her body tensed, and she willed herself not to sheer off into a blissful, mind-numbing orgasm. She’d give anything to be with Jamar for the rest of their lives, but she chastised herself, she could never have what she wanted.

Her uneasiness was interrupted by his quiet voice. “Turn on your stomach.”

Heat from her throat rushed up her cheeks. Was he thinking of taking her from behind? “Why?”

“I want to slip my cock into your cunt from behind,” he replied, his earnest gaze meeting hers. He withdrew his penis from her wetness.

Kierra could have cried. She missed the closeness of their joined bodies, the magical contact between them that transcended the color and social barrier. Hesitantly, she rolled over.

“Up on your hands and knees,” Jamar coaxed kindly from behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Is this the dance you mentioned?”

His erotic grin tore at her heartstrings again.

“Our bodies, when they’re joined, are creating a harmonic frequency that is so very pleasing,” he said, his husky voice as soft as silk. “And yes, it’s a dance unlike you’ve ever experienced.”

Hefting herself up on her hands and knees, she didn’t have long to wait before Jamar tipped the creamy edge of his cock to her entrance. He drove in as far as her vagina would allow, and kissed the knobby ridges of her spine. “Kierra, I love you. I always have, always will.”

She lowered her head to her clasped hands and shook her head from side to side. She loved Jamar too, but she could never tell him that to his face. If anyone found out, it would mean her life and she wasn’t ready to give it up yet.

Amazed at her unblemished, white complexion, Jamar trailed kisses along her spine and to the small of her back. Lifting his lips from her smooth skin, he could do nothing but admire how their bodies were joined. His black skin merged into the pale alabaster, and the sight of his hands, large and black against her waist, drove him wild. He’d never known sex with any woman to be so all consuming, a fire burning in his churning gut and hardening his testicles. He watched with a fascination he found incredible. He’d had white woman on Praadar, but every time, he’d imagined it was his lovely Kierra. He hadn’t been able to stop dreaming about her.

His balls rhythmically slapped the inside of her thighs. “I remember—it seems as if it was long ago—telling you I wanted to be a musician and you would be the dancer who interpreted the music.” He kept his voice low. Her fingers clutched the brocade coverlet. “Your body would sway to the tempo and in essence, you would be the instrument while I was the music.”

Kierra grunted something unintelligible.

Lost in the persistent, happy memories, Jamar continued, “You’re the only one who fully hears my music. Sometimes, I’m saddened by the fact no one can hear the perfect harmonics. Other times, I’m elated that you not only hear, but you make the music your own, with your body, with your footsteps.”

The orgasm was almost on him. His whole body, from his throbbing forehead to his toes, was bathed in damp perspiration. He wanted to tip his head and shout to the ceiling and beyond, “I love Kierra!” but restrained himself. Instead, the music went on all around them, and he released all his pent up energy into her pussy. Over and over again, he gave himself in great bursts of shuddering spasms.

Kierra quivered, and her vagina clenched around his drained shaft, milking him of the last of his cum. Probably exhausted, she collapsed to the coverlet, forcing him to withdraw quickly. She gave a long drawn out moan.

Lying down beside her, his heart fluttering and his breathing shallow and ragged, he whispered, “Are you all right?”

He couldn’t see her face from his position. The room smelled of musky sex. He saw the crown of her head bob up and down.

“Fine, just fine,” she croaked.

Jamar had the sinking feeling she wasn’t fine, that perhaps by making love to her, instead of drawing her closer physically, he’d driven her further away.

“I tore it. Let me find something for you to wear.”

As naked as she’d been while Jamar was fucking her, Kierra folded her arms over her breasts and tapped her foot impatiently. “I was supposed to be cleaning your room, not cleaning the master.” Her tone was quiet and careful. After their lovemaking, Jamar had become reserved and distant, as if he wanted to be with anyone else but her.

He swallowed and shook his head. “I couldn’t resist, Kierra. I had to know how soft you were.”

