Bertrice Small - Bedazzled

The women in his harem were lovely, and most amenable, but India was correct when she said that they feared him. They did. In their world he held the power of life and death over them. They sought to please him because everything they were, or possessed, was because of Caynan Reis, the dey of El Sinut. While he believed he had tamed India's proud manner a trifle, he had not broken her spirit. She spoke her mind to him, and did not mouth inanities at him. He realized now that he needed more than just willing bodies to pleasure him. He needed a woman who would be his companion, his lover, and who would tell him the truth. He needed India. It was as simple as that, but now he had to convince her of it. He couldn't be certain if it would be easy or difficult.

Of late he had seen her looking at him with a questioning look in her marvelous eyes. What was she thinking? Could she ever really love him given the way in which she had come to him? Had they been in England instead of El Sinut, would she have even considered him as a husband? She was seventeen, which was old for a virgin, and she had not chosen a husband, nor had her family chosen one for her. He wondered why. One day he would ask her, he thought.

His head was still aching, though less so when he finally fell into a deep sleep, but when he awoke, his mind was clear. The rain had stopped, and India was gone from his side. Had it all been a dream?

"India!" He called out to her.

"Yes, my lord?" She stood in the open bedchamber door.

"My headache has left me," he said, feeling foolish. He had been like a child for a moment, fearful that she was gone from him.

"I am glad, my lord," she answered him.

He arose, and she slipped a kaftan over him. "Who shall I choose to share my bed tonight, India?" he asked her. "Who shall I choose?"

For a very long moment she was silent, and she pierced him with a look the meaning of which he could not fathom. Then she said in a low voice, "It is not seemly, my lord, that I choose for you. I know you heard my foolish boast this morning to Samara, but it was only to keep the absurd creature in her place."

"Who shall I choose, India?" He repeated the question. He stood directly before her, his hands now resting lightly on her shoulders.

I am losing my reason, she thought. I cannot!

"India?"

"Choose me, my lord," she finally said. "Choose me."

He was not entirely certain that he had heard her aright. Reaching out, he cupped her face between his two hands and looked directly into those marvelous eyes of hers. "India?"

"Choose me, my lord," she repeated once again in a soft voice.

"You are certain?" His heart was hammering, and he felt almost weak in his longing for her. This was not simply desire he realized in a blinding burst of cognition. This was love!

"I am certain," she replied. "But, oh, my lord! Please be patient with me. You know I am neither incompetent nor witless, but I know very little about passion." Her cheeks flushed with her words.

Caynan Reis bent his dark head, and touched her lips with his. It was a slow kiss, delicate and filled with promise.

When he finally removed his lips from hers, India's hand went instinctively to her mouth, her fingers touching the flesh wonder-ingly. She hadn't known quite what to expect but certainly not this tenderness. There was something far more to the kiss than she understood, and, seeing the confusion in her eyes, he knew for an absolute certainty her innocence.

"I will teach you passion, India," he told her, his hands leaving her face, his strong arms enfolding her in a warm embrace.

Her cheek lay against his chest. She could feel the beating of his heart beneath the fabric of his kaftan. She trembled, and then angry with herself for what she felt was an unpardonable show of weakness, pulled away from him.

Gently he drew her back, enfolding her once more. His hand sleeked down her dark curls soothingly. "Passion is always confusing in the beginning. Afterward it is merely surprising," he told her.

"I feel foolish," she admitted.

"Do not, my thorny little virgin," he teased her lovingly. "I have never had a virgin in my bed, and I find the prospect an unusual aphrodisiac."

"What should I do?" India asked him.

"Another night I will begin to teach you the things that please me, and Azura will instruct you as well, my precious. Tonight, however, I would simply initiate you into the delights of love."

"Oh."

He felt her stiffen, and, realizing how nervous she must be, he said to her, "Now, India, go and fetch our evening meal. My headache is gone, and I find I am hungry."

She slipped from his arms, and hurried from the room relieved. It wasn't that she wanted to take back her acquiescence. She didn't. But her mood was lightened by the realization that he would not rush her along passion's path. What would II be like? she wondered. Would she, too, call out like those silly harem women? She was curious to learn what would make a woman cry with such obvious pleasure. His kiss had been quite wonderful. Much better than Adrian's kisses, and for a moment she felt guilty, but the feeling quickly passed.

She could see now that Adrian had been an utter fool. The dey was not a cruel man, but he absolutely insisted upon being respected, as was his right. If Adrian had behaved better, he probably would have been ransomed by now, and her family would have known where she was. She knew that her parents would have moved heaven and earth to regain her person, but Adrian had not been wise, and while he might eventually escape his captivity, she would never escape hers.

Was that why she was finally assenting to Caynan Reis's desire? To save herself? To make a place for herself in this new world? Or was she intrigued by this man who could be so kind and also so cruel? She wondered if another man would have been so patient as he had been. And what would have happened if she had never decided to yield to him? Reaching the kitchen, she found the evening tray with its decanter of fruit sherbet, the bowl of ripe fruits, and a blue-and-white plate of flat, warm bread. Picking it up, she returned to the dey's apartments.

