“Follow me,” Khat said, leading her two horses toward the rear of the cavern.
Mike could smell the dry, musty odor of the cave. Even bats didn’t live back here. It would be one hell of a flight in and out every day with the twisting, winding tunnels they’d taken to get back here. He saw a small pool of water in a grotto. Khat had already taken off Mina’s bridle and held the rope to her halter so her mare could eagerly drink her fill.
He walked up near where Khat stood and untied the rope from Zorah to the loop on the cantle of Khat’s Western saddle. There was a lot of work to do before they could settle in.
The cave was much warmer than the outside air temperature that hovered near freezing. Mike took off his hajii gear and laid it across his saddle. His cammies were damp but serviceable. Khat went back to the cave entrance to sweep away all evidence of the horse prints in the dirt. She had motion sensors and put new batteries in them so it would alert her electronic box she kept turned on, in case someone wandered accidentally, or on purpose, into their cave complex.
Khat beckoned him to bring Zorah up next for a drink. She led Mina over to another enclosure, a rock wall about six feet tall that extended into the cave like a wing. There, she had planted a small tree trunk years earlier and tied Mina’s halter lead rope around it. Turning, she removed the tarp on the load Zorah carried.
In half an hour, with Mike’s help, Khat was ready to take care of the animals. The cave had a lot of alcoves to it, and she led him to one across from where the horses rested. Around a rocky corner was a crescent-shaped area, the roof of the cavern sloping downward, making it look like a room. They worked together without speaking, getting the metal grate out, two MREs, bottles of water and prepared to eat. The smell of the food made Mike’s stomach growl. Damn, he was starving to death.
Khat took off the radio and headband, laying it aside. She’d shed her hajii gear, down to cammie basics. Her hair was mussed, and she moved her fingers to tame the worst of the strands away from her face.
Mike took care of the cooking while she prepared tea for them.
“Is it safe to talk in here?”
Khat nodded. “That opening at the top of the cave is down below a hundred-foot cliff. No one can get to that opening on foot or by horseback. Only way would be by rappelling down, and the Taliban aren’t into that.” She grinned sourly over at him. “Your butt sore?”
Snorting, Mike growled, “What do you think?”
“Those wooden saddles are a bitch.”
“I’m seriously eyeing your Western saddle,” he said, pulling the MREs off the grate and onto the tray.
“Dream on, Tarik. That’s mine.” She chuckled softly, handing him a mug of steaming hot tea. “Besides, you’ll probably get a purple heart for all the nail puncture wounds you’re gonna collect from that saddle.”
He laughed softly and they sat down cross-legged from one another as he opened his MRE. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, just tired.”
“I get to sleep with you,” Mike said, meeting and holding her warm gaze.
“I just wonder how much sleep we’re going to get.”
“If I have anything to do with it, not much.”
Khat enjoyed the gravel warning in his voice and the heated look he gave her. His hair was mussed and he looked tired, the skin across his cheekbones tight. They’d ridden a long way, and he wasn’t used to that kind of time in a saddle. Her heart swelled with love for him as she watched him stab a piece of omelet with the Buck knife he carried on him.
“More like glue than eggs,” she noted.
“Typical MRE. Makes me appreciate the chow hall at Bravo.”
Khat looked around, the dripping of water from far above them, higher on the mountain, was eventually finding its way into the small pool at one end of the cave. “Our voices will not carry to the outer cave,” she told him. “When I first arrived in this area, I did a lot of testing of noise carrying, finding adequate water for me and my horse as well as finding caves that were complex. Taliban tend to sit out in the front of a cave. They don’t wander back in to see what else is there.”
“Well, if that’s their mind-set,” Mike murmured, finishing off his food, “that’s good news for us. Tactically, that’s a pretty stupid action on their part.”
“I’ve made it a point to study their weaknesses,” Khat said. She put her empty MRE aside and stood up. “Why don’t you get our bedding spread out in here? I’m going to wash up in that pool.”
“Go for it,” Mike urged, easing to his feet. The bedrolls were in one pannier. “I’m next.” Even though it rained off and on all night, the fine sand had worked its way into his damp skin, rubbing a number of places raw.
