Rough Surrender

by Cari Silverwood

  This time she squeaked. “No!”

  “No? Try it a little longer.”

  At first, it felt like gravel being ground inside her but as his finger moved some more, stretching her tight opening, poking in and out, new sensation stirred in places she’d never thought could feel nice. Everything down there throbbed together. The hot invasion of both her entrances screwed her insides up tighter, slicker. His thrusts shoved her into the restraints, her heart thudded madly and her clit, all expanded and wanting again, was shunted into the edge of the padding as he slammed into her.

  “Still no?” He almost growled the question.

  “No. I mean...yes! Keep going!” Her thighs stiffened and she found herself with mouth open waiting for that last, that last–Oh yesss. The orgasm broke over her, muscles forcing her back into an arc as much as the restraints allowed. She cried out, once, before catching herself then was silent while her neck and back jerked, body working on instinct, her cunt clasping him, sucking in his cock.

  With a last deep thrust that rammed up inside as deep as anything could ever surely go and made her throat tighten into a knot, Mr. Meisner shuddered and came.

  Chapter 26

  Breakfast, again, at Mr. Meisner’s. This was getting to be a habit, a nice one though. If only the murder hadn’t been what prompted this, she’d be living a dream. She eyed him over a steaming forkful of eggs Benedict.

  Rather than upstairs on the balcony, this time they ate downstairs. A grand affair of French polished mahogany timber, this table stretched across the center of the room. Mr. Meisner sat at the head while she was seated at the first seat along the side. It was cozy and intimate, despite the size of the table, almost too intimate.

  He tapped the newssheet by his plate. “Says here they’ve run out of clues as to the murderer of that girl. Though–”

  “What is it?”

  “Hmm. Nothing.” But he stared at the page a moment longer. Then he shifted his gaze. “Would you like to see the Egyptian Gazette, Faith? There’s a large amount of space dedicated to aviation.” He folded the newspaper and put it next to her plate.

  “Thank you.” On the front was a photograph of a biplane flying above Mokkatam and beside that was a photo of the pyramids. Though the story evoked every emotion under the sun and dragged painfully at her heart–why in hell hadn’t her engine turned up, and where was Jimmy–what really made her brain run in circles was Mr. Meisner handing this to her. Didn’t he hate her fascination with airplanes?

  After a minute of the thoughts chafing at her she caved in.

  “I thought you disapproved of airplanes?”

  He shoved aside his empty plate and leaned back in his chair, making it creak.

  “I do.” The laughter lines about his eyes deepened. “I disapprove of you flying in them. That you have the intelligence, the vivacity, to wonder about the world and educate yourself–” He screwed up his face and shook his head. “That I utterly adore.”

  “Really?” She blinked, couldn’t help grinning back. Well. Chalk up another tick on Mr. Leonhardt Meisner’s name in the good book.

  She imagined what it would be like to live in this house and wake every morning beside this man, to roll over and be hugged, snuggle in and have her nose kissed as she had earlier, then come downstairs and have eggs Benedict or whatever meal took their fancy on every day of the year. Well, every day when they weren’t off driving across the Americas in some car rally. The idea made her dizzy.

  “How are your wrists?”

  “Oh.” Her face warmed. The question was one no other lover was likely to ask. “Good.” She held up her hand for him to see. Though a small amount of redness discolored her skin, it was nothing.

  “Then you won’t have any trouble climbing the pyramids.” His eyes held a twinkle of amusement. “Are you ready to brave Cheops? It is quite a climb. Bring your best sporting clothes.”

  She smiled back. “I’ll wear my knickerbockers under a dress. Do you think anyone will mind?”

  “Perhaps, but I won’t.”

  “Ah. Then that’s all that matters.”

  Before they left the table the small column on the front page devoted to the murder caught her eye.

  The woman’s back had been beaten with either a whip or some long thin object. The police have yet to identify her. Investigations are continuing.

  Was that what had worried Leonhardt? She wondered why.

