Rajasthani Moon (16 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Where are they?

Cecily paced the waiting area at the aeroplatform on the roof of Mehrangarh Fort, wondering what had delayed Pratan and Amir. She recognised that her impatience stemmed primarily from anxiety. Yes, she was eager for the revelation the Rajah had promised—the mysterious source of the kingdom’s energy—but she would have far preferred to travel overland than take to the skies. After all she’d endured, she still found the notion of flying quite terrifying.

Amir had insisted there was no alternative. “The oil fields are hundreds of miles from here, more than a day’s journey even in your fleet carriage. Furthermore, you cannot fully appreciate them from the ground.”

“Oil? So you’ve discovered and developed deposits of petroleum?” Her Majesty’s wells in the Canadian colonies produced sufficient kerosene for the entire Empire, but use of the dirty and expensive fuel had declined dramatically since the discovery of viridium.

“Patience, Miss Harrowsmith.” As was his habit, the Rajah had given her nipple a pinch, triggering brief agony followed by more extended bliss and leading Cecily to curse her excessive responsiveness. “You will see for yourself very soon.”

She glanced up at the cloudless sky. The voyage could not be over soon enough to suit her.

Today’s weather was predicted to be perfect for a dirigible trip, clear and bright with steady northwest winds but little chance of turbulence. Their vehicle floated above her. The gas bag was as colourful as everything in Rajasthan, gaily striped in peacock blue and flaming orange. The open gondola—painted lime green—that swung beneath appeared to be fashioned from woven rattan, but Pratan had assured her that the structure was reinforced with steel, as were the cables from which it hung.

She had confessed her fears to the prince when she’d learnt they’d travel by air. He’d gathered her into his arms and murmured soothing words about the safety of the dirigible and its sedate behaviour. “It’s not as though we’ll be travelling by copter. Those zip about so rapidly, even I occasionally worry. A dirigible journey, though, is smooth and steady, like drifting along on a calm river. You scarcely know you’re moving.”

“I shall know,” Cecily insisted. “I’ll never be comfortable, when I’m aware we’re hundreds of feet above the ground. That unfavourable winds could sweep us out to sea or crush us like an eggshell against the side of some mountain.”

“The sea lies nearly a thousand miles to the west, and there are few peaks between here and Sri Ganganagar. Relax, lady. I’ll take care of you, I guarantee. I’ll make certain that you totally forget to be frightened.”

He had proceeded to make good on his promise. For the next few hours, at least, all thoughts of fear had evaporated in the heat of their mutual passion.

If he’d only show up now—perhaps she’d feel less threatened by the garish, gas-filled ellipsoid above her, straining against its moorings.

Trying to distract herself, she reviewed the startling events of the past week.

After the moonlight ritual, she’d slept for fourteen hours. Pratan had awakened her with a welcome kiss and a variety of news. They were to return to Jaipur the next morning. The Rajah had received an official communication from the Empire, inquiring as to the whereabouts and safety of a diplomatic envoy named Cecily Harrowsmith. Meanwhile Sarita had reported that she was with child and was planning to return to her father’s court in Maharashta for her confinement. Amir had commanded her to stay, but, for the first time in their experience, she’d refused to obey him.

“My brother is beside himself,” the prince had added with a wry chuckle. “She has refused to see him, supposedly concerned that his sometimes rough attentions might injure the baby. Apparently she has decided that, since there’s no legal bond between the two of them, he has no rights to her body.”

“Perhaps it’s a positive development. Amir needs to learn that he cannot have everything he wants.”

“But he usually does get what he wants. One way or another.”

The Rajah had stormed around the palace for two days, smashing crockery and terrorising the servants. Cecily and Pratan had stayed out of his way—spending much of the time together in Pratan’s bed. On the third day, Amir had announced that he and Sarita planned to marry within a fortnight. To celebrate, he’d ‘invited’ Pratan and Cecily to join him and his fiancée in his playroom for the evening. As usual, the experience had been a bewildering mixture of pain and delight, but Cecily had detected an undercurrent of tenderness in the demeanour of both brothers, a development that pleased her more than she cared to admit.