*
KHAT BEGAN TO unbraid her hair. Mike had thoughtfully left her brush and comb on their bed. She was naked, the cave a constant seventy-five degrees, and she loved the coolness of her recently washed skin drying off. She had smiled as she’d strolled into their room, naked. Mike gave her an intense, burning look. She’d felt her body leap to life beneath his gaze. The man positively oozed sexuality. He made her feel sensual. Desired. For too long, she’d ignored her own body.
Mike rounded the corner, wiping his wet hair and beard. He knelt down on one knee behind Khat. Tossing the towel aside, he said, “Let me do that.” He eased her long, thick braid out of her fingers. Because of the scarring on her back, she didn’t have full mobility to reach back like this. He leaned over and kissed the nape of her neck, her flesh cool and damp beneath his lips. He heard a rush of pleasure from her lips as she tipped her head, allowing him more access. She smelled clean and sweet. Nipping her flesh lightly and then kissing each spot on her neck, Mike made it to her earlobe. “Now,” he growled, “I want you to just sit there and let me take care of you. All right?” He saw a smile pull at her full lips, her lashes dropping closed.
“I’m in your hands,” she whispered.
Grunting, he said, “Good to know. Still tired?”
“No. You?”
“Not even.” Mike began to unbraid her thick, silky hair. Once it was released, it was a heavy cloud of red hair between his opened hands. “Beautiful, strong hair,” he murmured, leaning forward, nibbling on the other side of her neck. “Like you.” Her breasts had tightened, and the nipples were hard. He saw a flush coming to her cheeks, knowing that was a sign of her enjoying him.
He sat down, legs crossed and murmured, “Lean back. I’ll guide your head to my thigh. I’m going to brush your hair.”
Khat trusted him completely. Mike placed his hands on her shoulders, guiding her backward. Her head rested on his long, powerful thigh. As he pulled the brush slowly through her hair, her scalp tingled wildly, tiny flames of pleasure coursing down to her breasts and then to her lower body. Already, Khat could feel dampness collecting between her thighs, and Mike had barely touched her.
His long fingers moved through her strands of hair, skimming her scalp, making her utter a moan of enjoyment. He took his time, taking one long strand and brushing it until he could run his fingers through it. Mike knew the quality of foreplay was everything. Anyone could have sex. And it was more than sex driving him. He needed, in his own way, to show Khat what a man could do for his woman. The many ways he could love her, without having sex. Judging from the tension melting away from her face, her lips softening, she was cocooned within the aura of the care he was surrounding her with.
“I’ve never had a man brush my hair,” Khat murmured, so incredibly relaxed, she felt as if she were melting a little more beneath each stroke he took with the brush.
“When you love someone,” Mike told her, leaning over to catch her barely opened eyes, “there’s a hundred thousand ways to show your woman she’s not only loved, but worshipped.”
“Mmm, I like being worshipped.”
Mike saw, even in the low light, the slight waves in her crimson hair gleam. The strands were clean, barely damp between his fingers. Did she realize that touching her wa
s making him so damned hard, he could barely control himself? Did it matter? Not right now. Khat was obviously aware of his erection, so close to her shoulder where she lay. He placed his hand beneath her neck and knees, easing her up across his lap and into his arms. Her hair fell like a warm cloak around both of them.
Khat gave him a drowsy smile, her eyes half-open. She was hotly aware her thigh was pressing into his erection as she slid her arms around his damp, cool shoulders. “You love me so well,” she murmured softly, laying her head on his shoulder.
“I haven’t even begun,” Mike rasped, pulling her against him. He felt the hard pebbles of her nipples tangling in the hair across his chest, felt her arch into his arms, wanting to get closer. She caressed the column of his neck, and her warm, moist breath sent fire streaking through him.
Khat inhaled softly as her nipples were teased, the feelings like tiny charges bolting through her body. She slid her hand against his bearded cheek, guiding Mike’s mouth to hers, kissing him hungrily, her lips seeking.
She felt him smile and then gently nip her lower lip. There was a fine line between pleasure and pain, and he always landed on the side of pleasure. Still, as she moved her tongue boldly against his, he groaned like a snow leopard who was cornered, waiting to spring. She felt him pull away from her mouth, his lips finding her nipple.