How soft she was? She’d better ignore that or else she’d end up under him again. “How am I supposed to get home naked?” Home for her family, six kattanee, was a one-bedroom cabin with inadequate heating in the winter and no privacy. In the summer, the mosquitoes swarmed over the swamp nearby.

“I’ll take you home on my magic carpet,” he said half-heartedly, dragging the wrinkled coverlet from the bed.

“How do you propose to do that?” Once, ages ago, they’d tried flying on a pretend magic carpet, an old, ratty blanket. They’d laughed and had fun, but they’d never left the ground.

“I’ll roll you up.” Quiet music played around them. His somber eyes lit up. “Or I could whirl you away as you dance to my music.”

Kierra heaved a heavy sigh of frustration. “Great! Then everyone will see us.”

Jamar crossed the short distance to her. “If I wrap my arms around you, no one will even notice.”

She uncrossed her arms and jabbed an index finger into his hard chest. “We’re still children in your mind, aren’t we?” She didn’t wait for a response. Irrational anger ate away at her. “We are not children anymore. We’re grown. Adults. We’ll—” Who was she kidding? He wouldn’t pay the consequences. She would. Alone. “
I’ll
be responsible for our mistakes.”

His gold eyes lost their brilliance. “Mistakes?”

“This…” She couldn’t decide what to call their lying in bed together sweaty and naked, but it hadn’t been making love. “ This sex was a mistake. You’re Jaquill. I’m kattanee. There’s no mixing the two, Jamar. None at all.”

Had she made her point clearly enough? His eyebrows were set in a frown and a deep sadness crept into his eyes. Naked, Kierra turned around and fled.

* * * *

Struck dumb, Jamar collapsed into an armchair near one window, hung his head and stared at the carpet. Kierra and he were a mistake? He raked his fingers through his hair. Tears stung his eyes. They were a mistake? How could she think that when he loved her with every part of his being, when he’d shared his music, and they shared the gift of dancing?

Dejected, he continued to fasten his unseeing gaze on the plush carpet. Images of Kierra slowly wove their way through his tortured mind. When they had been children—

Abruptly, he cut off that train of thought. Hadn’t Kierra just told him he was stuck in the past? That he was a mistake?

“I refuse to accept that,” he muttered, hunching his shoulders, praying the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He couldn’t live without her. He’d damned well tried, but he couldn’t. Praadar had been his home for three years as he’d studied and learned about what freedom meant. Every night when he retired, he’d thought of Kierra and making love to her. His guts had twisted horribly when he’d realized how much he missed her. She was as much a part of him as their shared childhood was.

The music began to play again, this time in his head, slow, torturous, sweet. “I’m a mistake,” he repeated in a hushed whisper over and over again. Misery flooded through him and twisted his heart in a gut-wrenching knot. Kierra wasn’t a mistake. He had to show her. Somehow. They could run off to Praadar and live together. They’d have six children, each treasured and loved for who they were no matter what their skin color was.

Jamar wasn’t used to inaction. He brightened at the thought that after he found a spaceship to take them to Praadar, he’d kidnap her. Wouldn’t she love it there, among the carefree people, among the flowers that seemed to be blooming everywhere? Then they could do what they’d intended when they were children. He would become a well-known musician and Kierra would dance, barefoot, to the music that made both their hearts sing.

There was a sharp rap on the door. Jamar didn’t move a muscle. His brother, who knew little about privacy, strolled in. “Hey bro. You’ve been banging one of the kattanee again?”

Jamar glanced up at him. Fury flared in his chest. How dared Absar demean Kierra by calling her a kattanee and saying the word ‘banging’?

“Watch your mouth,” he warned sullenly.

“Maybe you should get dressed and make yourself useful.” Absar cut the distance between them.

Jamar felt the younger man’s dark eyes searching, analyzing, twisting the truth. “It’s not what you think.”

Absar, a taller, thinner version of Jamar, punched him in the flat of his shoulder. “Banging a slave isn’t what it seems? Since when?” He hauled Jamar to his feet.

