Desire's Sirocco (7 page)

Dagan waved away her objections. “So noted,” he said.

Astrid bowed her head to the look Dagan sent her way and left quietly without a backward glance, closing the door softly behind her departure.

“Thank you,” Jameela said.

“It is a good thing you weren’t won by one of the Brothers who would share you with his fellow warriors,” Dagan told her.

Jameela lifted her chin. “I am not sure I could have survived under such conditions.”

“Survived?” Dagan repeated. “Aye, you would have survived, Wench. Thrived?” He shook his head. “Most likely not.” He pointed to the stool and waited until Jameela sat down. “I take it the lesson had not started.”

“No, milord.”

“Then we will start with the basics,” he said. His amber eyes moved over her from head to toe then settled on her expectant face. “I want you to put your hands in your hair and drag your fingers through the curls from scalp to the nape of your neck.”

Jameela did as he bid, slowing down the movement at his quick command.

“Again,” he ordered, “and much slower this time. Close your eyes and continue until I tell you to stop.”

The motion was soothing to Jameela and she was relaxing. In her mind, it was Dagan’s hands moving so sensuously through her heavy tresses.

“Once more and stop with your hands clasped around the base of your neck,” he instructed. “Lean your head back and imagine the gentle kiss of rainwater falling on your face.”

Outside, thunder rolled across the firmament so it was easy to fantasize soft raindrops peppering her flesh.

“Do you feel the drops sliding down your chin?” he asked.

“Aye,” Jameela agreed on a sigh.

“Can you feel one raindrop making its way along your neck?”

“Aye,” she whispered.

“Take the first and second fingers of your right hand and follow that raindrop as it slides down your neck and to the hollow of your throat.”

Unconsciously, Jameela ran her tongue across her upper lip as she slowly traced the path of the phantom raindrop.

“Let your fingers rest in that soft hollow,” Dagan said. “Can you feel the pulse beating there?”

“Aye.”

“Open your fingers and spread them across your breastbone. No! Do not open your eyes!”

Jameela quickly closed her eyes but not before seeing Dagan standing right in front of her. So silently had he moved, so soft and low was his voice, it was almost as though his words had been coming from inside her head.

“Now I want you to very slowly, very lightly lower your hand to your left breast.”

A tiny frown marred the perfection of Jameela’s pretty face. Her forehead puckered with the command but she nevertheless obeyed, her cheeks reddening as she touched herself.

“You have been told,” Dagan said, “that touching yourself is wrong, but that is not true. The gods gave us our bodies and the instinct for finding things that will bring us pleasure. Pleasuring ourselves is not wrong; it is our right.”

Heat was forming beneath her open palm and transmitting itself to the tender globe beneath the covering of the muslin shift she wore. Her nipple was resting under her palm and was growing hard.

“Move your hand so that you are cupping the mound of your breast. Now, gently lift your breast upward and hold it there until I tell you to release it.”

Jameela’s breath had quickened. She could feel the acceleration of her heartbeat as she sensed Dagan walking behind her.

“Bring your other hand down from your neck and cross it over your chest to cup your other breast. Good, now squeeze your breasts very gently. Again. Once more.”

She felt his hands slide down her arms until he was lightly gripping her forearms. With firm pressure, he pulled her arms against her.

“Ah,” Jameela sighed. The pressure was doing strange things to her body.

He lifted her to her feet, careful not to put too much pressure on her constricted breasts, and pulled her against him. Lowering his lips to her right ear, he ran his tongue along the sensitive outer spiral.

Jameela shuddered, a sudden heavy weight forming between her thighs. Her breathing was quicker, shallower.

“Now,” he whispered in her ear, “I want you to keep your eyes closed, while you undress.” He released her arms and stepped back.

Denied the strength of his strong arms, the heat of his hard body, Jameela felt bereft as he moved away from her. The clean scent of him, the warmth of his breath, combined to send pulsations of desire rippling through her body. The heaviness between her legs increased.

“Take off your gown, Wench,” he commanded in a husky voice.

Jameela crossed her hands and gripped the sides of her muslin shift. With one quick motion she pulled it over her head, feeling a cool draft play over her flesh. She stood with the shift clutched in one hand, her last bastion of safety until Dagan plucked it from her grip.

“Imagine the rain falling upon you,” he said and beneath her closed eyelids, Jameela sensed a burst of light as lightning speared the heavens. A moment later, thunder rolled as she experienced the make-believe cascade of rain sliding down her naked body.

“The rain is gentle. It is soft against your skin. It is warm and wet.”

She could feel the rain upon her and smiled.

“There is a single drop falling slowly down your left shoulder and onto your nipple,” he whispered. “I want you to take your middle finger and follow that drop as it falls.”

When she touched the sensitive flesh of her nipple, Jameela groaned.

“Circle that aching bud with you fingertip,” he coaxed. “No, go slowly, Wench. Very, very slowly.”

Sensations like electrical shocks were traveling down Jameela’s ribcage and through the lower part of her belly. Her breathing had become more erratic; tiny dots of sweat had formed on her upper lip.

“Now,” he whispered, his mouth against her ear. “Flick the tip of your fingernail across the nipple, back and forth.”

“Oh!” she gasped, the feeling one of pure intensity as she felt a wetness oozing from her core.

“Another raindrop is making its way down your right breast. Take your other hand and followed it to the nipple.”

Jameela’s head fell back against Dagan’s belly as she obeyed his directions. His hands went to her head, his fingers threading through her thick hair.

“Remove your left hand and place it palm up in your lap.”

She moaned, not wanting to escape the dual pleasure invading her chest but she did as she was told, laying her hand on the juncture of her thighs, feeling the wiry crispness of her nether curls along the base of her palm.