As though conjured by her recollections, the two men stepped onto the roof. Each looked devastatingly handsome, in his own way—Amir refined and graceful, with a purple robe open to the waist and diamonds glittering in his earlobes—Pratan, still with an edge of wildness despite the departure of the beast, his long hair tangling in the breeze and sensual mouth always ready to devour her. She recalled studying their portraits, early in her journey, and tried to recapture her initial reactions. They’d been strangers then. And now? It was difficult to say exactly how they fitted into her life, but she knew both of them better than she could ever have anticipated.

“Ah, you’re already here, Miss Harrowsmith.” Despite all their intimacies, Amir still enjoyed adopting the formal mode of address with her. Cecily was embarrassed by the way his mocking tone made her wet. “So eager.”

“Eager to fulfil my mission, Your Highness.”
Two could play at this game.
“After all this time, I should hate to return to England empty-handed. Once Her Majesty understands Rajasthan’s superior technology, I suspect that she will be quick to recognise the benefits of a more equal alliance.”

“Indeed. Well, today we open our secrets to you, as I promised. We trust that you will use them wisely.” The Rajah turned to his brother. “If you’d help our guest into the basket…”

Cecily swallowed hard, fighting panic. She could do this. After everything she’d been through, this ought to be child’s play. Nevertheless, her limbs trembled as Pratan escorted her to the bamboo ladder leading up into the gondola.

The prince practically had to pick her up to get her aboard. “Do not fear,” he whispered. “You are in good hands.”

His touch soothed her a bit. By the time Amir climbed into the basket, she had mastered most signs of her fright.

The passenger compartment was about ten feet long. Its walls were chest height. A canopy shaded one end, including the brass and quartz crystal control panel. The other was open to the sky, though the gas bag a dozen feet above them shielded them from the most direct rays of the sun. She was not surprised to discover that the floor was covered by multiple layers of intricately-patterned carpets and strewn with fat, multi-hued pillows. The Rajasthanis seemed to have little use for furniture.

Amir busied himself at the controls while Pratan lounged on the cushions, looking rakish and indolent. “Come here, Cecily,” he ordered. “Sometimes the take-off is a bit bumpy.”

Her heartbeat accelerated and her palms started to sweat at this reminder of what lay ahead. She gave him a sharp look. She could have sworn he was suppressing a chuckle.

Nevertheless, she reclined beside him, as he’d instructed. He slipped his arm around her shoulder and held her tight against his chest. His strength reassured her, but she still felt as though her stomach was turning somersaults.

A low frequency vibration hummed under them as Amir started the engine.

“Here we go,” called the Rajah. “Prepare to lift off.”

“Kiss me,” said Pratan. He took possession of her mouth without waiting for her acquiescence.

Amir released the tethers binding the dirigible to the roof. They retracted into their housings with a snap and the gondola swayed in reaction, springing upward a few feet. Cecily’s heart climbed into her throat. She gritted her teeth against sudden nausea. Pratan’s agile tongue wormed its way between her lips, urging her to relax and open, and the spell passed. Meanwhile, his hands wandered over her body, pulling her loose clothing out of the way so that he could stroke her breasts and belly.

His scent enveloped her, sandalwood and smoke superimposed on animal musk. The wolf had not returned since their encounter on Mount Abu, but Pratan still smelt like something feral. He burrowed into her, sucking on her tongue and nibbling her lips, while his fingers teased her nipples into hungry knots. Cecily moaned as the pleasure mounted. She lay back, cradled in the nest of cushions, and allowed him free access.

Her companion was quick to take advantage of her lassitude. When he tugged at the loop piercing her earlobe, then sucked the morsel into his mouth, her clit pulsed as though it was directly connected to that node of flesh. He licked and nipped his way down the side of her neck to her collarbone, gathering the nervous sweat from her skin and leaving tiny bite marks. Upon reaching her generous breasts, he tongued the stiff nipples like some giant cat. Each touch sent bolts of bliss racing to her quim, which grew wetter by the instant.