  On the way out, with Mr. Meisner in the middle of holding open the front door, Mawson arrived and delivered a small envelope to her. “From a Mister Jimmy Whitrod, Miss Evard.”

  “Why, thank you, Mawson.”

  He nodded and marched away down the corridor.

  Though she intended to read the note in the automobile, to her surprise, Mr. Meisner offered her the wheel. The prospect was more than enough of a distraction and she popped the folded envelope into the inside pocket of her crisp yellow jacket. The pyramids awaited but first, heavens above, she got to drive the Thomas Flyer.

  “Ready, Mr. Meisner?” She put her foot near the accelerator and looked at her handsome passenger. Mr. Meisner had on a sensible gray jacket and light brown trousers, nothing that wouldn’t stand up to a bit of pyramid clambering.

  “Always, Faith. I’m always ready for anything you might do.”

  “Really?” What a challenge. She cocked her eyebrow, looked into those warm brown eyes and grinned. Such an enormous ego, but...somehow it was one of the best things about him.

  * * * *

  The one thing she wasn’t ready for were the multicolored donkeys. Having driven across the bridge over the Nile, Leonhardt had directed her to park then she discovered the team of donkeys with their Bedouin handlers. Some of the handlers were young boys, others lean, weather-browned, leather-skinned men, and all wore the long ankle-length gallibaya, and on their heads, the loose cloth wrapping of the kufiya.

  “Why ever are the donkeys done like this?” she asked as they lined up ready to mount their charges. The felucca ride on the Nile was nothing compared to a ride on a donkey that had patterns clipped into its hair and a rainbow of colors painted on it.

  “Traditional, I suppose. Even Mark Twain travelled on a donkey to the pyramids.” He helped her to mount her donkey while their young Egyptian guide gave them instructions by the dozen.

  The ride past the great Sphinx and onward to the pyramid of Cheops wasn’t without mishap–mainly that every bump and slide on the high-beaked hard saddle jolted her bottom and made it ache, nicely. But that wasn’t really surprising considering what she’d let her man do to it...her Mr. Meisner. She gulped and looked back to see him following on his own donkey. A dust cloud followed their trek through the sand. Winds were picking up and the sand and dust filtered into her mouth and nose.

  Suppressing a giggle at the sight of Mr. Meisner sitting on a little donkey wasn’t easy but she had an idea she’d pay for it later if she dared laugh. Then again, maybe not. One of the things surprising her was his sense of humor. He could laugh at himself and the way at breakfast, he’d retold jokes from the latest Punch magazine had been stupefying.

  She peeked another look and this time the giggle escaped. For such a large man, he jiggled strangely when riding a donkey.

  “Sir! Take care or some part of you will shake loose!”

  His glare only made her giggle more until his glare metamorphosed into a shake of his head and, finally, a wide smile.

  “You wait, Miss Evard,” he shouted. “Revenge will be sweet. No giggling at your lord and master.”

  Lord and master? Hmm. She patted her own donkey and watched the cloud of fine dust rise to join the rest they stirred up. Sand scrunched under the animals’ hooves. The majestic stepped pyramid of Cheops towered above like some child’s sandpit construction made large.

  As their string of donkeys halted at the base of the pyramid, a breeze gusted past. Faith swung her leg over her gallant steed’s back and slid off.

  “Thank you, Miss Donkey,�
� she whispered, giving her a last pat and a scratch behind her long ears.

  Each ledge of the pyramid was three feet high and their guides were determined to help by both pushing from below and by grabbing an arm each and heaving her upward. None of them dared to aid Mr. Meisner after he’d said “No,” in his most implacable stone-wedged voice. And none dared to push her from below once Mr. Meisner took over the role.

  “Are you enjoying yourself back there?” she asked, trying not to sound shrewish.

  “I am.” With that, and a smile, he put both hands under her bottom and heaved, shoving her up to the next step. Shards of eroded pyramid rock shifted and scraped underfoot, sending her into a frenzy of arm flailing. The two Bedouin men on either side exchanged a flurry of cheerful words with Mr. Meisner.

