The Erotic Expeditions - Complete Collection (17 page)

He immediately turned his attention to her upper lip. He licked it, almost the way he’d licked his own, and then he proceeded to nibble it. From left to right, and then back again, his lips ate hers. Her breathing had quickly turned into a series of gasps. There was hardly time to register one new sensation before another took its place. She wanted to kiss him back but his mouth was urgent, seeking, exploring, and constantly in motion. His lips pressed into hers and then tugged on them as his head tilted one way and then the other. His embrace had tightened, crushing her against him, and she realized she couldn’t breathe.

Suddenly, he released her mouth and bent lower to kiss her throat. As though she was surfacing for air, she sucked in a breath. The tidal wave of passion was overwhelming. Her fingers dug into his hair as he gnawed her neck, sucked on her skin, and covered her with his tongue.

“You taste,” he said, pausing for only a second, “as good as you smell.”

Her breath caught as his tongue lashed the dip between her collarbones and went as low as her shirt would allow.

“I’m going to take you, Lou,” he growled, his lips vibrating against her skin. “Here. Now.”

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes to the glare of the Sahara sun.

“Yes,” she whispered.

DESERT THIRST

An Erotic Expedition Novella

PART 2

By Hazel Hunter

The heat of the Sahara was nothing compared to Quinn’s lips. Lou clung to him just to keep herself upright, as he covered the front of her throat in rough kisses and gnawing bites. A heavy rumble that came from somewhere deep in his chest slowly rose in his throat. Though she’d come here to track the endangered Painted Dog, she’d found an entirely different kind of animal.

“Lou,” he growled against her skin, low and guttural.

In the desiccated heat of midday, with the sun burning down, Quinn’s moist breath washed over her skin like water. One arm tightened around her waist as his head dipped lower. His tongue traced a path directly to the V of her neckline. He paused only long enough to undo the first button of her blouse and then the second.

He leaned into her, curving her backward, and she dug her fingers into his thick hair.

“You look as good as you taste,” he said against her breast, as the feel of his lips sent a shudder through her. He must have felt it. He pushed the shirt and bra strap off her shoulder, down her arm and suddenly he was sucking furiously. The arm behind her back crushed her to him and his other hand cupped her bare breast.

“Oh god,” she whimpered, as he squeezed. “Quinn.”

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, unable to fight the curve of his body over hers and the pull of gravity. It was as though he sensed an opening. His mouth moved greedily over her breast, as if he was starving, trying to take it in all at once. He had said he wouldn’t stop, that he would take her here and now. But it took this moment for her to truly understand–his need had swept over him. She felt it in his hands, his mouth, and now the jab of his arousal into her abdomen. Her heart fluttered in a wild moment of anticipation. She couldn’t stop him–no more than she could stop the charge of a bull–and that was the last thing she wanted.

Warmth flooded between her legs and her hips pressed into his.

Suddenly, he froze.

He jerked his head up and sniffed the air.

“No,” he muttered, still holding her.

“Quinn, what–”

He raised her up, let her go and spun in place. He was staring at something up high. She pulled up her bra strap and shirt and stepped around him. Then she saw it.

“What’s that?” she said.

High above them, a dark haze was rapidly filling the sky. As she looked down to the horizon, she could only see a few hundred yards and then the desert disappeared in an indistinct brown wall.

Quinn didn’t answer. He leapt at the tent where it lay on the ground.

“Get the packs,” he yelled over his shoulder.

He quickly laid out the fabric, found the door, and put his head and arms through.

What in the hell was going on and what was that brown haze?

She heard him snap the poles of the tent into place and it sprang into form. He backed out to see her still standing there.

“Move!” he screamed. “Grab one of the packs. Hurry!”

She didn’t pause this time. She grabbed the closest one, hers, and yanked it off the ground and toward the tent. Quinn held the flap open and glanced past her.
 

“Toss it in!” he yelled.

Why is he so upset?

She tossed the pack through the opening and turned to get his.

“No!” he screamed.

She turned back to him, just as the world turned brown.

• • • • •

Sirocco!
thought Farid.

The camels had sensed it minutes ago. Though their natural tendency would be to stand, above the heaviest particles of sand, Farid didn’t have that choice. Unlike them, he wouldn’t be able to close a second eyelid or his nostrils. And there was no time to put up the tent.

He forced the animals down as they grunted their complaints. Farid wrapped his face with the dark scarf of his
tagelmust
and pulled its turban low. Then he tucked himself down on the leeward side of the closest camel.

Fool!
he cursed himself.
You’re as bad as the foreigners.

He’d been watching them and almost hadn’t seen the deadly wind in time. It had come from the south. He peered over the top of the camel and watched as it enveloped Quinn and the woman. It stretched a mile high into the sky, a wall of sand and dirt and whatever else could be picked up over the Sahara. It was dark–a bad sign–and covering ground at an enormous rate, easily hurricane speed.

Fool
, he cursed himself again.

As it approached, he hunkered low and leaned into the camel. The ship of the desert was about to turn into a port. The creature made a snorting sound as if to agree with him and turned its head away from the gale. Then it slammed into them.

• • • • •

“
Lou!
” Quinn screamed, holding on to the tent.

The wind slammed into her just as he reached out. In the next instant she was gone and his words were whipped away as he was knocked sideways, to one knee.

The sirocco had overtaken them without warning.

Don’t fall, he thought, as he brought the cloth of his tank top up over his nose and mouth. At ground level, the grit would be deadly, clogging eyes and lungs in minutes. He kept his back to the wind and pulled the tent with him.

“Lou!” he screamed.

He couldn’t let the tent go or it’d be gone. He needed either her or a heavy pack inside.

The wind must be sixty miles per hour!

The density of the sand and dirt told him that.

“Lou!” he screamed again, not even hearing himself.

