Bliss River

by Thea Devine

  So what indeed was too much? The pleasure? The time? They had all the time in the world in the desert. They could spend weeks hunkered down just here and he could do everything to her breasts he promised and more.

  The thought made her shudder with excitement.

  She bowed her head. "I misspoke. Nothing you desire is too much. And I will ride with you this afternoon even though it will be difficult to wait until then to feel your fin­gers on my nipples again."

  He eased his fingers from her breasts and she shivered, suddenly cold, suddenly bereft.

  Her reaction was not lost on him. She might be just a lit­tle raw with the way he handled her all night, but she un­derstood who was her master, and she already wanted it.

  His hands flexed. He didn't know how he was going to get through all the hours until he could have her breasts again. Even under the cover of her abeya.

  He'd settle for that to have them sooner. To have her hot and swooning in his hands.

  "Get dressed," he said briskly. "I have to help Rashmi load the camels. It's going to be a long, hot, dreary day..."

  And it was—hot and dreary—starting from the moment they were ready to begin the day's trek, beginning with a restive camel that had to be pulled down and calmed with a plug of tobacco in its nostril. And then the inevitable walk out into that eternal nothingness. The interminable heat, the blazing sun, the infinite sky.

  And Georgie's feeling that somehow she had reneged on the bargain just by that moment's hesitation.

  Nevertheless, forward they went, with the camels lum­bering after them. Mile after mile of yellow sand, rippled by the wind, baked by the sun. And now and again a ridge of sand dunes rising up in the distance, looking as impos­sible to traverse as mountains.

  They had to be careful of desiccated animals that were prey for hyenas by night, and insects and scorpions, whose sting could paralyze a body for days.

  They were aiming to travel twenty miles in a day, and on the fifth day, to arrive at a well deep in the Kalahari to refresh the animals and their water supply.

  But meantime, there was the sun, the sand, and nothing much else.

  No, there was a pool of memories of all he had done the night before. Memories to savor and arouse and incite de­sire.

  She was too easily aroused even before she had come to this unholy bargain. And now, after a night with him, and all that unslaked need pent up in her, not even the desert heat could keep her from boiling over.

  And how would she contain herself, seated with him on the plodding camel, and being fondled under her robes?

  She felt her body spurt at the thought. Everything in her quickened, tensed, became erect.

  No, no. It was too soon in the day to think about sex.

  She glanced across to him, stolidly walking beside her. What was he thinking? It could be nothing more than how hot it was and how long this day's journey would be.

  And then he looked at her, and she felt a deep tremor in her vitals. Her body gushed; her nipples tightened. He was thinking about her, her naked body, her breasts, her nip­ples. It was in his eyes and grimness of his expression. He was counting the minutes until he could possess them.

  Perhaps he was sorry they'd begun this trip, perhaps he thought they should have stayed in Sefra where he would have had all the time in the world to explore his passion,, for her breasts.

  And now they had to endure the heat, the discomfort, and the endless hours of this long trek to nowhere.

  Their lunch break was quick: fruit and water and on . their way again, this time mounted on camel.

  It was awkward, being up with him; hard to find pur­chase to keep her seat and to make herself available to him.

  "Lean back against me, khanum," he whispered against her veil. "My fingers will find the way to you."

  She sank back against his hard tight body. She felt his hands sliding up under her robe and sleek over her hips and belly and her breath caught.

  "I keep my promises," he whispered, and his hands were on her breasts, and then he captured her nipples be­tween his thumb and forefinger. "That is all I wanted, khanum. Just to have your nipples with me in the heat of the day. Just to be able to feel them hard against my fin­gers, to hold them like this, to fondle them like this, so you are aware that I alone possess them."

  His words made her body weak. His hands were hot, his fingers gentle and dangerous as he held her nipples. He had only to pluck the tips gently to send her shimmering out of control.

  She wanted him to. He wanted to. His body was taut as a bow, his penis a ridge of stone against her buttocks. He knew what he had the power to do with those fingers. If he would just tweak the nipple tip, she would erupt. She shimmied against him, goading him, but that only pro­voked him to cover both breasts with the palms of his hands.

  She moaned in disappointment.

  "Khanum doesn't understand the pleasures of her nip­ples. I must wait until the evening when she can be freely naked so I can show her."

  "Show me now," she begged.

  "And now she implores me; she who this morning thought my adoration of her nipples was too much now begs for me to service them at her need. No, khanum, even I, in my hunger for them, am finding that waiting thickens my desire for them and prolongs the pleasure of knowing they will be mine and mine alone tonight. And so, I will wait for the evening when you are naked and we are alone in our tent, and then, I will service your nipples as only I can.

  She could barely breathe at the thought. As only he could. Her body was liquid with need, swamped with im­ages of how he would service her nipples.

  She could seduce him, surely, even high up on the hump of a camel. And he would do all those things and more, if she could just—

  "And now, khanum, you must take your own camel. To have you near me is seduction in itself, and your body is hard to resist. For both our sakes, we must wait until there is privacy and time and you can be naked for me."