A small cry vibrated in her throat as Mike held her captive, suckling her as he laid her out against him. Feeling his calloused fingers easing around her breast, her skin charged and electrified by his touch, she moaned, pressing her belly against him, wanting more. Her breath was irregular, her pulse wild as he sought and found the other peak, lavishing it with his tongue. As he placed his teeth around it, she quivered, eyes tightly shut, feeling the flash of fire rip down through her. Fingers frantically digging into his heavy shoulder, Khat arched upward and toward him.
“You are so damned responsive,” he rumbled against her breast, licking the flesh around the outer edge of her nipple, feeling her twist frantically in his arms.
His dark voice only triggered more yearning for his touch, for his body. “Touch me,” she pleaded huskily. “Please… Touch me, Mike.” She moved her hips in a twisting motion against his erection. Instantly, Mike froze, growled and then she felt his fingers moving lightly across her damp thigh, easing her open. Her breath caught in anticipation, her pulse skyrocketing. He pressed her face against the crook of his neck, wanting, waiting… And then she felt his fingers move against her heat and dampness. Moaning his name, she thrust her hips toward him, wanting much more. Khat heard him give a gruff laugh.
“You are always in such a hurry, sweet desert woman of mine.”
As he spoke to her in a roughened tone in her own language, her entire lower body spasmed, sending a cry from deep within her.
“You are so wet,” he rasped against her ear, kissing it, kissing her temple. “So ready…”
Khat wasn’t helpless, and he must have felt or read her mind because he eased his fingers within her. It tore away all her thoughts. He was exploring her slowly, thoroughly, and all she could do was tremble and whimper as her body contracted around him.
As his mouth captured her peak, she was caught off guard, the fire erupting within her core. Unable to catch her breath, moving her hips, trying to take him more deeply into her, she felt so close to orgasm, the explosion racing toward her.
He must have felt her walls begin to contract because just as she was going to beg him to go deeper, he did. And in that instant as Mike touched the deep recesses of her as a woman, that sweet spot that released so much pleasure, so vivid and scalding, she violently orgasmed. A scream lodged in her throat, and she tensed, frozen as the white-hot flow tore through her.
Khat’s fingers sank deep into his flesh as he continued to prolong her orgasm. Panting, her body burning, sweat trickling off her temples, he placed his teeth gently around one of her nipples. A bolt of lightning dove from her taut breast down to her throbbing core. He’d stimulated her once more, another orgasm, to gift her, once again. Mindless, her body straining and writhing, Khat felt the thick, sweet honey of her body flowing strongly, releasing a backlog of pent-up need.
Mike heard her sobbing, her beautiful body a satin sheen in the low light as he eased his fingers from within her. Cheeks flushed, eyes closed and her lips parted, he smiled. Now Khat understood what slow loving could bring to her.
He lifted her off his lap and onto the blankets, her hair spread like living red flame around her shoulders. Easing between her thighs, he pulled her hips up toward him until his erection was pressed against her wet, warm entrance. Her eyes barely opened, her chest heaving from the orgasms that had ignited within her. She was hot, and she was still hungry. He rolled on a condom, protecting her. And as he’d pressed against her, she had moaned, her back arching, wanting to draw him into her.
Khat whimpered as Mike slid slowly within her, filling her, understanding how tight she was. He waited, allowing her body to accommodate him, skimming his hands up toward her breasts, cupping them in his calloused palms, thumbs brushing teasingly against her straining nipples.
“Now,” Mike whispered, leaning down, holding her exactly where he wanted her, “I want you to let me pleasure you…”
His words were dark with arousal and instantly, her body responded. Mike remained barely within her, teasing her entrance, that swollen pearl filled with nerve endings, sending scorching heat up through her.
Groaning, Khat gripped his arms, trying to bring him deeper, but he had her on a slant and held her a prisoner, she belatedly realized. Opening her eyes, Khat drowned in the burning, narrowed look he gave her as he leaned over to sample one of her nipples. Her mouth opened, a hoarse cry tearing out of her throat. He was going to tease her to death! His hands were like firm steel clamps on her hips knowing she’d try to buck up against him. This time, she felt helpless beneath this slow, scalding onslaught. How much could she take? Her channel was tight and hot, and she whimpered again as his teeth teased the peak, sending more shocks through her tense, needy body.