His foot kicked something and he looked down. It was the other pack. He let his shirt go and held his breath as he picked up the pack and hurled it through the opening. The tent fabric flapped and flailed with loud snapping sounds but the wind was no longer pushing it along the ground.

“Lou!” he screamed again.

What had happened to her?
She had to be in this direction. He dragged the tent with him, knowing they’d need to get into it quickly once he found her.
 

Where is she?
He squinted his eyes, opening them only to the narrowest slits.

There, about five feet away, there was something on the ground.

“Lou!” he screamed.

He left the tent and dashed over, pushed along by the wind.

She was lying on her side and he knelt to shield her head.

“No, Lou,” he yelled. “You can’t lay down. You can’t–”

He tugged her shoulder and she rolled over. Her eyes were closed. She was unconscious.

He immediately scooped her up, hunched over and turned back toward the tent. The packs had kept it in place but it was going to be a trick getting in. He let Lou go and climbed into it as though he were putting on a shirt. The fabric slapped him in the face and threatened to suffocate him when he turned around but he pulled his feet in and then stretched the opening wide and leaned out.
 

He grasped her under the shoulders and, with one long pull, dragged her completely through, pulling her onto himself.

“Got you,” he breathed.

Her entire body was limp and he rolled her off him and immediately closed the tent door. The nylon zipper snagged as grit threatened to clog it but he finally got it closed. They were inside.

The dust of the sirocco had brought an artificial night. Although the fabric of the tent jumped and flapped as though it were trying to take flight, it stayed upright.

“Lou?” he said, over the wind.

She was directly behind him and he quickly turned and felt along her torso. He lowered himself and put his ear down on her chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to listen. Then he covered his other ear and pressed down harder.

He heard her heart beat.

Thank god
, he thought, as he put a hand on her diaphragm. It rose and fell at a steady pace. She was breathing too.
 

He exhaled in relief and hung his head as he sat back on his heels. For a few moments, he simply caught his breath but left his hand on her, keeping contact.

Okay, I need some light.

He fumbled around his backpack and eventually found the small flashlight. He immediately turned it on and swept it along the length of Lou’s body and over her face. She didn’t stir and her eyes were closed.

“Lou?” he tried and then coughed.
 

He’d inhaled some of the dust. As his lungs tried to rid themselves of the irritant, he coughed again. He’d found Lou facing away from the wind but, if she weren’t unconscious, she’d probably be coughing too. As he hovered the light directly over her face, he bent down to take a closer look.

“Lou?” he tried again.

Then he saw a scrape on her temple. It was hard to tell in this light, but it looked like there was also a red bump. He gently turned her face away. Yes, it was a bump and her entire temple was scratched. He pictured her when the gale had hit them. With the force of a hurricane, it had knocked her sideways and she must have hit her head on the ground. She’d collided with it at whatever speed the wind had moved her, which might have been a lot.

He needed to get a cold pack on that swelling.
 

He tied the flashlight to the crossing of the poles above him. The med kit at the side of his pack had a chemical cooling patch that he removed and unwrapped. He scrunched it up, removed the covering, and put it adhesive side down over the growing bruise. Then, he checked the rest of her, running his hands over her to check for broken bones or bleeding. She seemed not to have any other injuries but the head wound was bad enough.

Although he considered checking her pupils to see if they were different or dilated, he didn’t want to move her eyelid. As the sirocco had hit, she might not have closed her eyes quickly enough to prevent grit from getting inside. He didn’t want to risk scratching her corneas, especially since they were at least two days away from the nearest city. He’d already done what he could to reduce the swelling.
 

Finally, he sat back and took stock of the situation.
 

Their water and food were probably good. In preparing for their expedition, he’d over packed on the water, not knowing how much Lou would consume. Although a sirocco might last days, those were rare. Winds of this magnitude generally lasted several hours.

He looked down at Lou’s still form and realized her blouse was open at the top.
 

He’d undone those buttons.

Instead of knowing that a sirocco was bearing down on them, he’d been all over her. He looked at her lips and the skin of her upper chest. He’d been so focused on her, on touching her, on having her, that he’d nearly got them killed.

He shook his head and fine sand drifted down.

“You need to focus,” he muttered.

What should have been a routine tracking assignment for an endangered species had turned into a real struggle for survival. What had he said to her?
 

“The Sahara doesn’t allow mistakes,” he said.

No matter that the gale had moved faster than a train, he normally would have smelled it coming, heard it, sensed a change in the light. It might have amounted to only several minutes warning but it would have been enough. They’d have had time to get into the tent and take shelter.

But he’d realized
much
too late and it had hit them out in the open.

He looked at Lou’s face. The swelling didn’t seem to be getting any worse. As the buffeting of the tent briefly ratcheted up a notch, he realized the temperature was dropping.

“Okay,” he said. “Staring at her isn’t going to help. Get this tent squared away and get her into her sleeping bag. We might be here a while.”

If it weren’t for the headache, Lou felt like she could have slept all day.

Or was it night?

She tried to open her eyes but it was hard. They felt as though they were crusted shut and, when she reached a hand up, she realized they were. With a little coaxing, though, they finally opened.

The light blue canvas of the tent was lit. She turned her head and winced at the pain. There was an empty sleeping bag and her bottle of water rested on it.
 

Wait. This wasn’t her tent. Hers was grey. She looked down and confirmed that she was in her own bag. When she looked at the other bag she realized it must be Quinn’s.

God, her mouth was so dry that her lips were stuck together. Slowly, so as not to make the headache worse, she sat up and took a drink of water.
 

It must be morning.

As she carefully worked the grit out of the corner of her eyes, she realized her blouse was open about halfway down. She buttoned the first button and her hands froze as she remembered–the kiss, the brown haze, and the sudden wind.