Jamar leaped forward, shoved his brother away and strode toward the bathroom. “She is none of your business. She is no one’s business but my own,” he threw over his shoulder and slammed the door shut.

Absar, who’d never given up easy, followed Jamar as he pulled on a pair of briefs. “Mother would be shocked, and Father, well, you do know what he’d do if he found out, right?”

“You’re going to tell him?” Jamar flashed back, catching Kierra’s musky woman’s scent in the still air.

“No, I’m not that callous. Father would have her punished then put to death. You want a piece of advice?”

“Not particularly.” Jamar resented his brother’s intrusion into his private life, but that was nothing new. Absar had always known about Kierra, but as they’d matured into adults, Absar couldn’t understand Jamar’s fascination with the white woman.

“Take her to Praadar, do her to your heart’s content then leave her there.” Absar lifted his palms in the air at shoulder level. “No repercussions to either of you. You get her out of your system, and she gets a few trinkets for lying on her back to accommodate you.”

“You’re so fuckin’ callous,” Jamar told him. He’d never leave Kierra alone on a strange world. He was a gentleman, not a pirate of seduction. “You make us sound as if we’re robots without feelings.”

“The kattanee don’t have feelings,” Absar reminded him. “The kattanee are slaves. They serve without question. No feelings.”

“You’re a heartless bastard.” Rather than physically confronting his brother who was merely spewing the same crap Manitee-ans had for centuries, Jamar turned away. He felt no need to justify his love for Kierra or to explain that kattanee and Jaquill had the same red blood.

“Give it some thought, bro, before someone finds out.” Absar left without a backward glance and left the door ajar.

Live on Praadar with Kierra? That had been his idea since she’d told him he was a mistake, but would she accept that world as her home? Would she miss her family and friends? Did Jamar even need to worry about that? The one solid fact he held onto was that if he didn’t do something, not only Kierra but he himself would pay dearly.

* * * *

Kierra’s mother found her in the early morning hours sitting on a tree stump under the full moon. Turning to her with tears in her eyes, Kierra gave her a wan smile, hoping to hide the turmoil in mind.

Eden sat down beside her on a shorter stump. She shared her daughter’s alabaster skin and vivid blonde hair. “He decided to take you, didn’t he?”

Kierra nodded, slumping deeper against the old caya tree.

“By force?”

Kierra shook her head. In a whisper that barely carried to her mother’s ear, she said, “No. I wanted him as much as he wanted me. He loves me, mother.”

Deep in thought, Eden nodded again.

Kierra decided to tell her the truth. “He’s stuck in our childhood, and there’s no way to tell him we’re not kids anymore, that we’ve grown up.” She paused, her heart tearing in two again. “I told him we’re a mistake, but he can’t seem to stop this nonsense.”

This thing, this love, is far from nonsense. I’ve never felt so complete, so desired, so feminine before.

“Kierra, I know it’s hard, but you have to tell him no the next time he comes to you for sex.” Eden was not always kindly, but she gave good counsel. “You know very well what will happen if they find you.”

Death.
Kierra inclined her head. Yes, she knew very well.

“I can spirit you away from Becutan to another villa,” Eden volunteered, smoothing her cotton dress over her knees nervously. “You’ll be safe in some other place, away from him, and blend in with the rest of the kattanee.”

As if it were some forbidden sound, Eden never said Jamar’s name. Kierra understood the reason. Her mother was in just as much fear as her daughter. A whipping was one thing, but death was wholly another. “I want to stay, but I don’t want to work in his rooms any longer.”

“You don’t have a choice about what part of the villa you work in, Kierra. You know that.”

“I know.”
No choices.
Kierra disliked that her choices, if she’d ever had any, were being taken away from her. If the bossman, who took orders from Jamar’s mother, required her to work in a specific part of the villa, she had no choice. If she worked elsewhere, even if she were out in the fields picking nattak and working harder than inside the villa, she’d be whipped. She had no choice.