“What do you mean by that?”
“Let me think.”
“Please don’t.”
“What?”
“I need you, Mark. We can’t do anything about this right now and I’m so cold.”
He slips one hard arm around her and reaches behind them to turn off the light as he pulls her up with him.
She forgot to tell him how that same lamp went out just before Richard appeared and she refrains from doing so now in order to not distract him.
He makes short work of her clothes, peeling them off her and tossing them away with the urgent efficiency of a paramedic trying to get at her wound before it’s too late. Then he shoves her back across the bed.
She slips a hand between her thighs and caresses her clitoris while watching him unbutton his jeans, although the room is so dark she can barely see him. Even when he pulls his shirt off his tanned skin seems only a dim afterglow on her retinas, exciting her because he could be any man, even a total stranger. She doesn’t want to think about who he is because all that really matters is who he isn’t. It’s not Richard there with her yet in her heart it is Richard’s chest she stretches her legs up against, Richard’s shoulders she rests the backs of her ankles on. She is only using Mark—she knows this and she doesn’t care whether it’s right or wrong. She needs him to make her forget and to help her remember—forget her grief and remember the overwhelming pleasure she felt with Richard by experiencing its ghost with another man.
He is not much more than a silhouette but she knows he is holding his growing erection fondly, proud of it, as he kindly allows her slit’s moist lips to savor his thick and tender head for a delicious moment. He makes her desperately hungry for the rest of him before he suddenly asks, “What makes you think I want your cunt, Lucia?”
She can’t answer as he slips a mere teasing inch or so of his cock into her, enjoying her wet, clinging kiss. She waits breathlessly for him to sink into her but he seems intent on making her painfully conscious of the void inside her and pointing out that only he can do something about it. “Oh God,” she gasps finally, “just fuck me, please!”
“Oh I’m going to fuck you all right, princess, don’t you worry about that, but what I’m going to fuck,” he grips her ankles with both hands and flings her legs aside, “is your ass. Turn over!”
Excitement and apprehension seem to roll her over onto her stomach with the sheer force of her reaction to what he plans to do as her heart starts racing. The bed is tall enough that all she has to do is let her legs hang off the edge so he can stand between them. He plants one hand firmly on the small of her back and perversely enough the feel of him pinning her down helps her relax and accept the fact that she has no choice but to take what’s coming to her.
Whenever Richard fucked her ass it hurt a little at first…but it was never this bad! She cries out as Mark’s head, slick with her pussy’s wasted juices, plunges into her impossibly small hole and then slips right back out as her body resists the invasion. She wants to scream when he tries again impatiently but instead she strives to hold on to him, desperate to get past the agony of his initial penetration. Because once he’s completely inside her the excruciating pain will dim to a dull torment that will then miraculously transform into a dark and inexplicable pleasure. Yet it isn’t easy making muscles accustomed only to pushing out unwanted waste remember that they can also draw something desirable into her body.
Mark groans with success, a low-pitched sound that mysteriously relaxes her and enables him to bury the full length of his erection in her bottom. Then, without hesitation, he begins thrusting in and out of her hard and fast. She balls the bedspread up in her fists to brace herself. Her pussy is only vaguely distressed by the fact that he seems to prefer her mouth and her ass, parts of her body not made especially to serve him as its aching wet depths long to. But it doesn’t really matter in light of the overwhelming fulfillment she experiences listening to the sounds he makes, luscious sounds that tell her how much he loves milking himself with her ring’s reluctantly passionate grip. The unnatural penetration turns her on almost more than her body dares to admit, because getting it up the ass defies the whole idea of sex as an evolutionary tool, an arousing enough thought in and of itself without his cock ramming the concept into her. She finds his total selfishness so intensely satisfying that she lifts herself up onto her elbows and, moaning from the breathtaking pleasure, arches her back so she can take his rigid cock even deeper.
“Mm, yes, princess, you love this, don’t you?”
She is beyond words. His driving energy is going to kill her. It just feels too damn good to survive…yet she is thinking of Richard, of all the times she willingly offered her body up on the altar of his selfish pleasure.
Chapter Seven
Lucia wakes abruptly to a sunlit room and a strange man sleeping beside her.
Mark is turned away from her on his side and her gaze travels appreciatively down the smooth desert slope of his back.
He rolls over abruptly and fixes her with a very sexy sleepy glare before covering his face with both hands. “What the hell time is it?”
She reaches for the nightstand and consults her watch. “Eight-thirty.”
“Come here, baby.”
Smiling, she slips beneath his arm.
He murmurs, “Did you enjoy yourself last night?”
“You know I did.”
“How do you feel?”
Caught between sadness and contentment, she lets the latter win out for the moment.
“I asked you a question, Lucia.”
“I feel great.”
“You’re not hungover in any way?”
“No.”
“Are you sore anywhere?”
“A little.” She caresses his chest. His hard leanness excites her, perhaps because it is so different from Richard’s muscular tenderness. “But I like feeling this way.”
“I’ll remember you said that.”
