Master of Paradise (32 page)

It was thrilling. The fact that he wouldn’t
touch her made her want him so badly, she actually ached with
need.

“I’d never lick you here,” he said. “I’d want
to, but I never would.” Then he leaned over and licked her with one
long slow swipe of his tongue.

She was so galvanized by the contact, she
felt every part of her throbbing with life. Her fingers itched to
touch him. The tips actually felt as if they were flaring and
retracting in their need.

She thrust up and met his mouth, silently
begging for more.

He leaned over her, his body punishing in its
weight. “Will you do anything I ask?”

She felt the hesitation before she could keep
it from showing.

“You still don’t trust me,” he
admonished.

“I do. I want to. Make me trust you. Show me
what you told me you would. Remember? Your graduation exercise? The
thing Shayla taught you—the greatest of the love secrets of
Zimbabwe...”

But he just smiled. “You’re not ready.”

Defiance flared in her eyes. “Then
get
me ready!”

He glanced at her bottle of wine. Taking it
up, he held it to her lips. “Drink.”

She suspected he might want her drunk and
more amenable, and she was willing to go along. She drank the wine,
finishing it at his prompting. Her head was spinning by the time
she was done.

He took the bottle away from her lips and ran
his tongue along the opening, licking up the last drops of wine.
Then he bent and put his tongue to her, as if comparing the taste
of her to the wine. With a groan, he dug his tongue in deep. Then
he lifted his head to tease her some more, but, looking at her, was
overcome with his own need. Tossing the bottle aside, he grabbed
her under her knees and jerked her flat on her back with a sudden
savage yank. Lifting her hips to his mouth, he dove in with his
tongue. His head moved like a man starved for too long. The
sensations he incited in her mingled with the wine to leave her
light-headed and bemused. He reached up and thrust aside her top so
his strong hand could squeeze and play with her breast.

She felt on fire, her breath like blasts of
flame. He lowered his weight onto her body again and, replacing his
mouth with his hand, put his lips to her ear. “It’s not easy to get
ready for this,” he said in a hushed, intimate voice. “You must
lose all your restraints. Show me you have no resistance. Trust me
completely. Totally.”

She felt in that moment that she’d do
anything—anything at all. Anything he wanted, anything he asked. He
must have sensed it, for he reached over and took up the bottle
again with his other hand. He put it to her mouth and said, “Get
this wet.”

She allowed him to guide the neck of the
bottle into her mouth. As he moved it, she sucked it like an
erection. It was oddly erotic. He let her suck it for a while as
his tongue began its devastating play. Then he took it away, slid
it once into his own mouth, then inserted it into the pulsing core
of her body.

She arched up with a moan that came from some
primal place in her soul. As he plunged the bottle in and out, he
replaced his tongue on her cleft. She could feel the bottle deep
inside, moving like a man, but twice as hard. It sent jolts of
pleasure and pain shooting through her, made her wild.

He replaced his tongue with his fingers and
sat up a bit, watching her. She opened eyes misty from wine and
desire and saw that he was watching her face. Embarrassed, she
snapped them closed.

“Look at me,
carícia,
” he coaxed. “Let
me see your beautiful eyes.”

She did. At first it was awkward. She
couldn’t quite meet his eyes. But he increased the thrusts of the
bottle, and she forgot everything but the pleasure he was
inflicting. She panted loudly, meeting his gaze, seeing the
approval and arousal flaring in his animal eyes. “Come for me,” he
told her.

It was a supreme act of trust. To allow
herself to lose control at his hands, not in a darkened room, but
in the light of a primitive cave, with him watching her every move.
With her eyes open, so she was aware of him watching her. His
fingers moved on her, varying their rhythm, and he rammed the
bottle into her so she couldn’t think. Her mouth fell open and with
her eyes locked on his, she relinquished control. She climaxed for
him, and it was like nothing she’d ever known before. She couldn’t
stop. In wave after wave of ecstasy, she floated and burned. She
was under his control completely. Held in the air by his masterful
hand. And she felt that he’d never let her come down.

