Bliss River

by Thea Devine

  "When?" she demanded breathlessly.

  "Tomorrow, at the end of the day's journey. We will procure a bigger tent in Sefra, and some rugs and pillows, comforts to cushion our sensual explorations at the end of our long day. Then, you will come to me naked, and give me your nipples—and then .., Well, you will see."

  She felt like she was panting. "I can't wait for tomor­row. Look, my nipples are hard for you now."

  "Tomorrow, khanum, when we are alone in the vast spaces, and in our own tight little world in our tent, then and only then will I take your nipples and show you what a voracious lover of them I will be."

  Her nipples were rock-hard under her makeshift robes as they rode into the bustling walled city of Sefra early the following morning. She hadn't slept. She couldn't get a word he had said out of her mind, out of her body. He had aroused her hopelessly, made her hot with yearning, and suffused with that languid feeling that always preceded sex and left her deeply unsatisfied.

  And he had disappeared soon after she had handed over the weapons, and she had no idea where he'd taken his ease. With another woman, for all she knew. With another woman's nipples, even. There were plenty of women drift­ing around and about the well.

  She'd kill him. And now she was going a little crazy. It was her nipples he wanted; nothing could have been more plain from everything he said. He wasn't seeking out other women. He was keeping himself for her, for the moment at the end of the long first day of their journey when she would give him her nipples and let him take his pleasure. She couldn't wait. And there was so much yet to do. First, the sale of the ponies and the mule. Charles waded right in to the heart of the souk to let everyone admire his expertise in horseflesh.

  She followed behind, her head bowed and properly sub­missive, her eyes on the hem of Charles's robe as he strode boldly through the marketplace.

  The tactic worked. Almost immediately they were sur­rounded, and he began negotiating most fluently, not miss­ing a beat as they proceeded in between the stalls. She understood nothing, except they kept repeating one word, cadi, as they threw handfuls of baksheesh at him.

  In the end, he had a sack full of banknotes and had given over his two prize ponies, and thrown in the mule and their meager traveling kit for good measure. He was enormously pleased with the bargaining.

  "We're going to be very comfortable on this trip, khanum."

  "Really? As we walk?"

  "No, no. We will be traveling on camel, with all the appropriate comforts a man of means can afford. It is time to bargain some more."

  Cadi... cadi.,. The sound followed them as he made arrangements for three camels, a dragoman to guide them, enough hay to pack their possessions and to use to feed the animals, a trunk of food, two more water skins, a roomier tent, with a rug that fit the floor, and lush pillows and blankets, plates, cups, eating utensils, two nesting pots, a kettle, a low folding table, and appropriate clothing for her.

  Appropriate?

  Dressed in the dark, heavy cotton robe and veil, she felt invisible. And looked no different from any other of the women shuffling through the aisles of stalls in the market­place.

  Cadi... cadi... They saw his money and they waved their wares in his face, demanding that he stop, that he look, that he buy.

  "What does it mean, cadi?"

  "It is the equivalent of master."

  He strode through the souk, pausing here and there to buy some more fruit, a ball of goat cheese, some wine, some sugar, and butter, a sack of millet and rice.

  "And now, we go to meet our guide, and we will begin our journey."

  His name was Rashmi, a portly unassuming middle-aged man in flowing robes, who awaited them by the north gate with the camels and all of the gear packed in straw and slung in panniers over the camels' humps.

  "We walk for the first leg of the journey," Charles said, and motioned for Rashmi to lead. The keeper at the wall opened the gate, and slowly, in single file, they led their camels out of the west gate of the city and into the wall of heat and infinite sand and sky that was the edge of the desert.

  They walked all the morning into the Kalahari, with the blazing sun behind them, into the vast swath of an empti­ness underpinned only by the gritty yellow sand, the sun, and the sweltering heat.

  There was not a tree, not a scrub of a bush to break the corrugated landscape. There was only the sun, the sand, the sky, and the plodding animals. At noon, they broke for water and food, and then they all mounted their camels and rode.