  By the time she’d stopped flailing, they’d ceased talking. Her narrow-eyed glare at all three of them only provoked laughter and more shoving to get her up to the next step.

  “I wouldn’t worry, Miss Evard. They only said how nice it was to have a light-weighted woman to push up the pyramid...even if you are a little sharp with the tongue.”

  “Oh!” This time her glare might have blistered skin, yet none of them did more than grin back. Seething, she said nothing. Getting to the top would have to satisfy her. She’d get nowhere arguing. Maybe she could ask Mr. Meisner about teaching her some Arabic. Though...how much could she learn in a few days?

  Undignified, resigned, she let herself be hauled and heaved to the top. Without help, she’d never have made it without stopping fifty times.

  At last, she could stand up tall and look about. The winds whistled in her ears and plucked fluttery fingers at the fabric of her dress and the veil of her trusty boater hat. “My word. Amazing, Mr. Meisner.”

  From the summit the whole of Egypt seemed spread out below. Pink-yellow sand where desert held sway but where there was water, a heavy green brightened the landscape.

  “It is, isn’t it?” He pointed eastward and picked out landmarks. “The line of mimosa trees there marks the pyramid road.”

  Faith found herself leaning in closer to soak up the warmth of his dark, humming voice as much as to be near those broad shoulders. Her toes curled a little in her shoes. If only she could simply rest her head against him...

  He glanced at her, eyes softly assessing. “Come here.”

  And, oh, when had a man ever known her so well? He drew her close, arm about her waist as if they were a married couple with nothing to be ashamed of in their familiarity. The few other English tourists who’d climbed up paid them no mind. She sighed and let her own arm creep across his back, enjoyed the come and go of his breath under her ear, the movement of his ribs, the feeling of belonging.

  The aim of his hand altered. “There’s–the sphinx. The Nile you can see weaving through that green belt and beyond is the Citadel, and there, the minaret of the mosque.”

  The wind blew hard enough to make their bodies sway. Sky–blue and clear–surrounded them on all sides, pressing in on them, breathing out with the caress of the cold wind.

  “This is like flying, you know. Being up here...seeing all this...being free up above the world.”

  “Hmm.” For once there seemed no judgment in his tone.

  In the distance a biplane cruised toward them, the engine noise changing from a quiet buzz to a staccato roar. They watched together as the craft circled the pyramid then set off back to Heliopolis. For once she refused to let her feelings come to the fore. What was done was done. She’d have other air shows but she’d not easily find another man like Mr. Meisner.

  “Freedom...” he said slowly, “is over-rated. Shall we sit?” He loosened his arm, gestured at the stone and they sat together with legs dangling over the step.

  “I can see how you’d think that–about freedom.” She tweaked her lips ruefully, met his brown eyes and saw how the sun had washed a golden yellow through them.

  “It cuts both ways, you know, Faith, if you stayed here, with me. We’d both have less freedom.” He took her hand in his and just let them rest on the other, hers nesting in his palm. “But we’d have each other.”

  Oh, temptation sank its claws and fangs in her and gnawed at her insides. Damn him for being so gentle. If only he was as rough and demanding as he was at those other times she could easily refuse him.

  He looked at her hand as he rubbed his thumb across her fingers. “Do you want to leave?”

  A tear slipped from her eye and she strained not to sniff because then he’d know. But, of course, he raised his head and saw.

  “Faith?” He smiled and lifted his hand to wipe away the tear. “At least I know it’s not just me who wants this. Are you torn, my dear?”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “I want to stay because I can’t see how I’ll ever find what I have with you with anyone else, and yet–”

  “And yet, you like your freedom? I’m not an ogre, you know.”

  She hiccupped and laughed. “Sure you’re not.”

  “I meant...not all the time.” He wrapped his arm about her shoulders. “I don’t want to control every aspect of your life. Truly, at other times, I’m like any other man. Look, I can’t see into the future either. We may tire of each other. I have no idea if you or I will always match each other as we do now. This isn’t exactly a standard, run-of-the-mill relationship. There is always separation or even divorce.”