When at last she did, he gave her no time to
rest. He was on her at once, withdrawing the bottle and replacing
it with his own swollen erection. He was so much bigger that she
gasped aloud, feeling filled and whole, as if the other half of her
had just been replaced. As he began to move, she put her hands to
the back of his head.

He kissed her passionately as she raked her
hands through his hair. As he thrust into her she felt her head
begin to swirl. She’d never been so aroused in all her life.

His mouth was at her breast. “I’m going to
show you,” he said, before his mouth claimed her nipple.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Show me what Shayla
showed you.”

And he did...

The next morning, Gabrielle awoke and
instantly reached for Rodrigo. But he was already gone. Looking out
at the sun, she realized it was late. Almost noon. No wonder, she
thought, smiling. Their lovemaking had continued for hours and
hours. It was dawn before they’d drifted off to sleep.

She dressed, then went out into the blinding
sun. Back at the encampment, Rodrigo was training his troops as if
he hadn’t spent the night giving her unimaginable pleasure. He
couldn’t have had more than two hours of sleep, yet he seemed
refreshed. She watched him for a while, watched the way his
muscular body moved as he demonstrated with the sword, remembered
the way it had moved over her the night before. She saw some of the
men eyeing her with secretive smiles. She must have looked like a
woman who’d been thoroughly ravished. She certainly felt like one.
With her hair streaming down her back and her breasts still
throbbing from the caresses of his hands, from the tickle of his
tongue, with her face growing flushed every time she thought about
it...how could they not know?

Rodrigo felt her gaze on him, then paused and
turned. He’d never been one to show affection in front of his men.
But he held out his hand to her now. She ran to him and took it.
She could see in his eyes that he was as happy as she. He put his
arm around her and held her close a moment. Then he said, affecting
a teasingly British tone, “Last night was cracking good fun,
what?”

She laughed. “Oh,
cracking!
”

The day passed quickly. She spent it watching
him from the shade, sipping water and nibbling on breadfruit and
jambosa slices to keep cool. By sundown, they weren’t finished, so
they continued into the night. But Gabrielle could tell Rodrigo’s
mind was on other things. He kept glancing her way as he patiently
tried to explain a concept that was foreign to the Africans’
sensibilities. Every time he moved to leave, they asked another
question and he was forced to reiterate.

She began to tease him every time he looked
her way. To give him a coy smile or an inviting look. To run a hand
along her breast ever so subtly, so it caught his eye for a moment
before she stopped. She could see that he was becoming more and
more distracted. When he looked down at the bulge in his pants and
back at her, she threw back her head and laughed, relishing her
power to arouse him, to take his mind off his work.

Finally, he broke away and told the men to
have their supper. He came to Gabrielle and dropped down next to
her under a palm tree, lounging on his side with his long legs
stretched out before him. Higgins brought them some fish on a leaf
and they shared it with their fingers, intimately talking and
kissing between bites. As the sky darkened, they could hear African
drums in the distance. The new recruits were no doubt entertaining
themselves.

“I feel like a fresh-faced lad in the first
throes of love,” he confessed.

“I don’t.”

He raised a brow and peered up at her.

“I feel like a woman who’s just grown up.
Who’s just discovered all that love can be.”

“Ah. But you’ve just
begun
to discover
it.”

He leaned over and kissed her so she fell
back into the sand. His body pressed into hers, his lips claiming
her with a wild kiss. Her food forgotten, it slipped from her
fingers as she brought her hand up to run it through his hair.

“And to think we owe it all to Hastings,” she
said, amazed that she felt free enough to speak lightly of
something that had haunted her for so long.

He was instantly thoughtful. “I’ve been
thinking about that. You know, Gabé, Hastings never mentioned this
before. I know he promised he wouldn’t, but it isn’t like him to
keep such a vow. He never threw it in my face, though he had ample
opportunity over the years. Even in Zanzibar, he didn’t speak until
you so wounded him, he lashed out in pain.”

“What are you saying?”

“You said once that he has no feelings for
other human beings. And yet, I think he has feelings for you.”