  Anger flashed through her, and a sense of him playing with her on some other level. He reined in his camel, and helped her ease off into Rashmi's waiting hands, and it was Rashmi who got her mounted on hers.

  And then more sand, more sun, more sky, and her sim­mering resentment that he would arouse her to this vol­canic point, and not fuck her.

  This was a bad bad bargain for her. She had no control, none. And her body felt ill-used. Well, not ill-used. Charles Elliott knew very well how to use a woman's body. He was toying with her, withholding his penis and letting her suf­fer for some reason. To pay for her sins in the Valley?

  But the Valley seemed like another world now, and her whole life seemed centered on him and his pleasuring of her nipples.

  Maybe that was the curse of the desert, the immediacy of it, the loneliness of it, the intimacy of it...

  Maybe she had more power here than she thought. He was absolutely infatuated with her breasts, and that, she was certain, was real. And the only two times she had in­curred his displeasure was when she had negated that. When she had said it was too much, when she had tried to take control.

  Interesting, Then pure complete submission would con­fer power. Hers over him, acceding willingly to that which she had traded away already—his complete possession and domination of her nipples.

  She had lost nothing in the bargain. Except that he re­fused to fuck her. But she got something in return: his ob­session with her nipples and the pleasure he incited in them.

  As only he could...

  He owned them and he couldn't bear to think of an­other man touching them, fondling them, stroking them.

  As only he could...

  That was power.

  She shuddered. And there was more to come—tonight.

  This was getting dangerous. He was besotted by her nipples, so intoxicated he hardly knew what he was doing or saying when he had his hands on them. And lord of all mercies, he meant half the things he'd said.

  This was too dangerous. He was too out of his mind over them.
He couldn't afford to fall in love with a woman's nipples. Not in the desert and not in the real world.

  Except here in the infinite desert, he had all the time in the world to spend on her breasts. Much as she wanted to fuck. Much as he had to control himself with a mighty hand when he was with her.

  It was hard. And he was achingly hard every minute of the day, and it was hard controlling himself, and even harder when he was fingering her nipples.

  But that was the bargain, he owned her nipples. In the desert, there was no future, no tomorrow; there was only now, and his unholy desire to possess her nipples. And his ravenous need to make her beg for it, beg for his hands, his caresses, his touch.

  And what would happen when they reached civiliza­tion? He didn't want to think about it. Didn't need to just yet because she was waiting for him now, naked, her nip­ples jutting and prominent even in shadow. And he went hot and hard with the knowledge that he was the one, the only one, who would fondle those nipples tonight, tomor­row night, and every ensuing night.

  "Khanum..."

  She wheeled around from the far corner of the tent to find him standing there, watching her, his penis hard and straining, looking as if it would burst out of his trousers.

  He had removed his headdress, and his robe, and his shirt. He stood commandingly with his hands on his hips, and he was waiting for her.

  ... khanum . ,. the power of a woman's body, a woman's breasts to make a man come to heel...

  She felt it now as she sauntered across the brief space between them and pressed the hard points of her nipples against his bare chest. Just the nipple tips, nothing more, and he felt it so deep in his gut he creamed.

  She felt his body shudder and felt pure triumphant pride that it was solely the touch of her hard nipples against his hot skin that had made him ejaculate.

  "Show me the pleasures of my nipples, cadi," she whis­pered. "It has been torture waiting for you to come for my breasts after all these hours."

  He ruthlessly got himself under control. He couldn't af­ford to spew every time she touched him, and he couldn't take much more of the pressure of her nipples against him without coming again. He was already an iron bar of need just seeing her naked after all the hours she had been cov­ered head to foot. And his penis apparently couldn't dif­ferentiate between an orgasm and arousal. It was poker hard all over again, and it wanted nothing but to embed it­self in her.

  Not now.

  "It is more torture for a man, giving up the chance to fondle such luscious nipples for the greater pleasure of the freedom to play with them naked and for as long as he de­sires later. You don't know how much torture, khanum, because the imagination runs riot in the desert, and all the things that a man could have been and could have done remain only a possibility. But now, some things can become a reality. Give me your nipples."

  She moaned at the back of her throat. "They are yours to take, cadi." As only you can ...

  He lifted his hand and touched the tingling tips, and im­mediately her body spasmed.

  He made a deep guttural sound of satisfaction and en­closed the stiff tips relentlessly in his fingers, pressing against them rhythmically as she swooned again him. "Now ... khanum ... now I will service your nipples." He plucked at them, first one and then the other, back and forth, once, twice, three times, and then together, pulling at the hard tips relentlessly, until she was moaning and convulsing and begging him to stop.

  "I don't stop, kbanum. I am the master of your nipples and I will pleasure them." And he pulled gently, implaca­bly once again, and her body seized up and convulsed again and again, and she felt each pull deep between her

  legs.

  Where his penis should be, she thought in a haze, but how much more pleasure could she stand? She could barely stand; her legs went soft as the gush of sensation ed­died away.

  And still he fingered her nipples. And she found herself arching her back to entice him to continue his delicious fondling.

