The Lady's Tutor (39 page)

“Is this a
part of bonding?”

Ramiel did
not pretend to misunderstand her. “Lust is a part of bonding,
taalibba.
But
lust is easily satisfied. It does not require that a woman open herself so
completely to a man that she is vulnerable to his every touch, his every
desire.”

As he
wanted her to be open for him.

Watching
his darkly intent face, she scooted forward, bent her knees, and spread them
wide for his delectation.

The moist
heat rising from the water was a warm caress. She felt as if he could see
inside her body, as if her flesh pouted open where he had penetrated her with
his fingers. He firmly positioned her feet on the edge of the tiles; she
supported herself on the heels of her palms.

“No
regrets, Elizabeth.”

Her
breasts shimmied with the force of her pounding heart; she sucked in warm,
misty air.

“No
regrets, Ramiel. I did not regret dancing with you last night. I regretted only
that we did not do this.”

His
fingers tightened around her ankles; he stretched them even farther apart. “Lean
back on your hands.”

She would
not look away from his desire ... or hers. “I want to watch. I want to know—
everything.
”

Every
little touch that she had been denied the last sixteen years.

He reached
down and lifted his erect manhood for her perusal. The purple head was far
larger than had been the artificial phallus.

Slowly,
deliberately, he guided himself to her splayed body. “Then watch.”

Scalding
heat notched her vagina.

She
gasped. He gasped.

Electricity
had singed her fingertip when she had touched his lip. This—this was like being
rent apart by lightning.

Her gaze
shot up from where their bodies touched.

His gaze
was waiting for hers.

“You—it’s
hot.” Almost as hot as his turquoise eyes.

“So are
you,
taalibba.”
Scalding heat spread up from her vagina, nudged apart
the lips of her labia, rubbed back and forth until she was totally open and her
passion mingled with his. “Like molten silk.”

She
struggled to regulate her breathing, failed. “I can feel you pulsing against
me, like a tiny heartbeat. Will it be like that when you are inside me?”

His
eyelids drooped; she followed his gaze. Her glistening pink lips were spread
wide by the engorged purple crown. Even as she watched, it slipped lower. The
bulbous knob of him notched the slick heat of her, a kiss of sex, pressing but
not entering, making her feel the muscles in his body straining to thrust while
he felt the muscles of her body straining to adjust.

“Do you
feel me pulsing now?”

“Yes.”
Oh,
God. Yes.

His pulse.
Her pulse. She could feel it all.
See it all.

He rocked
gently against her, her wetness lapping at the crown of him while the water
lapped around his thighs. As if drawn by her delicate folds and creases, he
again sandwiched himself between the lips of her labia. Reaching out with his
left hand, he spread them wider, revealed the little hard bud of her clitoris.
He twirled the bulbous knob of his manhood around and around it, the most
sensitive part of him against the most sensitive part of her.

Liquid
heat surged inside her.
She was melting.
Or he was. They were both wet
and hard there.

“Tilt your
hips.”

Elizabeth
automatically obeyed, watching the miracle of a man and a woman, her auburn
curls pressed flat by his dusky brown hand while his other hand guided the
purple knob of his verge, bigger than a plum, harder, hotter... It slid down
the wet slide he had created, and then there was pressure that was more than
pressure followed by an internal popping sensation and the thick bulb of him
was fully encased inside her.

Her flesh
frantically tightened around him, too late. It burned. It stung. He felt as big
as a fist and
she was not prepared for this melding.

Ramiel
glanced up from where he pierced her and captured her gaze. Purposefully, he
eased another inch inside her while her body strained to accommodate him.

“Can you
still feel me pulsing?”

“Yes.” It
matched the beat of her heart. She gritted her teeth. “I do not think we are
going to fit, Ramiel.”

“We will
fit,
taalibba.
”

Still
holding her gaze, he slowly pulled out of her;
she was so wet,
she heard
as well as felt him when he exited her,
the tinkler,
and he was
right—the English language did not do justice to the Arabic reality. She burned
and throbbed where he had penetrated her. He made her burn and throb even more,
rubbing and rubbing the hot, pulsing heat of him against the hard little bud
that she had never seen before, only felt, holding it exposed as her portal was
exposed.

Elizabeth
could feel herself sinking, sinking into a world where there was only a man and
a woman who were named Ramiel and Elizabeth.
How could this be wrong?

“Tilt your
hips.”

She
involuntarily raised her hips to increase contact with her clitoris;
there;
she
had never imagined a man could be so soft yet so hard. At the same time, Ramiel
glided through the glistening pink lips of her labia and thrust, one man’s duty
another man’s desire.

Why
would anyone kill. . . to stop this?

“Wait. . .
talk to me.” She panted as if he plugged her very lungs. “I feel like ... I am
falling.”

“That’s
good,” he crooned. “That’s the way I want you to feel.”

She did
not want to be the only one experiencing this incredible beauty.
This was
not what she had came for, to indulge her own selfish needs.
“But what
about you?
I
want you to feel what I feel.”

“Then take
more of me,
taalibba.”

“Oh . . .”
Elizabeth braced herself against the tiles, body stretching, burning, taking
him deeper, deeper. She desperately cast about in her thoughts for support. “What
does
El Ibn
mean?”

“The son.”
Slowly, slowly, he drew out of her—
she could feel her flesh collapsing
behind him.
He returned to the swollen lips and her throbbing clitoris,
she
could see it pulsing, could feel the same pulse in him.
“Tell me what you
dreamed about.”

