The Cobra & the Concubine (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) (32 page)

Kenneth’s hands settled on her breasts. Thumbs encircling the nipples, he began slow, steady strokes. A sweet, agonized tension arose in her. Then he broke the kiss and slid downward, kissing her as he did so until his mouth engulfed a breast’s taut peak. His tongue rasped over it, flicking hard and fast. Badra whimpered, cradling his head.

"Khepri! Someone will come," she gasped.

Kenneth tore his mouth away, looking up with an intent expression. "I hope so," he said hoarsely. "You."

But he led her from the pool, finding two large white linen towels nearby. Kenneth wrapped one about his waist and began drying her with the other. Caressing her with the cloth, he delved into her hollows and secret places until her hips thrust forward with each soft stroke.

A mysterious smile curved his lips as he draped his thick black robe about her. They left the baths. Anticipation and trepidation danced inside her as they returned to their rooms. Inside, Kenneth tugged off her robe and whipped the towel from his waist. Water beaded his chiseled muscles. Silver droplets gleamed in the dark hair resting above his thick arousal. Ever so gently, he lifted her and laid her upon the bed. His gaze was tender and cherishing.

"Are you certain, my love?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, touching his face. "I love you. I want this. I want you."

His kiss was gentle, his lips warm and soft. He coaxed a giddy response from her, deepening the kiss, applying a slight pressure until her lips parted under the gentle insistence of his tongue.

Kenneth began small, intimate thrusts, licking the inside of her lips. His scent invaded her, sandalwood soap and masculine power. Badra moaned at the fire building inside, the need for him as he touched and caressed. Muscles jumped beneath his fingers. Then he drifted lower and touched intimately between her legs, stroking slowly. Badra arched in shocked pleasure.

He slid a finger deep inside her. Badra tensed, legs clenching together, but she could not escape his invasive touch. Muscles clenched around him as he stroked and pushed. He held her tightly as he penetrated deeper. She writhed, shocked beyond words as sweet tension built. Finding her intimate folds, his thumb began slow, long strokes.

"Look at me, my love," he coaxed softly. "It’s your Khepri. Look into my eyes and see who is giving you this pleasure."

A whimper arose in her. Badra responded more, hips arching to meet his caresses. Her gaze locked to his. "Excellent—that’s it, relax, yes, like that."

Tension blossomed, expanding as his strokes increased, and her thrusts became insistent. Badra clasped his shoulders. "Khepri," she whimpered. "I don’t, ah—oh, it’s, oh, Khepri!"

"Let go," his deep voice crooned. "Let go, my love."

Her body convulsed and she screamed as the pleasure tore her asunder, her hips rocking to the demands of his caress. He captured her startled cry in his mouth.

Her breath rasped out in short gasps as she slowly returned to earth. Sweat slicked her body and she clutched him as if drowning.

Fierce triumph glowed in the depths of his brilliant blue eyes, which blazed like lit sapphires. With the swiftness of his cobra totem, Kenneth rolled her onto her back and covered her. Warm, large hands pushed at her clamped thighs.

"Spread your legs for me, darling," he murmured, looking down at her. ‘Trust me. I will not hurt you, my love."

Trust him. He will not hurt you
. Badra obeyed ancient instincts. He settled between her outstretched thighs as she opened to him like a blossoming flower. His heavy weight pressed her into the bed and she welcomed it.

A hard thickness pressed against her feminine softness. Her teeth clamped down at the insistent pressure of him beginning to push into her. Instinctively, she drew back, but his hands tightened on her hips and held her steady.

"I can’t," she gasped.

"You can," he urged softly. ‘Take all of me, my love."

Kenneth’s thick arousal filled her as he pressed forward. She felt stretched beyond compare. Whispering soft reassurances, he held her tightly to him as he continued pushing inside. Badra threw her arms around him, feeling the tautness of his back muscles. She yearned for him to claim her, for him and him alone. The first man to invade her body since her captivity by Fareeq became her anchor, her rock as he kept penetrating.