  "And so, khanum, I have pleasured you well. And see how you bend toward my fingers as if to beg for more. Yes, you want more. As much I will give you, you want. Your nipples will stay hard and even more erect, yearning for it. You will try to entice me to give you more. It is but the beginning of the many nights I will service your nip­ples. And only the nights, khanum, because that is the only time I have enough leisure to service your nipples prop­erly."

  She moaned, a desperate little sound. "Cadi..."

  "Yes, I am your master. And your nipples are mine to pleasure as I will. I am not done yet. You are naked and we have the whole night. . . my reward for having waited—" He gently twisted one nipple and a stream of sensation gushed between her legs, and she gasped. And then he gen­tly tweaked both nipples, and the skirling pleasure was so intense, her knees buckled and she sank onto the floor, pulling him down onto the pillows with her.

  He was poised above her, supporting himself on his el­bows, his fingers still surrounding her nipples. His hips rocked against hers, his penis a bulging rock between her legs. His face was inches from hers, and she licked her lips in anticipation that he would kiss her. Surely he would kiss her... after that unexpected flooding culmination. She was so ready for him, he could just slide himself between her legs. She was so wet, so ripe, so unaware of the poten­tial of her breasts.

  "All night, khanum, and you cannot seduce my penis, I promise you."

  "I can try."

  "I am determined."

  "Your trousers are wet. I can feel it. You couldn't fondle my breasts and not lose control."

  "Aren't you full of yourself, khanum? And yet here I am, fondling your breasts, and still in control."

  "It will be my personal challenge to make you spew."'

  "And it will be mine to prevent you."

  "Why? Why? We can do whatever we want here. Anything we want. Everything we want."

  "I am doing what I want, khanum. This is what you don't comprehend. I have what I want—your naked nip­ples in my hands every night." He squeezed them, and her body contracted. "You see?"

  "I see," she whispered, but more than that, she saw that she had him on his knees, cradled between her legs and nudging her tightly with the desire he was trying to deny.

  There was a secret there, one that was wholly her own. And a journey still to be made that had nothing to do with her journey to England.

  What was inevitable then? That she would be the one to give in? A woman always did. As hard and as desperate as she was to seduce him, she would give in, and she would submit to his pleasuring her breasts, breathlessly counting the days until he fell from his own grace into her arms and into her bed.

  Chapter Twelve

  The days thereafter fell into a pattern that were just a prelude to the intoxicating nights. Now that she was full of power and pleasure of submitting to him, she spent the long tedious hours of the journey in a haze of anticipa­tion.

  Everything was heightened, even more so because of the heat, the long scorching hours wading through the sand, the fact that they both were shrouded head to foot. They each spent the travel time deep in remembrance of the pre­vious night's pleasuring, impatient for the night to come.

  And what did that do but arouse them both still more. Because the more nights he spent with her naked, the more he played with her breasts, the more he knew it was com­ing, the moment he couldn't deny, the moment when he couldn't refuse her his penis.

  But he meant to hold out until then—and beyond. It was a test of will, to be able to hold this woman's breasts in thrall and still not capitulate to her. It was a test of his resolve not to give in to her.

  But it was coming, he felt it in his soul. He needed to own her through the pleasure of her breasts. There was nothing she wouldn't give him now, nothing more he wanted than her response to his hands.

  It was all he thought about all day long. And he knew it was all she was thinking about too. And he hated it that he couldn't have her naked and to himself all day long. The night wa
s never long enough for all he wanted do to her. Inevitably they fell asleep, invariably he awakened with his hands cupping her breasts from behind, and her bare curvy bottom wedged against his rampaging penis, and there was very little time to think about pleasure then.

  But they couldn't take the time to stop for a day's sen­sual play, so he was prone to let his imagination run riot until that breath-catching moment he entered the tent, closed out the world, and took her breasts in his hands.

  Her nipples were always hot, hard, and erect for him, her body ripe and immediately responsive. He had only to flick his thumb across one rigid tip to make her churn.

  The first time he took that nipple into the wet heat of his mouth, she almost fainted, the sensation was so intense. After that, he couldn't keep his mouth off of them, and she couldn't wait until darkness fell so he could suckle her.

  All of this was outside her experience, even in the Valley. There was never a man who took this kind of time in play before he got down to business. It all revolved around a man's business, and every woman was available for the asking.

  But this — this was luscious, the attention he paid to her breasts. Sometimes he covered her nipples with honey or wine and spent hours licking and sucking them all through the night as they lay together languidly among the pillows.

  And now, he could not stop himself. Sucking her nipples was too much, even for his iron control. He was starting to want more. He wanted to spew his essence all over her breasts. He wanted to rub it into her nipples.

  He wanted . . .

  He wanted too much.

  But that was how it was in the desert. There was no sense of reality, only the desire of the moment to be ful­filled. And that was his most secret desire: to cover her rigid tips with his cream and watch her rub it into her nip­ples.

  So he came to her that night, laid her down on the pil­lows, undressed himself, straddled her, and began the tor­turous pleasure of rubbing his penis back and forth over her nipples as she lay under him.