Mac flicked his finger, bringing her to whimpering, shattering surrender. Once again, he was conveniently sidestepping the primary issue of their past.
“I care about now. You’re under my command. For the rest of this expedition, you’ll obey me. Without hesitation, because your life depends on it, I promise.”
He went to work, alternating his caresses with artful spanks. He was systematic, yet thoroughly devious in his approach. Pain and pleasure blended, the trickling sex fluids running down her fire-ridden thighs. She was crying, begging for release, not even sure what she wanted. She found herself craving spanks, and begging for the touches to stop. Her senses were a mess. Twice she fell onto her belly and was ordered back to her hands and knees for further punishment.
At a certain point, as abruptly as it had started, the ordeal stopped. She felt the displacement as he rose from the bed, leaving her, her ass throbbing. She was sure it was beet-red—red and puffy like her sex lips, oozing the liquid of her feminine subjugation. To her humiliation, her hips kept moving, grinding the air, and seeking his touch, his slaps, and his pinches—anything except to be left in total ignorance and helplessness like this.
Where had he gone? Why had he ceased his torture?
The lights clicked out. Minarra stiffened, on the verge of an abyss. It was the dunes all over again, except the storm was in her heart, in her mind.
“Mac?” She whispered, scarcely daring to break the silence. A sheen of sweat turned cold on her body, and still she burned. Somewhere in the distance, she could smell the scent of him, musk and testosterone. And incense, burning somewhere outside the window. A slow, smoldering odor, the combined sins of a thousand bodies, a thousand, aching yearning years.
“Hush,” he called back. His voice instantly calmed her frayed, lightning-edged nerves.
His hand was at her cheek. She rubbed against it, needing the contact of his skin. Her nipples ached as if they were ready to explode. She wanted him inside her so much…
“It’s time,” he told her.
She took a breath, savoring her own exquisite uncertainty. “Mac, I…”
“No more words,” he cut her off.
It had been a close call. Had he known she was about to profess love? It would have been the first time, too. Why had that not occurred to her before, she wondered? Mac had told her he loved her that night in the dunes, but she had never said the words back. Not then, or ever. She was too much like her father. He held his cards to his vest, preferring to live through other passions, most especially his work and after that his obsession to control the natural environment, his family first and foremost.
“I want you to concentrate on being open, Min. And ready.”
She gasped at the feel of the cool ointment. He rubbed it across her backside, soothing the raging fires. The residue of the spanking cooled to a dull ache, a pleasant glow that made her want to slip down to her belly…
There was little time to rest, however, as his fingers quickly moved into her anus, lubricating the tight, virgin canal.
“You don’t know, Min, how long I dreamed of this.” His voice was husky, so seemingly heartfelt. One could almost forget his true colors, his actions that spoke so much louder than his words of love.
Had he missed her, she wondered, even a moment these last six years—even to the extent of imagining an act of perverted sex with her? If so, there was no way she would ever have known, since he’d made no attempt whatsoever to contact her in all this time. Apparently it would have been too much for the great Mummy Hunter to face the pain he’d caused. All the nights she’d cried hot tears—the times she’d put her hand between her legs in desperation and rage, trying to come close to duplicating what they’d had—the times she’d cursed his name, even as she’d pleaded to the invisible gods to return him to her.
She’d been forced to live in self-imposed exile, totally divorced from her own feelings. Dating had been impossible. Even wearing a swimsuit was problematic because of an odd neurosis she’d developed. A fear that somehow, some semblance of the brand that he’d threatened in jest to place on her upper thigh, would show.
Mac’s hands on her waist were strong as steel now, enveloping, possessing. But they were protecting, too. She could not imagine a better pair of male hands on this entire planet. Where else could she feel so much herself—so completely…in place?
Wanted. Had. Cherished.
“Oh god,” he sighed, his cock piercing the twin globes. “Oh sweet god.”
