by Lane, Nina
“Listen, I know I promised you a trip to the Taj Mahal, but I won’t be able to take you at least until next month,” Gerald said. “I heard that the Thompsons might be organizing a trip there for some of the others. Perhaps you could join them. Rohan and several of the servants will accompany you for protection and to take care of the details, but I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time.”
Devora turned that idea over in her mind and found it highly appealing. Traveling with Mrs. Thompson might prove to be exasperating, but at least Devora would have an opportunity to see other parts of the state. Not to mention the Taj Mahal, which had always fascinated her.
Gerald rubbed his knuckles over Devora’s cheek. “Does that sound like something you might enjoy?”
Devora nodded. This really wasn’t Gerald’s fault. Heaven knew he was just abiding by convention like all of the other British colonizers. “It does, Gerald. It sounds lovely.”
“Good.” Gerald gave a definitive nod and stood. “I’ll send a message to Mr. Thompson before I leave to let him know that you’d like to do that. He can help you take care of everything, and I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to have you along.”
“All right. Thank you.” Devora continued watching him pack. Rohan wasn’t going with him. The thought of being alone with the Indian man made her more than a little nervous, particularly after their brief conversation on the return from the maharaja’s palace. Rohan hadn’t treated her any differently in the few days since their brush with royalty, but that didn’t make Devora any less uncomfortable around him.
“Do you want some breakfast before you leave?” she asked Gerald. “I’m sure you’ll be on the road for a long time.”
“Kalindi fixed me some tea and toast about an hour ago,” Gerald replied. He looked in the mirror and ran a comb through his hair.
“Kalindi, hmm?”
“Devora, she’s a servant. That’s what she does.”
“Serve you, you mean?”
“Devora!”
“Sorry.” Devora couldn’t figure out what was the matter with her. In addition to being bored, she was feeling incredibly peevish lately. Maybe a short separation between her and Gerald would actually be a blessing in disguise.
Gerald turned to look at her, his gaze raking over her figure sprawled indecently on the bed.
“You’re becoming a bit obsessed with that woman, aren’t you?” he mused.
Devora’s heart quickened a few beats at the husky, sexual undertone to his words. “Am I?”
“You’re always asking me about her.”
Devora lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I’m just curious, that’s all.”
“About Kalindi or women in general?”
Now it was Devora’s turn to be shocked. She stared at Gerald for a moment, uncertain if she had even heard her strait-laced husband correctly. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Devora’s lips parted as she drew in a breath. Her skin prickled with excitement at the mere thought of what he was implying. “God, Gerald.”
He approached her, his eyes gleaming with a sexual wickedness that she had never before witnessed in him. “Well, Devora? Does it excite you, the idea of another woman?”
“I don’t know,” Devora whispered.
“I think it does. Or else you wouldn’t be commenting on other women so much.”
Devora couldn’t move. Her gaze locked to Gerald’s lewd expression as he lifted his hand and traced the scooped neckline of her nightgown. His fingertips barely brushed against her skin, but Devora’s nipples hardened as if he had just enclosed them with his lips. Her heart began to thud hard against her ribcage.
She glanced down at Gerald’s trousers. Heat quivered through her at the sight of his hard penis pressing against the material. The knowledge that he was excited by the thought of her and another woman made Devora both aroused and slightly unnerved.
“Would you like that?” Gerald murmured, his eyes fixed on her neckline as he began to draw the sheer material down to expose her breasts. “Being with another woman? Kissing her, touching her?”
He took one of her nipples between his fingers, then tweaked it so hard that Devora winced. She couldn’t believe how aroused she was in such a short time. Her sex was already damp, her loins pulsing gently and craving pressure. She watched the movement of Gerald’s hands as he pushed her onto her back and began pulling her gown up over her thighs. His palms stroked over her thighs, moving towards the heated fissure of her sex.
“Maybe you’d like a woman’s hand between your legs for a change, is that it?” Gerald’s chest heaved with his own excitement as he leaned over her with that feral expression.