She reached for him, wanting to feel his solid strength against her softness. He caught her wrists and held them above her head, pressed into the cushions. His black eyes glittered like polished jet.
I’m in charge here
, was the message she read in their depths. Cecily decided that was fine with her.

He continued to suckle her, bathing her nipples in exquisite heat. When she thought she couldn’t bear another touch on those sensitised nubs, he slid lower, tracing a wet, gradual path across her round belly and down to her cunny. He paused to circle her navel, making her squirm. Reaching her mons, he buried his nose in the damp tangle of her fur and she almost came, just from the indirect pressure on her clit. When he parted her slick folds and swept his tongue over that swollen nub in a long, flat stroke, she did come, wailing and shaking as he continued to lap at her trembling flesh.

A strong breeze rifled her hair. The basket jerked upward, then fell sharply. Cecily’s stomach flipped and her eyes flew open. Forgetting her willingness to surrender, she clutched Pratan’s sleeves.

“Sorry about that,” Amir called from the prow. “Sudden updraft. I’ll try to be more careful.”

The diabolical Rajah was watching their every move, she remembered. At this point, she was beyond embarrassment, but anger mingled with her terror.
I’ll wager that was deliberate
. She didn’t voice her complaint for fear he’d do worse.

“Never mind,” Pratan added, planting a sticky kiss on the inside of her thigh and brushing his palm across her pubic curls. “I told you I’d take of you, and I will. Just lie back and enjoy the ride.”

He bent his head to her pussy once more, adding his fingers to mix. With several digits thrust into her channel and his teeth worrying her clit, she came again, in a roar of heat that blotted out the last traces of anxiety.

Still he dabbled his fingers in her hungry cleft. She needed more. The pleasure stripped her bare of pretence. “I want you inside me, Pratan,” she demanded, writhing and bucking against his hand.

“Gladly, lady.”

He settled back into the tumbled pillows and pulled her on top of him. His luscious scent billowed around her. Although he was still dressed, at some point he’d released his cock from his trousers. It prodded her pubis as she straddled him, as hard and unyielding as the rest of him. On her hands and knees, she lowered herself down onto his shaft. The sweet sensation of him sliding into her depths brought her close to another climax.

Memory flashed through her—the monster’s impossible organ, tearing into her, battering her sex, drawing blood. In his human form, Pratan was far less of a challenge for her to accommodate. Nevertheless, as she started to ride him, she imagined she felt his cock swell, larger and still larger, and knew the beast still lurked inside him somewhere.

He let her lead for a while. Before too long, though, he took over, seizing her hips and lifting her as easily as if she weighed nothing, then slamming her down to impale her on his dick. His nails bit into her tender flesh—she’d have marks afterward. The realisation aroused her even more. He gritted his teeth, his features contorted in hunger, and fucked her almost as hard as he had as wolf.

Cecily loved it. She let him grind into her, content simply to be used as the vehicle for his lust. With every thrust, his cock dragged against her clit and pleasure arced through her like lightning. Yet another orgasm hovered in the wings, ready to overwhelm her. She allowed Pratan to decide just when that would happen.

Sensations assaulted her. Slickness, fullness, hardness, heat—the tingling vibrations in her clit—the needy ache in her nipples—the weight of her breasts bobbing as he manipulated her like some doll. His sweat and her tidal aroma. The mint and coriander taste of his kisses lingering on her tongue.

All at once a new voice joined this symphony of the senses. A wet pressure against her rear hole made her gasp. At first she thought Pratan was teasing her. However, the prince still clutched her with both hands, just below the waist, guiding her progress up and down his cock.

“No…ooh…” Her cry of indignation dissolved into a moan as Amir wriggled his tongue into her back channel. She wanted to protest, to resist, but she couldn’t escape the conditioning acquired during those long mornings by the lake. Liquid gushed from her pussy. Her clit throbbed, ready to burst. When Amir pushed his rod into her loosened anus, the world flew apart into a million bright pieces. It was glorious but scary to feel herself flying off into space that way, totally out of control. Through it all, though, she still felt Pratan’s grip, steadying her, calling her back.