Min moaned, willing herself open, craving his penetration. It was happening…the letting go he’d spoken of. He would never be able to hold her to this. It would have no meaning beyond the moment, but still, it was there—the tenderness in the darkness. “Go deep,” she urged, all thoughts of their enmity gone for the moment. “Go as deep as you want.”
Her words seemed to galvanize him. His initial thrust was completely masterful, measured, smooth and uncompromising. Minarra cried out—impaled.
It was like the dunes all over again, under the wild star winds, the rushing air of thunder and flash of lightning, with its teasing promise of rain.
Only now they were older. They’d suffered, each in their own desert. Dare she hope for something…anything out of this new coupling?
Mac was groaning like a man possessed. She had him past the point of rational control. He was a man fucking his woman—fucking her—and right now, there was no other woman for him on the whole fucking earth and if one even came near him, Min would scratch out her eyes.
“I’m gonna…” Mac could hardly get the words out.
Minarra cheered him on. “Yes. Come in my ass, Mac… I’m here, Mac… I’m here…for you to use…”
She relished the fullness, the pressure. Her aching, open pussy drew pleasure vicariously. She became her own call—the voice of yearning and urging—the wanting, the seduction itself.
There was something familiar in it, something that pulsed through her swaying breasts, radiating from out of her bullet-like nipples. It was coming from the tips of her fingers and toes and reverberating through her flat belly. Sensations from every part of her body, colliding in her mind, tripping the trigger of something that was at once fantasy, memory and vision.
I’m here…for you to use…
That voice…could it belong to the other Minarra? Calling out afresh to her prince. To the Komen-tah of her dreams? Could it be there was more in all this than dust from a long forgotten past, more than a legend…more even than her dreams?
* * * * *
Mac withdrew at the last second, opting to spurt his come over Minarra’s pinkened backside. At the same time, he hooked a finger inside her, stimulating her to an instant and powerful orgasm. She made such an incredible target, such a dazzling sight, his shooting spurts of come landing on her, dabbing across the surface of her rocking, shaking body. He milked his cock furiously, his hand rubbing up and down the thick, purple-hued shaft, squeezing out every last drop.
The sounds of her pleasure filled his ears, giving him as much joy as the climax itself. He could smell her sweet release—how well he recalled the taste of those precious fluids. There was her perfume, too, and the electric sound of her breath, the vital feel of her skin, the way she looked and sighed, the silk of her hair, the arch of her back. It was the total package, all the sensations, and the mutuality between them. Perfect, just as it had always been with Minarra.
“So fucking…incredible…” he voiced, straining to put the words together.
Minarra collapsed with a final, soft mewl of pleasure, ending up on her belly, arms stretched overhead. The emotions that rose in him, seeing her like this, were almost too much to bear. Already fresh desire was stirring, and yet at the same time, he wanted to cover her and protect her. What this poor woman had been through. Losing him, and then a year later her father. The fact that he had not been able go to her and comfort her was the greatest pain and shame he would ever know in his life.
Compared to that
, the machete wound in South America, the bullet he’d had lodged in his rib cage in Ulterra, and even the time he’d been at death’s door with Crane’s Fever had been like mere scratches.
If only she would let him in now…if only he were man enough to try. Seeing her like this, so vulnerable and spent in the wake of passion, so seemingly open to him, he could almost believe it was so, that they could still be one. Mac locked his jaws. Damn it, he was on the verge of tears. He had to get to the bathroom fast.
To his surprise she grabbed vaguely at his arm. “Don’t go,” she slurred, her cheek pressed to the mattress, her hair covering her face in a delightful and sexy corona.
He laid a hand on the small of her back. “I’ll just be gone a minute,” he offered softly.
“Promise?”