* * * * *
Mark is interrogating the Etap’s manager in a politely urgent blend of English and Arabic. As far as Lucia can tell the slender Egyptian—his lush silver hair an elegant contrast to his bronze skin—is denying all knowledge of the bottled water twice delivered to her room compliments of the hotel.
She hides her despair at this seeming proof that Richard is only a figment of her drugged imagination. Yet—her heart stubbornly quickens its pace—the first two times she saw him were before any water was brought to her room.
“I am most sorry, sir,” the manager says firmly, “but the Etap has no record of room service delivering water to Madam Taylor’s room and cannot be held responsible for whatever it is you are suggesting. You should perhaps contact the Tourist Police in this matter.”
“What a brilliant suggestion, thanks.”
Even though it is not directed at her she winces beneath the fallout of Mark’s sarcasm.
“Madam will be wishing to check out?” the manager asks her.
“La. No.” She smiles at him then hurries to catch up with Mark, who is striding angrily away from the front desk. “Well, that didn’t get us very far,” she comments lightly. “You’re not going to the Tourist Police are you?”
“With some crazy story about a ghost? Right. We’ll handle this ourselves.”
The dining room is always full of guests whose relaxed smiles reflect those of the ancient people they have come to admire.
Mark orders them a traditional feast of orange juice, eggs, bacon, toast and coffee.
The coffee arrives almost immediately and, plucking a small ice cube from his water glass, he drops it into his steaming cup. “I intend to find out who’s staying in the rooms around you, Lucia.”
Cooling her own coffee with cream and sugar, she takes an appreciative sip. “I’m assuming the manager refused to give you that information.”
“Of course, but with a little baksheesh I can easily find out.” He attempts to sip his coffee but it is still too hot.
“I like to taste my coffee, thank you.”
“Mark, the night before last,” she queries tentatively, “did you come back?”
He drops another splinter of ice into the hot black pool in his cup. “What?”
“After you left the other night,” her chest tightens with anxiety, “did you come back?”
“What the hell are you asking me, Lucia?”
A glass pitcher of orange juice is set between them.
“Never mind. I guess I just had a vivid dream.”
“Here, drink.” He pours her a glass of juice. “There’s nothing more important than orange juice in the morning. It’ll get your brain cells cooperating again.”
“Mark, if you weren’t around—”
“You’ve already said that, Lucia, but I’m definitely here and real and not going anywhere, except back to the Savoy to pack my stuff. Then I’ll call Doug and see if he can spare some time to show you around the Valley of the Kings tomorrow.”
“Oh, Mark, I would love that. Do you think he will?”
“What man can resist impressing a beautiful woman? I’m sure he’s dying to pump you with everything he’s got.”
“Will you ask Lori to come along too?”
“She will if she wants to,” he replies shortly.
“I saw her in the Temple of Luxor yesterday. She seems like a nice person. I’d like to get to know her better.”
His eyes are stunningly blue above his black shirt. “You went out yesterday?”
“I couldn’t just sit in my room all day, not after what Elizabeth said about you and that impossible phone call.”
“Never mind. I’ll just have to punish you later.”
She savors the promise before asking, “Seriously, Mark, Doug doesn’t think I’m a flake, does he?”
“He thinks you’re beautiful. The man isn’t blind.”
Their food arrives
“God, I’m starving!” She covers her lap with the white cloth napkin. “I didn’t eat anything yesterday.”
“If you don’t keep your strength up, Lucia, I might just fuck you to death one night, and I’d have a hell of a time explaining that to the Tourist Police.”
They eat in silence for a few minutes.
“I want you to call your brother-in-law Julian,” Mark states abruptly, “to make sure he’s still where you left him.”
“But what will I say to him?”
“That you’re having a great time, whatever. Just don’t mention that you’ve seen his dead brother, please. He’ll consider having you committed and getting a hold of your money that way.”
“You’ve never even met him, Mark. How do you know what he’s like?”
“You don’t like him and that’s good enough for me.”
She doesn’t bother asking him how he knew this—her expressive features usually give her feelings away. “All right, I’ll call him but he probably won’t be home. I imagine he never is.”
“Then just keep trying. Does he have a roommate or a girlfriend?”
“I don’t think so but I don’t know really. I’ve barely seen him since the accident. And he’s so young, I have no idea what he’s into now except that it can’t be in any way good for you because that’s not cool.”
“Getting your brother’s widow to commit suicide so you can collect all her money would be pretty damn cool.”
She manages to swallow her mouthful of bacon. “Yes, if she was stupid enough to let him.”
He polishes off a second glass of juice. “Which I’m sure she wouldn’t be.”
“Killing herself might briefly have occurred to her but lots of things occur to her all the time. The fact is, it wouldn’t be right and she’s hopelessly optimistic.”
“I’m very glad to hear that.”
She dabs her lips with the napkin, leaving a stain like dried blood on the white cloth. “Mark, you’re wonderful.”
“I know.”
The waiter sets a black leather folder on the table before him.
“Just charge it to my room,” she says. “I mean, you’re going to be staying with me, aren’t you?” she adds quickly.
Mark pulls out his wallet and slips an astonishing number of bills into the folder.
