The Cult of the Cybeline – 33
The next few hours passed pleasantly for Khalid and his Little English. In many ways, it was like many previous nights, except that Safi was not there to watch their after dinner game of hounds and jackals. It was late when Acenath finally succeeded in winning, long after all except the night sentries had gone to sleep. Acenath loved the game and played fiercely, much to Khalid’s delight. “You are ruthless with your hounds,” he said, admiration coloring his words. He was glad that she was discovering her own will. Her life had been one of obedience, which he appreciated, but he also wanted her to be strong. She was half Medjai, after all, and carried warrior blood in her veins.
“I like to win,” she replied with a sidelong glance as she put the pieces back in the inlayed box. “It wasn’t something encouraged in the orphanage, but I have discovered its rewards.”
“Indeed. You are no longer the child I met in Cairo.” He watched as she rose, walked to a woven storage basket, and placed the game board and box inside. She bent over slightly, her skirt pulling against her bottom, and his eyes trailed slowly across the gentle curves of her rump. It was apparent she was budding into a lovely creature, and Khalid half-whispered, “You are a beautiful woman.”
His compliment came as she picked up a book they had started several days before. Often, they ended an evening with a book, and tonight was no different. It was Mark Twain’s The Prince and the Pauper and was one of Carrie’s books that had been sent in her things from London. Khalid spoke English fairly well, but he struggled with reading. Acenath, who read English with ease, had been helping him through the story, which both found agreeable.
Agreeable, too, was the way her body swayed ever so slightly as she walked towards him. Khalid savored the moment, allowing himself to be a man enjoying the loveliness of the girl he would wed. Pushing aside those yearnings as she neared, he made a place for her beside him, patting the divan with one hand.
Curling up against him, she opened the book to where a braided leather marker had been left the night before. “We made it all the way through this chapter. You are doing well and we shoul….” The marker slipped from her fingers and Khalid, his battle-trained reflexes ever sharp, caught it before it fell. Acenath too, reached for it, and her palm landed on his hand, covering the tri-daggered tattoo on the back of the knuckles.
Her fingers moved around the indigo marks, tracing them thoughtfully. “I used to think these were strange. Now I find them beautiful.” Her eyes rose, as did her hand, until it cupped his cheek, also adorned with the marks of his oath. “I find all of them so wonderful.”
It was his turn, then, to take her hand in his, cushioning it tenderly as he kissed the center of her palm, his lips brushing slowly and sensually against the skin. It was a lover’s kiss, laden with intimacy as yet unexplored. He hadn’t considered that this move might frighten her anew, he hadn’t considered anything save his desire to touch her. Realizing how she might react, he stopped the kissing, looked into her eyes, and asked, “Do I frighten you, Little English, when I touch you like this? You must tell me if I do.”
He did frighten her a little, and her own lustful desires even more so, but she also knew he loved her, and she forced herself to place her faith in that. Perhaps it was lingering heat from the rousing game in which her hounds had thrashed his jackals. Perhaps it was simply being so near him. Whatever it was, she felt a boldness in her that did not want to shrink away.
Moreover, she found the feel of his skin under hers to be fascinating and remembered how handsome he was under his tunic. “I like it when you touch me,” she answered, tentatively sliding her other hand up the sleeve of his tunic, her fingers stroking the corded muscles of his forearm. She thought of the tattoos she knew he bore across his biceps. Her voice became a mere whisper as she added, “I like to touch you, too.”
His body craved hers, and yet, even as his masculine needs began to rise, he struggled with his duty to Ardeth Bay. How could he do this? How could even contemplate taking her body after swearing to guard her honor? “Acenath,” he said, his voice husky. “You should….” His eyes glanced towards the flap that closed off the part of the tent that was her private area. He knew there was still time to retreat from the brink upon which he stood, still time to keep this evening innocent.
It would not be a terrible thing if they were discovered to have shared the same tent as long as she was in her sleeping chamber and he was on his pallet in the front room. It would be unusual, but not a scandal, considering his role as her protector. “You must go to your bed, now. Go, and forgive my weakness.” He said the words, yet his arms could not release her, and as his eyes returned to her upturned face, he saw she was studying him, her features serious as if in deep thought. “Acenath?”
“Kiss me again, Khalid, as a man does a woman.”
He pushed her hair from her face, kissed her forehead as if she was a child, and explained, “You do not know what you are saying.”
“I do.” Her declaration was simple, and given softly, but her hand came to rest on his chest, and Khalid’s own hand covered it.
He shook his head slowly. “This is not right.”
“It hasn’t been right since the day I was taken. Do remember that day? You let me see your marks and you kissed me for the first time.”
“I do.”
“Let me see your marks again.”
Of course, he sighed inwardly, remembering the day she and Carrie were kidnapped. He recalled the moments they had alone vividly. He had already stripped to the waist for wrestling when he came upon her acting as lookout for two young lovers. How innocent she had been then, before the Cybeline beasts had stolen that from her. She had asked him why he didn’t kiss her, like the other boys did their sweethearts, and so he had given her a lover’s kiss, and told her he would do so again, when the time was proper.
In his heart, he knew this time had come, although it was not entirely proper, not by their customs. Neither was it correct that he should let her touch his body as she did, nor to remove his tunic so she could see the indigo tattoos decorating his chest, yet that was exactly what he did, loosening the ties until the shirt fell open. At that moment, he committed to giving her whatever she needed, regardless of tribal taboo.
Acenath knew many village women considered Khalid handsome. With his mane of thick, curling hair, his easy smile and quiet manner, he was a frequent topic for their banter at the communal water well. As an unmarried man from a family closely aligned with the chieftain, he was quite the eligible catch. She heard them talking about how broad he was at the shoulders, and how narrow at the waist, how powerful with the sword and how devout of the soul.