The friction from his body created a delicious tension in her loins. The tension grew as he slid over her, murmuring soothing masculine reassurances, words she didn’t quite understand but moved her with their tenderness.

He pushed harder and she tensed. So unexpected was this tremendous yet delicious pressure between her legs.

"Come on, my love, don’t be afraid. Relax, yes, like that, that’s good, that’s good," he crooned.

Relentlessly, he slowly pressed deeper. A startled breath fled her as he finally reached his hilt. Then Kenneth began thrusting, his breath whistling out in staccato rasps. His flesh slid over hers, his member pulsing deep inside. Ancient instinct urged her to move too, lifting her hips to meet his strokes. His deep voice whispered soothing words of love, urging her to be one with him. No more tears. No more terror. Just this feeling of total bonding, of acceptance and a growing fervor to merge completely with him. She had never trusted anyone so deeply before in her life. She did so now, willing herself to be a slave in his tender hands, to surrender to their mutual passion.

The hard muscles in his back tensed beneath her clenching fingers, showing how much control he exerted. Pressing her hands against him, she tilted her hips to drive him deeper inside.

He pounded ruthlessly into her, as if her response drove away all his control. Sweat rolled down his face, dampening his hair, each urgent thrust claiming her. Kenneth groaned, pulling her thighs about his hips as his powerful body slapped harder and harder against hers.

Finally, he thrust forward one last time and released a deep groan. He bucked and convulsed. Her name spilled from his lips like a prayer. She felt the hot wash of his seed.

Slowly, he rolled off as her heart thundered and gradually quieted to a more normal cadence. Kenneth drew her into his arms and kissed her brow. "Are you all right?"

She curled against him. "I feel like I’ve died, flown to beyond the stars and the sun and this is paradise. Is it?"

"It is, my love," he said softly, stroking her hair. "I can’t imagine anywhere being sweeter than this."

His possessive gaze raked over her as she snuggled against him. He tightened his grip as if he feared she’d slip away like pale moonlight. Gradually his eyes closed. Badra shifted and rolled over, and he molded himself to her sweet curves, draping an arm about her to hold her close.

They fell into blissful sleep in each other’s arms. Hours later, Kenneth felt a breeze caress his bare shoulders. He stirred restlessly, a sudden chill seizing him like a forewarning of death. Jerked awake, he sat up, looking wildly about. Pale moonlight streamed through the latticed windows, scattering silvery geometric patterns on the bed. But he saw nothing.

Slowly, he settled back into the soft pillows, pulling Badra into his arms. But sleep proved fleeting. For the rest of the night, he could not erase a queer feeling someone had been standing by the bed, watching them sleep.

The pectoral of Amenemhat II mysteriously vanished.

At dawn the next day, Kenneth hunted for it, moving quietly about as Badra slept. Dismay mounted. Who’d stolen it? Worse, who’d been in the apartment without his knowledge? Was it the mysterious Omar who wanted Badra?

But if the man wanted Badra so badly, why had he sold her?

Urgency compelled him to find answers directly from the slave master. Kenneth stalked down the hallway toward the
ka’ah
. Doors to various bedchambers lined the corridor. As one began to open, he froze, then ducked behind a tall, potted palm.

A man emerged, smoothing back his gray dappled hair and knotting his tie. He turned briefly. Dim light from the wall sconces allowed Kenneth to see his face. The man was his cousin, Victor.

Dread pooled inside him. Kenneth stepped out and stood directly in his path. Comic shock registered on Victor’s florid face. He clutched his hat and his mouth worked violently, but no words came out.

"Hullo," Kenneth said pleasantly. "Fancy meeting you here."

"What—what are you doing here?"

"I imagine the same thing you are."

Hot blood infused Victor’s cheeks. "Well, then, I shall be off. Er, I shall see you later, Kenneth."

Victor scurried down the hallway as if the hounds of hell nipped his heels. Kenneth returned to Badra’s rooms—all thoughts of questioning the slave master having vanished. Why was Victor here? Why this particular brothel? A nagging feeling told him he would soon find out.