  And all they could see was sand and more sand, unmarred, untrodden, vast, immeasurable, unconquer­able.

  Slowly, slowly, they rode into the boundless unknown, Rashmi navigating by the sun, by experience, and by in­stinct. They were to travel as far as possible the first day; the first day in the heat was the worst. After, the body be­came acclimated. After, everything was not as intense.

  Georgie thought she would faint from the smell and the swaying of the camel, the scorching heat, and the closeness and warmth of her abeya. She wanted to stop desperately; she wanted to rescind every agreement and go back to stay in Sefra.

  Anything but this suffocating endless torment of swel­tering heat.

  Eventually the sun began to sink down into the horizon, a golden ball in a sky painted with mauves and pinks that finally turned to twilight.

  Then they stopped to camp.

  Stopped in the middle of nowhere. That was the desert—nowhere, Georgie thought acrimoniously.

  So they would make a somewhere. Immediately Rashmi and Charles began setting up the tents, Rashmi's near where the camels were staked, and her and Charles's a little far­ther away.

  Between the two tents, Charles made a campfire from straw and camel dung and set up the two pots, one with water, one with some meat and vegetables.

  Georgie was ordered into their tent to prepare for the evening.

  Surely be didn't—be couldn't, Ob, but Charles could, she thought, her heartbeat escalating. Perhaps it was all he had thought of the entire journey, what would happen when they broke for the night and he had her all alone, naked, in their tent.

  She spread the rug over the floor, and arranged the blan­kets and pillows. She could see the shadows of Charles and Rashmi moving around the campfire, which threw a low muted light into the tent.

  She could feel her heart pounding, her body quickening, her breathing becoming heavy with anticipation.

  She felt the hunger to have him possess her and the con­tradictory need to goad him, to make him work for his reward.

  Her breath caught; her body tightened and elongatedr* with a furling need. Even this death trip couldn't kill de­sire, she thought raggedly. All she could think of now was his promise to be the most greedy lover of her nipples.

  She didn't even want to eat. She wanted him, this minute, with her, his hands cupping her and his mouth feeding at her breasts.

  Her body heated up, and she ripped the veil from her head, and the robe from her body.

  Naked, he had said. At end of the day's journey, she was naked and ready for him to come for her nipples.

  And yet he did not come. Her nipples grew tighter and harder with longing. She felt honey wet, her body strung taut with yearning.

  They were eating, the men, excluding the lowly woman, the thought of possessing whose nipples had bent one man to her will.

  She knew her power, and she didn't care. All she wanted was for him to keep the promise that had kept her going on this first part of the journey.

  But now she was naked, she must confine herself to the tent.

  What would he do? She could imagine ten things and a hundred. Every one aroused her still more. When would he come? When did men in the course of a day seek to sink themselves deep in a woman's body? When would this man come to claim her nipples?

  Everything about her body was aroused, erect, aware.

  And yet, he did not come.

  There was laughter outside the tent, and low conversa­tion, and night sound
s. The stillness was broken by the crackle of the fire, the cackle of a hyena, the mawing of the camels.

  A swamping need coursed through her.

  She knew so many things about sex, about men and their needs, and she was waiting on him?

  She cupped her breasts, the curve of her palm and thumb surrounding the nipples. Her breasts were perfect, high, full and rounded, with dusky areolae and pointed tips that were aroused, protruding, and hard as stone.

  Made for a man's hands, a man's mouth.

  "Those are my nipples, kbanum."

  His voice, low and commanding as it was, startled her.

  "So I was told, cadi, and yet no one came to master them."

  "Then you wait for me, and you wait on me, and you wait until I am ready for it. There are things men must do before they take their pleasure."

  "And there are promises men must keep," she retorted, "when they bargain for that pleasure."

  He smiled faintly. She wanted it already; she was des­perate for it. Her nipples were tight and hot with it. She couldn't hide a thing from him now. He'd deliberately pro­longed the time until he came for her to intensify her arousal and her need.