“He thinks he does. But what I said was true.
Hastings doesn’t know what it is to love. He’s incapable of it. And
I believe that thought is the one thing that scares him. That’s why
he lashed out at me the way he did.”

There was a delicate sound above them, like
the soft clearing of a throat. They looked up to find one of the
Kikuyu elders standing there in his bright robes, waiting patiently
for them to finish. The Kikuyu didn’t approve of public displays of
affection, and, even though the lovers were well-hidden by the
dark, his censure was written on his face.

“Excuse me,
bwana.
These peoples say
they are wishing to join your tribe.”

Rodrigo frowned, confused. “Which
peoples?”

“The Kikuyu. They are wishing to be part of
your tribe.”

“Tell them they’re already part of my tribe.”
He turned back to Gabrielle.

“Excuse me,
bwana,
but they are seeing
for themselves they are not being part of your tribe. They are
seeing that some of your men have markings of honor on their backs.
Glorious birds whose wings are raising in flight. These Kikuyu are
proud,
bwana
. They are wanting such markings for
themselves.”

“Very well,” said Rodrigo. “Another
time.”

“Excuse me,
bwana.
”

With an exasperated sigh, Rodrigo sat up and
said, “What is it? Am I to be afforded no peace?”

“These Kikuyu are awaiting your presence for
the making of the ceremony.”

“What...now?”

“They are knowing of such a ceremony, and
they are wanting it for themselves. The Kikuyu are not waiting,
bwana.
They are needing your favor now.”

Rodrigo sprang to his feet and followed the
man up the beach. Gabrielle trailed close behind. Farther along,
they began to see the blaze of a terrific bonfire. There, hundreds
of men gathered, dancing in the moonlight and the glow of the fire
to the beat of the drums. It was a sight of savage beauty, their
black, muscular, sweat-gleaming bodies undulating to seductive
rhythms.

When they joined the throng, one of the
Africans came forth and held out a wooden bowl with a long,
protruding needle to Rodrigo.

Wallace came up to him and said, “I’ve tried
to explain that they can’t simply demand the ritual, but they won’t
listen. They refuse to take another step unless they’re afforded
the same rights as all the rest of us.”

“It’s a matter of honor,” Rodrigo said
thoughtfully. “Of respect.”

Gabrielle thought back on the day she’d first
seen this ritual. It had seemed barbaric to her, a thing of cruelty
inflicted on those who didn’t know to resist. A way of assuring
their death if they were caught. But here, in the glow of the fire,
beneath the moon and the vast African stars, she could see the
beauty in it. These men wanted to show they belonged. They wanted
the brand of the tribe on their flesh.

Rodrigo glanced at her. “The lady and I have
plans for the evening...”

“No,” she told him firmly. “You must do it.
They’ve worked hard. They deserve this favor.”

So Rodrigo turned the tools over to Wallace
and sat with her on the beach to watch the proceedings. It
transpired much as before, except it now seemed a ceremony of great
majesty. The gleam of the beach in the moonlight, the lapping of
the waves against the sand, the starlight, the flare of the fire,
the mesmerizing beat of the drums.

Hours later, it was over. The tattooed men
were dancing. Wallace moved to douse the fire. Rodrigo got up to
confer with him. They stood talking, silhouetted by the giant
blaze.

Suddenly Gabrielle called out, “Wait!”

She rose. Then, walking forward with slow but
steady steps, she lowered the back of her dress, and knelt before
Rodrigo with her back to him. He hesitated. “Are you certain?” he
asked.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything. I
know now what it is to be a slave. I, too, want to join your tribe,
to offer my devotion, my loyalty, my life. To serve your cause by
your side. I, too, want the favor of your brand of honor.”

“You know what this means,” he warned. “If
you’re ever captured, you can’t pretend to have been kidnapped by
me. It’s well known I mark no one who isn’t willing. This will
prove you joined me voluntarily.”

“I
do
join you voluntarily. Let them
see the proof.”

Wallace stepped in. “Are you sure,
Capitão?
It’s a great deal to expect.”