His groin pressed against her, his penis pushing insistently against her as if Gerald were forcing her to remember that he was a man. Devora shifted her hips and rubbed her exposed sex against the tight bulge, delighting in the way the rough material of his trousers chaffed against her sensitive folds.
With a groan, she writhed lewdly against him, stimulating the growing pressure. Gerald bent his hand and sucked hard on one of her tight nipples as she continued to pleasure herself against him.
Devora let her eyes drift closed, her mind swimming with images of herself naked with another woman. Cupping another woman’s breasts in her hands, delving her fingers into the soft sex, tasting the musky flavor of womanly nectar. Ah, Devora couldn’t help but think how delicious such a union would be. Blood pounded through her veins with a force made all the more potent by her sapphic thoughts.
“Do you want me to fuck you instead?” Gerald’s voice grated roughly in her ear as he lifted himself away from her.
His obscene words only served to excite Devora all the more, quickening pulses of heat through her entire body. Opening her eyes, she gazed at her husband, thinking that she had never seen him quite this forceful. His eyes blazed blue fire as he stared down at her, a pulse throbbing violently at his temple.
“Come on, Devora, admit it,” he hissed. “Is that what you’ve been wanting? Is that it?”
“Oh, Christ.” Devora closed her eyes again when Gerald thrust a finger roughly into her, his passage eased by the fluids of her arousal. She grasped the front of his shirt for stability as his thumb began to circle her folds.
Sensations wrapped her in a hazy mist, one that included nothing else save for the touch of Gerald’s hand and the image of herself entwined with another woman. Gerald pushed his finger back and forth a few times before Devora felt the head of his cock pressing against her. A momentary fear fluttered through her, startling her. She had never had reason to fear Gerald.
Devora looked up at Gerald, wondering suddenly if she even knew the man who was her husband, and then he started to pump inside her with a rhythm she had come to know instinctively. His expression softened to one of lust. Devora’s fear dissipated, to be replaced by growing ripples of excitement that tugged at her pelvis and demanded release. She stretched her arms above her head to let herself be thoroughly ravished, her body jerking rhythmically with every thrust.
Gerald lifted Devora’s legs over his arms, pushing her thighs back as far as they could go so that he could penetrate her to the hilt. Luscious it felt, this slick thrusting edged with the mere notion of forbidden pleasures.
As the pressure built, waiting to burst forth in a glorious explosion of rapture, Devora turned her head towards the door. Her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of a dark-haired man visible between the crack of the slightly open door. And then he turned and disappeared.
Devora stilled so suddenly that Gerald paused in his movements. He drew in a ragged breath and looked at her. “Devora?”
She shook her head, putting her hands on his chest to push him away. “Rohan.”
“What about him? What’s the matter with you?”
Devora gestured towards the door, almost unable to get the words out. “He was there. Just outside the door.”
“So what?”
“Gerald, the
door was open.”
“Oh, bloody hell.” Gerald pulled away from her, breaking any remnants of lust. He stalked across the room and slammed the door closed, then grabbed his trousers off the floor. “I have to leave, or I’ll be late.”
Devora stared at him. She wrapped her dressing gown around her unfulfilled body and tied the belt tightly. “Gerald, you can’t leave now.”
“Devora, I have work to do.”
“Gerald, I’m telling you he saw us!”
“Look, I don’t like that idea any better than you do, but it’s our own damn fault for not being careful.” Gerald buttoned his trousers and shrugged into his jacket. “I told you that you have to watch your step around them.”
“So now we can’t even fuck each other in the privacy of our own bedroom?” Devora snapped. She paced back and forth furiously, pushing her hair away from her face.
“Don’t talk like that.” Gerald laced his shoes and picked up his hat. “Listen, Devora, this isn’t London. We need to conduct ourselves accordingly given that we’re in a different country.”