“Scout’s honor.” He bent to kiss her neck. She sighed in warm anticipation, lifting her neck ever so slightly. So she was still ready to live in this moment, this suspension of time between a tragic past and an empty future. It was more than he could have hoped for. Already he could feel his cock hardening again. This time it would be slow and leisurely, and in the end, she would take his semen deep inside herself, down her canal—that sweet, hot channel he’d once known like a part of his own body, and whose contours he’d imagined every time he’d been with another woman since.
Oh god, he wanted to do everything to her, kiss and talk to her, fuck her and tie her…whatever it took to make sure she never left again. But he couldn’t go back to that place, mentally. He couldn’t put her through that kind of emotional exhuming. There were things better left dead and buried.
Roger had told him once, when first they began to work together, when it had become clear that he would be his protégé, that there was an inevitable curse associated with any process of archeology. To dig up the artifacts, the bones—it is all a form of desecration. And yet because our own psyches are so tormented by the past, we are driven to do so anyway, no matter what sentence the gods decree.
“Don’t let me sleep,” she mumbled, lost in some world of twilight consciousness. “Love me.”
Mac smiled through tears at her plea. If only she knew how much he’d suffered without her. The color had been ripped from his world, half his own heart, torn from his chest. Had he been a coward to not fight for her? To allow Roger Hunt’s will and opinions to override his own? Irony of ironies—the old man had driven Mac away to spare her from a life as an archeologist’s widow, and yet she’d become one herself.
“Be right back,” he reiterated with a whisper in her ear. “Wait here.”
She reached for him again. “I mean it, Mac. Don’t let me sleep.”
The remark puzzled him for its vehemence, but he simply nodded, assuring her. Gently extricating himself from the bed now, leaving her body, beautifully reposed, he went to the bathroom. The tile was cool under his feet, though the room itself was warm. It was always warm in Alcazara. One had the choice here of warm, hot and scorching, depending on time of year and location.
The fixtures in the bathroom were antique bronze and brass, from the early part of the last century. Counts had stayed in this suite, and earls and perhaps a prime minister or two. They’d had their consorts, their courtesans, but none had ever held a woman like Minarra in their arms. She was more than any man deserved, him included.
Looking at his reflection in the round, gilded mirror set on the light yellow wall, he saw his age showing in tiny ways under his eyes, in the slight lines at the edges of his mouth. There seemed to be a little less glint in his eyes, too. He was getting tired. Tired of running around the globe. Running from his past. And yet there was no way back.
Mac put a washcloth under the faucet, soaking it. Pure, cleansing water. He was about to tend to his cock when he felt the familiar press of a body behind him, hot, eager.
So much for waiting for him.
“Your obedience is lacking,” he teased. “As usual.”
“Shut up,” Minarra turned him around and took the cloth from his hands. “And deal with it.”
Minarra proceeded to wipe him clean, her small fingers lavishing exquisite attention over every inch of his cock and balls. He breathed an impassioned sigh. After a few initial wipes, she wrapped the cloth about his cock, forming a tube.
“Min,” he whispered his appreciation as she applied light pressure, just the way she knew he loved.
Minarra shook her hair over her left shoulder and moved in to kiss his chest. One by one, she nibbled at his nipples. The nubs swelled in her mouth. He laid his hand on the back of her neck, enjoying the silkiness of her hair.
“Mmm…” he offered gratefully, opting not to ruin the moment with words.
No other woman’s lips had ever held this magic for him. The way she pressed and challenged and invited. Indeed, it was everything about her. Her scent, like roses, fresh day and night, the sounds of her breathing, so deeply expressive.
He watched as she turned the faucet on, tossing in the cloth. She was after the soap now, tearing it from the wrapper. It had some fancy label. Mac never cared about things like that, but Min did. He found it an endearing part of her how she’d squirreled away in her desert gear a few feminine touches, tiny bottles of perfume and a small vial of lotion.
The combination of her extraordinary femininity and beauty with her tomboyish attitude and brilliant mind had made her irresistible from the moment he’d laid eyes on her.
Min lathered up her hands, covering them with thick white suds. She had a wicked look in her eyes and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess what she intended to do next.