  And now he would take her nipples. "You will have all the pleasure you can handle, khanum. Give your nipples to me."

  She licked her lips and looked down at her aching breasts. Her body was tight as a bow, waiting. And maybe he knew that; maybe he did it deliberately to heighten this moment. All she knew was, she was ready for it, ready for his hands and the fulfillment of his promise.

  She came to stand directly in front of him. He reached out and his hands surrounded her breasts—she made a sound as he touched her—his fingers over, his thumb below. Then gently his fingers moved forward so they grazed the hard points, and he squeezed each of them be­tween one finger and his thumb.

  A bolt of lightning shot between her legs, incandescent and furious, and she gasped.

  "Now, khanum, go about your business while I tend to your nipples. You may have noticed I brought you some food. You may sit and dine at your leisure, as long as I can possess your nipples."

  She couldn't breathe, the sensation of his fingers squeez­ing her nipples so subtly was so intense. She almost wanted to get away from it. Her body bucked and shim­mied seeking surcease, and as she tried to get away from the pressure, he came at the hard pointed tips even more relentlessly.

  "Lie down then, khanum, and let me play with your nipples."

  "This is too much ..." she moaned.

  "This is not nearly enough. / can't get enough. I prom­ised you I would be the most ravenous lover of your nip­ples, and here I've barely even begun and you think it's enough?" He rubbed the nipple tips lightly between his fingers and then compressed them again, and she tried to pull away.

  "It will never be enough. And this is but the first night of all the pleasure to come, khanum. I have wanted to fon­dle your luscious nipples from the moment I saw you naked in my bungalow. And now they are mine to do with as I want—as you want, khanum—even though you try to deny the fullness of your own pleasure as I rub and squeeze them ..."

  Her breath caught again. She had to get away from his inexorable fingers. She moved away and he was there with her, his only contact, his fingers surrounding her nipples.

  "Remember, khanum, this was the price. This was all I asked of you, that you give me your nipples."

  "I know," she whispered. "I didn't know."

  "What could you not have known?"

  "How insistent your fingers could be."

  "And I could never have imagined how hard your nip­ples would be for me. You wanted this, khanum. You wanted me to take your nipples."

  "I know, I know. But it's too much, it's too .. . much—"

  "It's not too much. I'm going to hold on to these hard little tips all night. Whatever do you, even when you sleep, khanum, my fingers will be caressing your nipples."

  "I didn't know," she moaned, shimmying her body away from his touch. "I didn't understand what you meant."

  "You knew," he contradicted relentlessly. "You wanted this. You were furious before I came into the tent that I hadn't come to you immediately and begun the seduction of your nipples. No gentle Englishman here, khanum. I take what I want. And your nipples"—he compressed them again meaningfully—"are what I want. Every night after the journey, you will give me them, just like this, for whatever I want to do. Even if all I want is to hold them between my fingers like this for hours, or days, or months. If you're not willing to give them to me under those condi­tions, we'll kill the bargain now, and I'll take you back to Sefra."

  He began thumbing her nipples, back and forth over the stiff protruding tips, back and forth, back and forth, in an erotic rhythm that sent liquid heat sliding through her veins. As she swooned, he began with his thumb, hard over the nipple, and then he compressed it, hard, com­press, hard, compress until she sagged against him, and he guided her down onto a pillow.

  "Well, khanum." He tucked the pillow under her so that her back was arched, and he took her nipples back be­tween his fingers. "Do you want to take these incredible nipples back to Sefra, or do you want me to have them for my pleasure?"

  She couldn't talk; the pleasure was so intense.

  "Ah, khanum is overcome. Thank goodness you lay down; it's much easier to fondle your nipples this way."

  She made a sound and arched her nipples up toward his caressing fingers. They closed around the hard points tightly this time, and she made a low growl in the back of her throat.

  "Did you say enough pleasure, khanum? That you want to return to Sefra? That you've had enough of my vora­cious need to fondle your nipples?"