A fevered explosion burst loose from within her, and she sobbed out his name, her fingers gripping his hard, muscled biceps, frozen, back curving upward. A sound, like a hoarse cry of pleasure, tore out of her.
And then, Mike moved more deeply into her, prolonging her orgasm, beginning to touch that sweet spot so deep within her, the guardian of all her orgasms to come. He angled her hips, thrust swiftly and he heard her mewling cries grow more intense, her fingers digging frantically into the blankets. He held her, thrust as deep as he could go, and she literally dissolved like hot honey between his hands. Her flesh flushed, her back so taut he thought she’d snap in two as the next orgasm shook her to her foundation.
Only then did Mike take his own pleasure, releasing her, allowing her to slide damply from his thighs back onto the blanket. Covering her with his body, he smiled into her eyes that were dazed with more gold than green in them. “You’re mine,” he grated, his hands framing her face. “Never…ever forget that, Angel.” Mike leaned down, curving his mouth against hers, absorbing her panting breath deep into him, giving back to her, simultaneously thrusting powerfully into her. He took her hard, not rough. Releasing control over himself, Mike felt fire explode within him, making him shudder and tense. He gripped the blankets on either side of her head, a growl tearing out between his clenched teeth, nostrils flared.
Khat lay limp, feeling the warmth and weight of Mike upon her. Nothing had matched the emotions stirring within her as he slid his arm beneath her shoulders, holding her in the aftermath, his breath coming in gasps against her neck and shoulder. Weakly, she slid her arm over his back, slick with sweat. A smile played at the corners of her mouth as Khat absorbed their union. Nothing on earth had ever felt so good. Mike held her heart. He nourished her soul.
*
“LET ME PUT the lotion on your back,” Mike told her later after they’d recovered. Khat lay on her belly, arms beneath her cheek.
“I didn’t do it for three weeks,” she admitted.
He sat down beside her, their hips meeting as he gently applied the lotion, starting at her shoulders. “You don’t have three arms.” Her body shook from silent laughter. He grinned, gently moving his fingers across her scarred skin. “I’m good to have around, if for no other reason than applying lotion to your back two times a day,” he teased. Khat barely opened her eyes, her smile disappearing.
“You do so much more than that for me, Mike.”
“Because I love you, Khat. That’s what people who love one another do. They take care of each other. They find ways to please them, make them smile. Make them happy.” He watched her eyes close, a sense of peace in her expression.
“That feels so good. I can already feel my skin relaxing.” She opened her eyes and looked over at him. The day was dawning, and she could see his hard face, the angles, the set of his mouth. Khat knew Mike’s tender side, not the warrior side. Every touch sent tiny prickles of pleasure through her skin. Her flesh had been so toughened over time, it had turned numb and leathery until he’d insisted on giving her back lotion twice a day at the villa. The change had been amazing. Whatever Mike touched was better off for it.
“Do you feel like telling me how you got these?” he asked, meeting and holding her gaze. “If you don’t want to now, then some other time?” Because Mike knew he couldn’t force Khat to trust him. And it was only trust that would allow her to tell him of her captivity and torture.
Khat felt mellow, none of her usual defense systems online. Mike was able to walk silently through those walls and touch the real her. That part of herself that was left after the torture. She shrugged. “It’s something you should know,” she agreed in a whisper. Closing her eyes because she did not want to see Mike’s expression, she said, “I was trapped in a box canyon by Khogani’s men. They captured me and took me back to one of their caves. Sattar Khogani, who is the son of Mustafa, is a twenty-four-year-old street punk.” Her lips twitched. “He was shrieking and threatening me because I wouldn’t talk. But his captain, Ramin, who actually runs the Hill tribe while Sattar learns to be a leader, had me stripped down to the waist. They tied my hands on a limb overhead, my feet inches off the floor. He asked me in perfect English who I really was. I wouldn’t talk. After five questions, I had five lashes with a metal-tipped whip. I fainted. They’d throw water on me to make me regain consciousness. I took eight lashes that first day. Ramin had me held down on my stomach and they poured salt into my wounds. I screamed until I fainted from the pain.”
Taking Fire Page 24