He released a low groan, distinctly male, as she replaced the cloth with the slick, creamy lather. It was rich and smooth and cool. He hardened completely almost at once, delighting in the feel of himself throbbing in her palms. Deciding turnabout was fair play, he grabbed the wet soap and began to apply the lather to her as well. Before they knew it they were both laughing like old times, their bodies flush and ripe with the pleasure of each other’s devotions.
“We need more water,” Mac decided, leading her to the shower.
Minarra stood with him in the round marble stall as the miniature downpour erupted over their heads. He adjusted the creaking knobs, fixing the temperature. Min was busy with the soap, wanting it seemed, to cover every inch of him.
No man had ever been that dirty to require so much cleaning, he thought with a wry grin. Of course it was an excuse. Her palms slid over his skin, she squeezed his ass cheeks, and pressed her slick breasts against him as the water sluiced between their bodies. His shaft was rigid, poking between her thighs. He moaned at the feel of her, nipple to nipple, her small feet planted atop his to give her added height. His hands slid down to cup her ass cheeks. He his teeth nibbled the flesh of her neck as water rolled down over his eyes and the bridge of his nose.
Mac was all set to lift her up onto him, to impale her against the wall, but Minarra had a different idea. Shaking him off, she dug her nails into his chest. Raking downward. Down to the floor of the stall. Down to her knees. She bit at him, playfully, up and down the length of his cock, her hands weighing his full, heavy balls.
For a virgin, Min had proved herself phenomenal at fellatio. She’d credited it at the time to his ability to put her at ease, to make her feel so sexy and willing to take chances. She’d certainly taken chances the very first time, leaning across to him at the morning camp briefing, whispering in his ear that afterwards, she was going to take him to the digs for something different. They’d only been having sex for a week at that point.
“I’m gonna give you the blowjob of your life,” she’d said, her father sitting less than ten feet away at the head of the table. “I want you to come in my mouth, so I can swallow every drop.”
“Young man, what on earth are you on about?” Roger had demanded, seeing the look on Mac’s face.
Minarra had sat next to him, thoroughly enjoying his predicament.
“It’s nothing, sir.” Mac clear
ed his throat. “Nothing at all.”
The old man shook his head. “This is what we are dealing with,” he addressed the other two senior professors, “in our younger generation.”
Minarra had earned a good tickling later for being such a little imp, but she’d been true to her word. At the bottom of a twenty-foot hole, out of sight of the rest of the expedition, she’d sucked his cock deep to the back of her throat, making him come after just a few motions of her beautiful head. To the last drop, just as she’d said, she swallowed his come.
This time it was water surrounding them. Running his hands through her sopping wet hair, he gloried in her. She was like a sea nymph, a water sprite, with the body of a lush goddess and the mind of a genius. And here she was, devoting herself completely, to him.
He let himself go to the back of her throat. She pressed her teeth along the underside, pressuring the thick vein. It was one of those instinctive things she knew how to do. Feeling himself swell, tangling his fingers in her hair, he anticipated coming this way.
But he wouldn’t do that, not tonight. He had more exploring to do, more expressing, playing and catching up. Turning off the water behind him, Mac helped Minarra to her feet.
She looked at him questioningly, at which point he swept her up into his arms. “Back to bed,” he winked.
She was laughing by the time he rolled her onto the mattress. He followed her, pinning her down, wrists overhead. “Your favorite position,” he murmured. “Remember?”
The look on her face spelled pure mischief. She didn’t exactly knee him in the groin, but she did manage to press home the point. “Actually,” she smiled, sweet as pie. “I was rather fond of this one, too.”
He arched a brow. Apparently she was no longer in a submissive mindset. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to point a loaded weapon?”
Minarra pushed harder against his balls. “Daddy always told me, you need your own weapons to fight your own battles.”
Prisoner of Shera-Sa Page 8