  Divorce? He did intend them to marry. Alarm spiked her heart. This was too fast for her. Somehow, oddly, that scared her even more despite marriage being the be-all and end-all for many women.

  Another biplane purred toward them. The pilot, though concealed by goggles and scarf, was clearly Baroness Raymonde de Laroche. She waved as she flew past. The tourists cheered and waved back.

  Faith sucked the edge of her lower lip between her teeth and thought a while as she stared sightlessly out at the shrinking biplane. “I need to make my own decisions about my life, about flying. I doubt I could bear not to fly.”

  “And that is our only point of disagreement? I’m sure we can work around it.”

  “Sir, you’re rushing this too much. I need time.”

  “You may have it then.” She waited for him to mention some small amount of time to force her decision. “Take as long as you like. This is not something to rush.”

  As long as she liked? That he was being so darned reasonable bothered her. It made him just that little more real, more human and more desirable. It meant he was thinking of her feelings, her thoughts. And, in a ridiculous way, it made her feel pursued. She was the sparrow with a hawk coasting by overhead. How would they work out the airplane question, when he leaned one way and she the other? Surely, it was insurmountable.

  No. She should tell him, no, right then and there, only...only her body wanted to say, yes, wanted to scream, yes. She was at war with herself and felt the shrapnel of her thoughts like dull blows to her head and her heart.

  This was all so impossible but then Mr. Meisner was close to irresistible. She wrapped her fingers together into a cat’s cradle and played with thumb against thumb.

  “There is something you’ve not told me and, really, we should have no secrets from each other, should we?”

  He hesitated a second. “No. We should not. Your question?”

  “What was this game you spoke of? To do with Mr. Smythe?”

  “Ah. I see.” For once it seemed she’d wrong-footed him and he said nothing for several long seconds. “This involves my past and also my sexual predilections.”

  Involuntarily, she swung her gaze and was relieved to see the other tourists had left. Only the Bedouins remained several yards away.

  “I used to satisfy my needs at a brothel because that was the only way I could. Understand? I paid the whores to take...punishment. I made sure those who did were at the least, enjoying it. Some were not ecstatic but none found it deplorable.”

  Faith nodded. Though clearly this cost him something to reveal it wasn’t as stunning to
her as he thought. The acting profession had some less than respectable scandals to sweep under the carpet. She knew about brothels and whores. “I do understand, and so that is the game Mr. Smythe spoke of? He expects you to frequent some brothel?”

  “Yes. The card he gave me referred to one he has started in Cairo. I haven’t gone to a brothel since I came here though, Faith, and I never will again.”

  She frowned. “Thank you for being honest. I–”

  A distant shout made them both look down to the base of the pyramid. A man waved a handkerchief.

  “I believe he means us.” Mr. Meisner helped Faith to her feet. “I think we should descend. Remember to consider what we discussed.”

  As if she would forget. Nothing about Mr. Meisner was forgettable.

  When they got to the bottom, the man stalked forward to clasp Mr. Meisner’s hand. “Tom Kiderman, sir. I’m a friend of Hasim’s. I have a message. Here, sir. Uh...he seems to think the woman is at quite some risk.” From the ink stains on his fingers and the severe cut of his worn brown suit, Faith wondered if Tom was a clerk of some sort.

  Who was this woman at risk? She recalled the card with the name on it being given to Hasim. Could this be the name of a whore? Perhaps someone from the past? It was one thing for it to be long-forgotten history, another thing if this was a person here in Cairo.

  The paper crackled as he unfolded it, the edges flipping in the strengthening breeze. From the stillness of Mr. Meisner’s face the news was serious. “Do you have an automobile, Tom?”

  “Yes, sir. I drove here along the pyramid road.”

  “Good. If you’ll take us back to my own vehicle, that would help enormously. Then Miss Evard can return in mine while you drive me to where Hasim waits.”

  “No.” She shook her head, tried to look stern and immoveable, and no doubt failed, but heavens, she was not giving in on this. “I’m coming too. Wherever you’re going, I’m going.”