“Mark?”
“Yes?”
“You’re not mad at me, are you?”
“Why should I be mad at you?”
“You look mad.”
He picks up his coffee cup and drains it.
“You are mad.”
“I don’t want your money, Lucia.”
“I didn’t say you did, Mark.”
“Then stop offering to pay for everything.”
“But why shouldn’t I? I’m rich.”
“Maybe,” he glances at the large diamond glittering on her wedding finger in a shaft of sunlight, “but we’re still sharing the expense of the room and everything else.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“That’s what I want.” A frown defines his features so beautifully his tanned face makes her think of the golden outer layer of a sarcophagus inlaid with lapis-lazuli eyes. “Finished?”
“Yes,” she says breathlessly.
He pushes his chair back. “Do you have any of that complimentary water left?”
“One bottle, I think.”
“Good. I’m taking it to Doug to have it analyzed then I’ll go get my things.”
She notices heads turning their way as they leave the dining room. They are both dressed in black jeans and black shirts. They stand out like two ravens in a flock of parakeets—traditionally, tourists wear light colors in the hot desert
“Can I come with you, Mark?”
“No, get some rest.”
“But I slept like a baby all night.”
“You’ve been through a lot, Lucia, and I’m serious when I say I don’t want you going out by yourself anymore.”
She precedes him into the elevator. “I didn’t come to Egypt to sit in a hotel room,” she sulks out loud.
“Didn’t I say I’d arrange for Doug to show you the Valley tomorrow? Then I think you should seriously consider leaving for Cairo. I’ll come with you if you want me to.”
She can’t hide her dismay. “Of course I want you to. But do you really think we should leave so soon?”
“Yes.”
She tells herself that Richard’s spirit cannot be bound to a geographic location, yet this contradicts her theory that the spiritual energy left over in Thebes, like some mysterious radioactivity, is helping him manifest. On the other hand Cairo, home of the pyramids, should be just as potent…
The lift door opens. “I’m sure,” Mark pushes her gently out into the hallway, “I wouldn’t like what you’re thinking!” He opens the door to their room and the pressure of his stare forces her inside without him touching her. She heads for the bathroom to brush her teeth but he grabs her arm and pulls her over to the side of the dresser. He backs her up against it and, staring down into her eyes, unzips her jeans. “There’s only one way to stop you from thinking about Richard isn’t there, Lucia?”
Beneath the sharp anger in his eyes his mouth is so hard it feels like a whip against her heart and her pussy responds as if to a real whip by immediately getting warm and damp.
“I have to beat him out of you don’t I, Lucia?” He yanks her jeans and panties down to her ankles and holds them in place so she can slip off her black strap sandals and step out of her clothes, balancing on his shoulders. He kicks everything away and lifts her shirt up over her head. He snaps open her black bra and peels it off her, tossing that away as well. Then he removes his belt but keeps that in his hand as he takes a step back. “Turn around.”
She obeys him, hanging her head submissively from the growing weight of her mental excitement.
He ties her wrists together with the firm leather, quickly and expertly. She can’t even budge them when he is finished.
“Now face me.”
She obeys him, seriously turned on by the fact that he is still fully dressed, all in black, while she is totally naked and vulnerable.
He grabs her beneath the arms and lifts her onto the dresser. “Lie back,” he commands.
Her arms are pinned uncomfortably beneath her but how much it excites her to be helpless is worth the discomfort. Her legs hang off the dresser’s edge, her toes just barely grazing the carpet as he leans over her, crushing her breasts beneath his hands as he rubs his rough denim bulge against her vulva. Her full lips bloom open around him, a deep, moistly shining rose against the matte black cloth. Then the cold kiss of his zipper on her clitoris short circuits a vital synapse in her brain and suddenly her whole being is nothing but pure desire. She holds her breath when he stands up straight, expecting him to open his pants. Instead he crouches between her thighs and presses his lips against her clitoris. The warm wave of his tongue washing over her pleasure nub feels wonderful. Yet the mysterious pearl of her flesh thrives on friction and on hardship and the longer he ignores her coral-mouthed slit the more desperate it gets to suck something into her that will feed the teasing pleasure.
The position of her legs is such that it plants the rosy-purple grape of her flesh, which has the power to turn her blood into an intoxicating wine, directly in his mouth. He sucks on it, torturing it with direct attention while she moans and shifts her hips and winces as the belt’s stiff coils cut into the small of her back. Yet the discomfort offers a welcome distraction from the painful pleasure of having her clit eaten alive. When he finally thrusts two fingers into her cunt she is so hot and slick they feel more like an insult than a consolation. She is so ready to be fucked that she feels she could take his whole hand.
The thought nearly blinds her. “Oh yes, Mark, please, do it,” she begs almost in a whisper, closing her eyes. “Fist fuck me!”
He hesistates, but only for a moment, before withdrawing his fingers.
For a heart-stopping moment she is afraid the request shocked him.
“You’re not big enough,” he warns, his quiet, almost gentle voice a stunning contrast to the act of his fist slowly forcing its way inside her.
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