"I have set up the chessboard," he told her as she set the tray in its accustomed place and then prepared the basin with its love cloths.

She took her place opposite him, and their game began. She had learned much from him about chess, and while India had always been a good opponent, she had become an even better one over the last few months. Tonight, however, she was distracted, and finally, after her third loss in a row, he called a halt to their play.

Reaching out, he took her hand, and raising it to his lips, kissed the fingertips lightly. Unable to help herself, she pressed her fingers along his mouth again. He kissed them again, parting his lips just slightly to suck upon those slender digits. Startled, she pulled her hand away. Then, stretching his arm out, he touched her lips with his own hand. "Do what I did, India," he instructed her softly.

Shyly she took his fingers into her mouth, drawing upon them, timidly at first, and then, unable to help herself, sucking more strongly. Surprised, her eyes widened even as she felt her heart begin to race. Her cheeks felt suddenly hot. There was something so sensual… so primitive in what she was doing, and while she forced herself to do so, she didn't really want to stop. She looked at him questioningly as she released his fingers.

The dey caressed her face gently, his knuckles grazing the cheekbone. "Are you hungry?" he asked her.

India nodded nervously, although she really wasn't, but anything to take her mind from the outrageously erotic thoughts now assailing her. She struggled to her feet even as he stood up. Together they moved to the table where the food was laid out. India poured the dey a small silver goblet of sherbet, handing it to him. It was his custom to help himself to the bread and the fruit. Seated opposite each other, they ate in silence for a time. He plucked a small bunch of pale-green grapes from the bowl, and began to pull the individual fruits from their stems with his teeth, slowly, one by one. His eyes met hers. She watched, fascinated, until the action of his strong white teeth and his swirling tongue that snaked out to catch the juice from the grapes made her giddy.

When he had finished, he took a slice of pomegranate, spooned the seeds from it, and, cutting it into pieces, began to feed it to her. She ate several chunks of the tart-sweet fruit, licking the juice from his hand in an action that surprised her. How bold she was becoming, India thought to herself, and blushed at the small smile that briefly touched the corners of his mouth. Could he read her wicked thoughts? She hoped he could not.

Caynan Reis took one of the damp towels that always accompanied his evening meal, and, leaning over, wiped her hands and face before cleaning himself. Then, sitting back in his chair, he said quietly to her, "Disrobe for me, India."

She did not argue. Nudity between them was natural to her now. Standing, India loosened the ties on her pantaloons, and they fell to the floor. Picking the garment up, she laid it across the chair.

"Come here to me now," he said, and when she had moved to stand before him, he took the damp towel and removed the carmine stain from her nipples. "I prefer you as Allah created you," he told her. Rising, he pulled off his kaftan, laying it next to her garment. Then, reaching out, he drew her into the circle of his embrace so that their bodies just touched. "You have no idea, my precious, how much I desire you," he said quietly, "but it is important to me that you are not fearful, India, of what will transpire between us this night. Do you understand?"

She nodded mutely, unable to meet his gaze. It was ridiculous that she felt so suddenly shy, but she did.

"I will not hurt you," he promised her, "and if you become afraid, you will tell me. There is no shame in a virgin being suddenly reluctant, or apprehensive, India. Lovemaking is a joyous pastime, and I would have you gain pleasure from our endeavors."

She nodded again, aware all of a sudden that he was gently stroking her, his big hand smoothing down her back with a delicate touch. She looked up at him questioningly, and without another word, his mouth covered hers, his lips easing her nervousness, proffering a sweetness such as she had never known. To her surprise she found herself kissing him back, offering herself to him as she certainly never had to Adrian Leigh, and realizing even as she did that she did so willingly. I want him, she thought, and I don V even really know what it is I want of him.

He took her face between his hands, raining kisses upon it until she truly believed that there wasn't an inch of skin he had missed. "You are so beautiful," he murmured against her lips, alighting upon them again as a bee returning to a flower. He nibbled upon them teasingly, then pressed passionately against her mouth, gently but firmly and wordlessly cajoling her to part her lips. When she did so, he ran the tip of his tongue along the moist flesh, then unexpectedly thrust into her mouth to touch her tongue with his.

India gasped, totally surprised by his action. She wanted to draw back, but the writhing tongue encircling hers was frankly the most sensual feeling she had ever experienced. Hesitantly at first, then more boldly, she fenced with his tongue, feeling her body begin to entertain a strange and sultry heat that, while unfamiliar, was, she decided, in the overall most pleasant. She slipped her arms about his neck, drawing him closer until their bodies were pressed tightly against each other.

For a moment his breath caught in his throat as he felt her breasts pushing against him. She had absolutely no idea the havoc she was wreaking. Had she been any other woman, he would have thrown her to the floor and taken her then and there. Instead, he slowly ended the kiss, loosening her embrace, his hands going to her waist to turn her about so he might reach about, taking her breasts in his two hands. They nestled like two white doves within his cupped palms. He brushed his thumbs lightly across her nipples, smiling to himself as the delicate flesh puckered with her arousal.