Back in the room, he stripped and slid into bed, gathering Badra tightly against him. She stirred restlessly as dawn slotted through the latticework shutters. Kenneth lay still, his beloved nestled against him. Hunger rose in him again as he brushed back a lock of hair from Badra’s ear and kissed her lobe. She stirred, her bottom creating a delicious friction against his loins. He was already hard.

She blinked sleepily at him as she turned over, responding to the warm pressure of his gentle kisses feathering over her cheeks and forehead. Kenneth kissed the juncture of shoulder and collarbone, giving a delicate lick. Her skin tasted like salt and honey, and of last night’s passion.

Kenneth uttered a strangled moan as he felt himself pulse, hard as steel. No other man, he vowed. No other man would ever have her again. She was his, and safe.

She trembled violently under his touch. He would have her. Now. Moving quick as his snake totem, he rolled her beneath him. Ah, so soft, so pliant. He kissed her neck and licked slowly, relishing her delicious taste. Passion darkened her eyes and she pulled his head down and kissed him.

Parting her thighs with a knee, he settled between the cradle of her legs and pushed into her warm, secret depths. He kept his gaze locked to hers, watching as dazed pleasure stole over her features. He slipped into a favorite dream: They were married. Could life get any sweeter than this, than being in bed with the woman you had loved for years, watching her lips part and her eyes dilate with desire like dawn stealing over the horizon? Each new day promised to be a fresh start and he silently vowed he would make them all as lovely as he could, one rolling into the next, like rich, dark wine.

For so long he’d craved her and dreamed of her, and now she was his. He’d marked her as his and there was no turning back. Kenneth bent down and nipped her soft flesh, chasing it with a soothing caress of his tongue. She wriggled beneath him, pressing him closer. Their slow, smooth strokes became intense and hard, her thrusting hips setting the rhythm as they writhed together, trying to achieve that perfect closeness, that bonding of bodies and flesh, the connection they both craved.

He finally allowed himself release as she clenched around him, sobbing out his name. Kenneth collapsed atop her for a minute, his own frantic breath circulating in the pillow as he rested his forehead against it. Mindful of his weight, he rolled off her, taking her with him.

Deeply content, he lay, stroking her hair. He could not stop touching her, assuring himself it was not a dream.

"Good morning," she murmured shyly.

"Indeed," he said, smiling.

All was right in his world. He would smuggle Badra from here with the help of his Khamsin brethren.

Kenneth yawned as she slid gracefully from bed, hips swaying with natural grace. While she went to bathe, he dressed and rang for breakfast.

"Include plenty of oranges," he told the servant. A rueful smile touched his lips. "Although my concubine detests them, I do not."

Several minutes later, silent and efficient servants entered the rooms, changing the bed linens with fresh ones, replacing towels in the necessity and setting silver trays of food and steaming Turkish coffee upon the sandalwood table. They sped out as Badra returned, her sleek ebony hair falling in tangles to her waist. The red silk robe clung to her skin. His heart thudded wildly as he stared at her.

With a graceful move, she sat on the floor, sipped some coffee. He eyed the slices of honeyed oranges crusted with almonds. His mouth watered.

He slid an orange slice into his mouth, and an odd, fiery taste teased his tongue. Pepper on the almonds? Kenneth frowned, bit off a small portion and swallowed. He set the remaining half down, obeying a warning instinct. He sipped some tea. A few minutes later, his body suddenly tightened in agony.

Sweat poured down him in rivers. His body clenched. What was wrong? Fire flooded him. His groin burned ruthlessly. Kenneth doubled over, clutching his stomach. His heart galloped in a thundering, dangerous rhythm.

Suddenly he knew. Cantharides. An aphrodisiac in small doses. Perfect poison for a brothel, since men used it frequently in orgies. No one would suspect he’d been murdered. Authorities would assume he’d accidentally consumed too much. It coated the oranges. And only he liked them ...