“Now, listen very carefully and do exactly as I say,” he ordered. His lips were hot against her ear and his warm breath sent shivers down her spine. “Take your right hand and move it to your left breast. I want you to use the nails of your thumb and middle finger to pluck gently but quickly at the nipple.”

A prolonged whimper of pleasure erupted from Jameela’s arched throat and she squirmed on the stool, grinding her rump against the wood.

“Aye,” Dagan whispered in his throaty voice. “Now turn your left hand over and slip it between your legs.”

Jameela hesitated, the thought of touching herself
there
, in that forbidden place, where she was never supposed to venture, giving her a moment’s pause. But the mesmerizing voice of her Trainer, the seductive growl of his encouraging voice overcame any prim reservations she had and she slipped her hand between her thighs.

“Stroke the heat of your womanhood, Wench,” Dagan commanded. “Feel the silk of the hair, the softness of your flesh, the wetness forming between the hidden folds.”

By the time her hand had traversed its course the fourth time, Jameela began to pant. Her entire body was alive with pinpricks of energy rippling over the flesh of her arms. There was a delicious aching between her thighs and heaviness deep in her belly.

“Let your middle finger slip between the folds and discover the wetness lurking there then quickly remove it. Venture no further until I order it.”

“Um,” Jameela sighed.

“Remove your right hand from your breast and slide it down your chest and belly to the crease of your right thigh.”

There was an itch building in Jameela’s depths, a need that felt like a rosebud about to burst into bloom. She shifted against the wooden seat, her hips lifting, searching, seeking.

“Very gently, I want you to take the index and middle finger of your left hand and slide them up to straddle your clitoris. Do you remember me explaining where that is on your body?” At her slow nod, his voice grew huskier still. “Then place your fingers there and spread them apart and a little upward so the hood will pull back and the Pearl of Passion can be exposed.”

“Dagan, I…” she began but he shushed her.

“Don’t speak; don’t think, Wench! Experience! Keep your eyes closed and do as I command.”

Jameela’s fingers spread the hot moistness of her nether lips and she felt the slick head of her clitoris slide free of its hood.

“Put the middle finger of your right hand in your mouth and wet it,” he said and his voice was only a breath of sound against the side of her face.

Doing as she was told, she was then instructed to place the tip of her wet finger against the sensitive bud of her clitoris.

The moment she touched herself in that responsive spot, she shuddered with pleasure.

“Stroke it, Wench,” Dagan ordered, his own breathing harsh and fast in her head. “Circle it. Dip your finger into your core then stroke the Pearl of Passion until you…”

“Argh!” Jameela shrieked, climaxing so fiercely her body turned rigid from spread toes to up thrust breasts. She squeezed her legs closed and shuddered.

“Aye,” Dagan whispered, encircling her in his arms. He crushed her to him. “Aye, my Wench. My beautiful, vibrant Wench.”

She went limp against him, every fiber of her being alive. She panted with the violence of release and knew a moment of transcending pleasure unlike any she had experience the night before.

“Did you enjoy that?” he whispered.

“Aye,” she groaned and shivered again, bringing her hands up to grasp his strong arms that were crossed around her.

“There was no shame in the pleasure, was there?”

“No.”

“Only a wondrous joy that has left you sated?”

“Aye,” she sighed.

“Good.” He tightened his grip. “Then I am pleased that you are pleased.”

She surprised him by turning violently in his arms and throwing her arms around his lean hips. She pressed herself to him and broke into wretched sobbing.

“Jameela?” he asked, shock in his tone. “Milady, what is wrong?” When she did not answer, only wailed the louder, he broke her hold on him and slipped to his knees in front of her, reaching up to take her face in his hands. “Tell me,” he ordered in a soft, pleading voice.

She shook her head, terrible grief flooding her being as she strove to not meet his gaze. She tried to turn her head away but he would not allow it, bracing her face toward him, instead.

“Tell me what has upset you, my love,” he begged. “Did you feel hurt? Are you…?”

“I hurt, Dagan!” she sobbed.

“I don’t…”

“I hurt for you!”

He blinked, his handsome face screwed into confusion. “For me?”

“They maimed you,” she cried, tears cascading down her face. “You can not feel what I just felt and I…”

“Shush,” he whispered, drawing her head to his chest. “My love, no. Do not think of such things now.”

“I can’t help it! I want to give you pleasure as I just felt and I will never be able to!”

Dagan closed his eyes as he cooed to her, rocking her back and forth in his arms as though she were a child. Her tears were wetting the front of his silk shirt, plastering it to his flesh.

“I love you,” she whined.

“I know,” he replied, “and I love you.”

Jameela held her breath, lifting her head to look up at him. She searched his face and when he opened those beautiful amber eyes and locked them with hers, she felt her world tilt off center. “You do?” she asked in a tremulous voice.

“You know I do,” he said huskily.

Before Jameela could express her soaring joy at his admission, the door to the room opened and there was a quick, interfering cough. She watched Dagan’s face become hard, almost frightening, before he turned to confront the intruder.

“What is it?” he demanded.

Brother Qutaybah took a step into the room. “It is time for the Master to inspect the troops so…”

“I will be right there!” Dagan snapped.

“There are things that must be done beforehand,” Brother Qutaybah continued.

“I said I will be right there!” Dagan shouted, his eyes glowing red with murderous intent.

Brother Qutaybah’s eyes slid accusingly to Jameela briefly. He regarded her with ill-disguised disdain, sniffed then turned to leave.

“Don’t ever enter this room again without knocking,” Dagan ordered. “Is that understood?”