“Fine, and now you’re going to leave me alone in a house with man who just saw me in the most indecent of positions.” Devora was so angry that every muscle in her body felt tight. She whirled around to glare at her husband. “You tell me I can’t even walk around in my dressing gown because it’s indecent, and here your servant just saw you fucking me!”
“Devora, that’s enough.” Gerald closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “Listen, I’m sorry that happened, but you have nothing to worry about where Rohan is concerned. In fact, you should be grateful for his protection since you’ll be alone here.”
“I don’t feel very grateful.”
He approached Devora and put his hands on her shoulders. “Darling, please don’t make a fuss out of this, all right? I love you. You’re the loveliest, most passionate woman in the world. If I could, I’d stay here and make love to you twenty-four hours a day. However, I suspect the British government would balk at paying me for such an activity, no matter how delightful.”
A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Devora’s lips. “One can always hope, anyway.”
“I’ll call Mr. Thompson straight away to arrange your trip to Agra.” Gerald bent to press a kiss against Devora’s lips. “And, if it will make you feel better, I’ll ask him if someone can come here and stay with you.”
“Thank you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“Behave yourself when I’m gone,” Gerald said. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Devora murmured. She watched Gerald leave the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
She stood in the middle of the room for a moment and tried to collect her thoughts after such a shocking end to an intense sexual experience. She wondered how long Rohan had been standing outside the room. The idea alone made her face flame with humiliation. How must she have looked, spread out and exposed so wantonly?
Devora groaned and wrapped her dressing gown around her body as she went into the bathroom. She took a quick bath, masturbating almost furtively to rid her body of the lingering tension, then dressed in a conservative, light blue dress and matching shoes.
After fixing her hair, she went into the sitting room. A three-months-old copy of The Times and a pot of tea rested on the sideboard. Devora poured herself a cup and sat down at the table to read the news.
“You wish something to eat, memsahib?”
Devora looked up at the sound of Kalindi’s lilting voice. The servant stood before her, dressed in one of those saris that Indian women wore with such grace. She was such a pretty, little thing with delicate features and richly brown skin. A sudden image of herself and Kalindi appeared in Devora’s mind, another erotic picture of them naked and writhing together.
“Memsahib?” Kalindi prompted.
“Oh.” Devora flushed. “Yes, I think a boiled egg and some toast, please.”
“Very well.” Kalindi padded off towards the kitchen.
Devora pressed a hand against her chest, surprised to discover that her heart was beating rapidly. Good lord, what was the matter with her all of a sudden? One day she was discussing sacred phalluses with a maharaja and just a few days later she was imagining herself naked with a female servant.
She would have thought she was going crazy were it not for the fact that everything felt oddly logical and very, very real. She felt as if the hot sun of India, the dry plains and wheat fields, the crumbling, ancient temples and multi-armed gods had all given her permission to feel and experience every licentious thought.
After eating breakfast, Devora picked up her teacup and wandered over to the bookshelf that rested against the wall. She hadn’t taken the opportunity to examine the shelf’s contents, but it occurred to her that there might be some texts dealing with Indian religion and philosophies. Perhaps even this notion of the worship of the phallus. After perusing several English novels and books about Indian history, Devora found a small volume on the bottom shelf entitled The Kamasutra of the Vatsyayana.
Taking the book, she sat down on the sofa and leafed through it. She had heard of The Kamasutra before, of course, but she’d never known exactly what it contained. All she knew was that it was a fourth-century text about the sacred act of love and union. And she certainly hadn’t known that the book was filled with such sexual detail, focusing on the range of positions available, the erogenous zones, even such matters as how to hold the phallus in one’s mouth.
Devora was certain that some of the sexual postures illustrated in the book were completely impossible between normal people, but, oh, what imagination! She never would have imagined such positions. Her couplings with Gerald, no matter how raw, had always been with her lying on her back and him over her. What would it be like to actually sit astride a man, or to bend over, or to turn away from him…
“Memsahib, you have a visitor.”