“What?. .
.”

“This
morning, you said you dreamed about me. Tilt your hips.”

He
tunneled more deeply inside her.

She threw
her head back in agonized pleasure and stared at the twenty-foot-high ceiling,
at the turquoise ripples of water reflected off the white enamel paint.

“I dreamed
that you suckled my breasts. And that I cradled your head against me while I
nursed you.”

“Did you
give me milk?”

“No.” The
sound that escaped her mouth was more of a groan than a word.

“Would you
like to?” She barely recognized his voice; it was strained and hoarse.

“Yes.”
Even her voice matched his, she realized dimly.

It was
not enough.

“Tell
me.”

He held
himself still. “Tell you what?”

“Tell me .
. . how meritorious you are.”

The flesh
pulsing inside her flexed. “Two of my handbreadths.”

Ten inches.

“Tell me
how much of you is inside me. I want to know everything. I want to remember
every detail of this.”

And maybe,
just maybe she would be able to forget the long, lonely nights she had lain in
a bed purchased by a man who had never wanted her. All of it made possible by a
father who would kill her because she wanted more.

“A
handbreadth,
taalibba.
”

Five
inches.

“I want
more.
I want all of you.”

He gave
her more.

“How much
was that?” she gasped.

“An inch.
Now take another.”

One more
heart-stopping inch.
And
then—

“Oh, my
God!” She scrambled for more purchase, for a firmer hold on reality.

“Look.
Look at us.”

With
difficulty Elizabeth brought her head back down and stared where they were
joined. The hand holding her lips apart moved down and under her hip to provide
her with an unobstructed view. Slippery moisture oozed from her body around the
thick stalk that penetrated it. Their pubic hair, his dark blond, hers auburn,
met but did not mingle.
Two more inches to go.

“Do you
feel the pulse, Elizabeth?”

“I feel
it, Ramiel.” It throbbed against her cervix, a hot, blunt pressure.

Air rushed
out of her lungs. He was drawing
out
of her, taking the pulse. She felt
as if she were being cleaved in two, as if he were taking half her soul.

“Please
come back.”

“In a
moment.” He teased her with the plum-shaped purple knob that glistened with her
slick desire, swirling around and around her clitoris, nudging her vagina,
swirling, nudging, swirling. “Did you think of this when you rotated your hips
on the mattress?”

Elizabeth
had thought of many things that night. “Did I think of what?”

“Did you
think that you would lie with me?”

She bore
down on a spasm of pleasure. “No.”

Her voice
was that of a woman enduring unbearable pain. Or pleasure. Elizabeth could no
longer tell the difference.

“But you
wanted to.”

“Yes ...
oh, my God!”

“Tilt your
hips,” he hoarsely ordered, and then he was sinking inside her and her body
opened up and swallowed him until her auburn pubic hair meshed with his dark
blond hair and she was falling and there was nothing to catch her.

She had
taken all of him and nothing in her life had prepared her for this melding,
this
bonding.
He was a part of her, there was no room to catch her breath.
“ ‘. . . Big as a virgin’s arm ... with a round head . . . Measuring in length
a span and a half,’“ she quoted, half crying, half laughing.

Warm
breath gusted the top of her head. “ ‘And, oh! I felt as though I had put it in
a brazier,’ “ Ramiel finished the verse.

She
felt like the brazier had been put into her.

“The
sheikh knew even then. ... A man and a woman
were
made for each other,
to be like this. . . together.”

Ramiel had
known too.

“There’s
more,
taalibba.
Take down your hair.”

Elizabeth
tore her gaze away from the indescribably erotic sight of their intimate
embrace. She didn’t think she could survive anymore.

“Hold
still.” He grasped her just below her breasts. “Let me hold you. Now. . . you
can use both hands. Reach up. Take down your hair for me.”

More
conscious of his body pulsing inside of her than she was of her own heartbeat,
she slowly raised her arms. Elizabeth had never known there was pleasure that
surpassed agony, but she knew it now. With each hairpin she removed, her vagina
rippled around him; with each impact of a hairpin against a ceramic tile he
pulsed against the back of her womb.

Her breath
rasped in her throat, or perhaps it was his breath she heard.
She did not
know where one ended and the other began.

“Now shake
your hair out.”

A warm net
of flaming red silk spilled over her shoulders, her breasts, his hands. Her
flesh undulated around his while the water gently slapped his thighs. Suddenly,
she could no longer hold it back; she grabbed his shoulders and cried out as
her entire body convulsed with pleasure. And then she really was falling.

A heavy
weight pressed down on her, stealing what little breath remained in her lungs.
Ramiel leaned over her, joining their bodies inside and out, crotch to chest.

Sweat
glistened on his dark skin; a matching film covered her body. She could feel
his heartbeat—it pounded against her breast, throbbed in the special place
behind her womb. His hips spread her already splayed legs even farther apart
while her inner flesh fluttered around him in the aftermath of her orgasm.

She closed
her eyes against the overwhelming intensity in his.

Moisture.
Breath. There was nothing that they did not share in their current position.

Why
would anyone want to kill in order to prevent this intimate bonding between a
man and a woman?

Warm,
moist lips nuzzled her hair, her cheek, her eyes, her right ear. “Don’t cry,
taalibba.”

It was
ridiculous, crying over the most wonderful experience of her life. She had not
been able to stop the tears last night when he had suckled her breasts either.