  She writhed against his fingers, panting.

  "I told you, I wanted to own your nipples." He held them so tightly now, so masterfully, just the very hard tip. "And now you must tell me, khanum. Tell me what you want."

  She gasped, and arched at an even more acute angle against his fingers.

  "Khanum appears not to like the way I fondle her nip­ples or surely she would have expressed her pleasure."

  Chapter Eleven

  "No, no, no," she panted, her body pumping now in rhythm to his caresses. "More ..."

  "More what?"

  "More ... ohhhh ... I want..."

  "Sefra, since you are so displeased?"

  "Nipples ..." she moaned. "Don't stop—don't..."

  "That is what I thought," he murmured in some satis­faction as he settled himself more comfortably for the night. The long pleasurable night. "That is absolutely what I thought."

  What had he done to her? In the cool light of morning, as she lay on her side in the curve of his body, and felt his hands still on her breasts, she felt the shimmering ache of unsatiated pleasure. He had made her swoon and yearn and beg for the release he would not give her.

  She felt explosive still, and yet, there was pleasure. Incredible bone-melting pleasure just from the way he ma­nipulated her breasts and her nipples. This was the promise and the passion to come from his preoccupation with her breasts.

  The thought made her body heavy and languid with de­sire. She stretched and his fingers tightened around her nipples, A stream of molten heat spiraled between her legs, and she wriggled her hips against the cradle of his.

  "Such erect nipples, even in the morning," he whispered against her ear. "I can't let them go." Gently he com­pressed them between his fingers. "I don't know how I will get through the day until I can fondle them again. So I must make the most of this morning that I have them in my hands." Three fingers now around each nipple, just there.

  She went limp at the pressure and the lightning pleasure that bolted through her.

  "Such responsive nipples," he murmured. "I can't let them go."

  "Don't let them go," she sighed, rubbing her buttocks against his body. His rock-hard penis, rather, that he would not give to her. Not yet anyway. He was as stub­born as a rock. No fucking. God, she needed fucking.

  No, she
needed his fingers playing with her nipples. Holding them and squeezing them. She felt like she was swirling out of control. Every fiber of her being was cen­tered on her nipples and the masterful pressure of his fin­gers.

  She was wet with it, hot with it. She needed his penis. She needed something hard or she was going to erupt—

  He felt her agitation, loved the wild twisting of her body against his, as she sought his root. Not this time. Much as he was bursting for her, much as fondling her nipples made him cream over and over, he would keep his word— no fucking. Her nipples were enough. At least for today. Tonight—well, a man had to be a martyr to contain him­self in the face of such unbridled sexuality.

  After a night like last night, any man would embed him­self to the hilt in a body this responsive, this libidinous, and not move his penis for a week.

  But he was not just any man. And this was not just any body. And those nipples were so tantalizing, so luscious, so voluptuous—he would make sure no one man pos­sessed them the way he did, and that she wanted no other man to possess them after him.

  "Cadi, cadi..." Rashmi, a shadowy figure scurrying around outside the tent.

  Charles uttered a curse and then answered him. "We must break camp. I need to help him and you must get dressed. No, I will hold your nipples while you dress so I can have the pleasure of them to the very last moment pos­sible."

  It was impossible to dress while he was fondling and squeezing the tips like that. She kept backing away, and he kept pursuing her.

  "How can I dress with your fingers in the way?"

  "I don't want you to cover your breasts. I want you to ride with me this afternoon so I can fondle your nipples under your abeya. Tonight is too many hours away. Even five minutes is too much time away from them."

  "It's too much."

  "Too much? Too much—what, khanum? This morning, it wasn't too much. Last night, you begged me to take them and play with them. So what is too much when I promised I would be the most greedy lover of your nip­ples? I haven't yet begun to show you the depth of my hunger for them."

  Her breath caught. That was his promise: that there was so much more to come. And she had agreed to give her nipples over to him. That was the bargain, and he was def­initely keeping up his end of it.