Startled, Devora looked up at Rohan. “Excuse me?”
“Mrs. Thompson is here to visit you.”
“Oh. Please send her in.”
Rohan nodded, but not before glancing down at the book in her lap. A hot flush colored Devora’s face as she realized the book was open to a number of illustrations about sexual postures. She slammed the book closed and thrust it back onto the shelf, giving Rohan a haughty glare.
“I said, send Mrs. Thompson in,” she ordered.
Rohan turned and went back outside. Devora fought the urge to make a face at his retreating back. She hated what he must think of her, and she was equally annoyed with herself for even caring what he thought. He was just a servant, hardly a person of importance. What did it matter if he thought she was a lust-driven tart? Heavens, maybe she was even turning into one.
Devora couldn’t help smiling at the thought.
“Oh, my goodness, would you feel how hot it is already?” Mrs. Thompson strutted into the room, dressing a flowing chiffon dress and a flowered hat. “I must say, I do long for the rain.”
“Hello, Mrs. Thompson, what a pleasant surprise.” Devora stood to kiss the other woman, catching a whiff of talcum powder. “What brings you here?”
“My husband told me that you might want to join us on our Agra trip while Gerald is gone,” Mrs. Thompson replied. She sat down heavily in a chair and began fanning herself with her hat. “Dear, have you got any tea brewed?”
“I’ll have Kalindi make a fresh pot.” Devora rang the servant’s bell and instructed Kalindi to bring out tea and cookies. She settled down across from Mrs. Thompson. “Yes, I thought going to Agra was a wonderful idea. I’ve been wanting to visit the Taj Mahal, and with Gerald gone for two weeks, I thought I would be quite bored. He suggested a trip might be great fun.”
“Yes, I suppose it will be.”
“Have you been?”
“Oh, of course. Several times. We usually take the train into Delhi, but it’s a rather horrible city. Very crowded and beggars everywhere. Then we take a car to Agra which is, of cou
rse, infinitely more pleasant. At least there are a number of British people around.”
“When are you planning to go?” Devora asked.
“We were hoping to go this coming weekend since that’s when Reginald can take some time off. I’m not comfortable going without a man, you understand.”
“Quite.”
Kalindi returned with a tea tray and poured two cups, glancing at Mrs. Thompson. “One lump or two, memsahib?”
“Two.” Mrs. Thompson accepted the tea and watched Kalindi leave the room. “She’s a young one, isn’t she?” she said to Devora.
“I imagine she’s at least twenty. That’s not so young.”
Mrs. Thompson chuckled. “And how old are you, my dear?”
“Twenty-eight.”
A thinly penciled eyebrow rose on Mrs. Thompson’s forehead. “Oh.”
“Pardon?”
“I thought you were younger than that. Having been married only a year and all.”
“Yes, I know. I was in danger of being a spinster before Gerald came along and rescued me,” Devora said dryly.
“Now, now, there’s no need to be sarcastic,” Mrs. Thompson replied. “Just remember that when there’s a younger woman in the house, regardless of the fact that she is Indian, the men are in danger of temptation.” Her voice rose and fell on the word “temptation,” resulting in a little sing-song tone that Devora found particularly irritating.
“I’ll remember that,” she muttered.
“So, my dear, you enjoyed our little visit with the maharaja the other day?”
“Yes, I found him to be very engaging.” Devora debated about whether or not to tell Mrs. Thompson about the erotic art room, but decided that such a revelation would only give the other woman more fodder for gossip. “His palace is beautiful.”
“And he’s quite a dashing man himself, in a regal sort of way. Not handsome really, but poised and, oh, I don’t know. Refined.”
“That’s an interesting observation considering the rumors about his sexual behaviors that seem so prevalent,” Devora said.
Mrs. Thompson’s eyebrow shot up again, no doubt due to Devora’s sardonic tone. “Well, the persona that one presents to the public is quite different from the one that exists behind closed doors, is that not the case?”