She had even heard their conjecture about the size of his maleness; if it was comparable to the rest of him. While in Cairo, she had overheard other discussions from the women who lived in the brothel. Some had shared Khalid’s bed and spoke of him in veiled but blushingly honest terms, saying that his name should be the Bull, not the Ox, for certainly, he was hung as one.
At the time, she was unsure what they meant, and thought of Khalid only as Carrie’s bodyguard, not as a man, let alone one she loved. Now, all those voices flooded back to her and she found herself not disturbed by them but intrigued. “I have heard other women speak of you, you know.” Her eyes were downcast, focusing on the muscular ridging of his torso.
“What did they say? Things that disturbed you?” He knew village gossip could be malicious.
“No. Not really. Many women find you handsome, that’s all.” She lifted her eyes to his, her cheeks coloring pink.
“I only care about the opinion of one woman, and she is with me now.” His finger tipped her chin upwards as his mouth lowered. His kiss was gentle, his lips barely touching hers, savoring the feel of this first hopeful expression of his desire. She was as sweet as wild honey, he thought with a rush, and pressed against her ever so slightly, wanting to taste more of her but still trying to be careful with this precious girl.
Acenath’s body responded instinctively, her back arching as his hands splayed against her lower back. Her breasts, still the small, nubile buds of youth, tightened until they ached. She gasped, breaking their kiss, and looked at the front of her tunic in embarrassment and surprise. Khalid followed suit and saw the delicate nipples pushing against the cloth. Cupping one gently, his huge hand easily slipping around the whole of her breast, he caressed the hardening nub with his thumb. “It is normal, this sensation, and is pleasurable. You see?”
She watched, fascinated, as her nipple became even more prominent through the tunic. It WAS pleasurable, this touching, and her initial shock was replaced with the desire to see if his nipples were also so sensitive. “Can I feel yours?”
“If you wish.” It was good that she wanted to take an active role, he decided. In her rape, things had been done to her. She had been the victim, forced to submit to others’ perversions. Here, with him, he wanted her to be as assertive of her own desires as she had been while playing hounds and jackals.
His nipples were different than hers, large and flat, colored dark brown with a smattering of tight, black curls around them. Acenath studied them for a few moments before trailing her fingers across one, at first hesitatingly, but then with growing curiosity and boldness. “It hardens!” she giggled with delight as she brought it to a pebbled peak. “Look, I can make it rise!”
He smiled indulgently, his eyes watching her as she moved to his other nipple, bringing it to alertness as well. He derived as much pleasure from her excitement as he did from her touch. There was no sign that her earlier terror was reoccurring, in fact, she became more adventuresome, more empowered, with each second and in that, Khalid found immeasurable happiness.
As he watched her, he couldn’t resist running his fingers through her hair and untying the thong that tethered it into a ponytail. He buried his face in the cascading locks, enjoying the fragrance, clean and delicate, so like his beloved. “Little English, my heart is yours,” he whispered just loud enough that she would hear. He was aware that there were still ears in the village that might overhear them and that soon, very soon, they would be too deep in their passions to care.
He looked at the heavy tapestry hanging over the main entrance, which was all that protected their privacy. It was not much, for, at any time, a sentry could step through, their tryst would be exposed and she would be bear the shame. He would never allow this, and murmured against her hair, “We should not be found here. Your alcove, is there room in it for both of us?”
Nodding, Acenath stood, knocking the book, which had been long forgotten, onto the floor. Khalid picked it up, his eyebrow cocking upwards as he wryly noted, “We will postpone my reading lesson for the night, I think.” Setting it back on the divan, he watched as Acenath scurried through the tapestry door to her room. He could still stop this, before it went further, but then remembered how unmarked by fear Acenath had been when she was touching him.
If his only concern was relieving the growing heat in his groin, he could have walked away and suppressed his urges. Khalid knew the way of soldiers to relieve themselves when they were far from home, and could just spill his seed in the sand and be done with it, if that was all there was to this. No, his needs were not paramount here; Acenath’s were. Safi had been right in that Acenath needed to see that love was not to be feared, nor was passion, and his place was to guide her with tenderness.
Rising to his feet, he removed his tunic, folded it, and placed it next to the book. Padding quietly, as he had removed his worn boots before the meal, he walked to the alcove’s door, drew it back and stepped inside. It was a small area with a low divan on one side. All Medjai women had an area within the tent that was expressly theirs and this had been Safi’s. It had been given to Acenath when she returned to the village, as Safi understood the girl needed a retreat of her own, and now it would serve as a lover’s bedchamber.
Khalid grimaced slightly, for the chamber was tiny and the divan barely wide enough for two to sit upon, let alone ….well let alone something more …athletic. Couples had made do in far smaller bowers, however, he reminded himself, and remembered some of the past places where he had found himself with a woman, intent on matters of the flesh. These thoughts had no place here, he scolded himself. His body was dedicated solely to Acenath for the rest of his days, and the recollections of other women were put from his mind. No other woman had caused him to wish to wed.
She was sitting on the pallet, and she was nervous again, he could see, her eyes locked on the floor. Perhaps he should have left his tunic on so as not to appear to overly male, he wondered before thinking of some way to break the tension. “You may look at my other marks, if it pleases you. With my tunic off, they are easy to see.” Earnestness crinkled his brows as he smiled hopefully.
Acenath had been taken aback by his appearance. She was accustomed to the coziness of her alcove, and was not prepared for how Khalid would fill it, like a giant in a dollhouse. It was one thing to sit next to him, touching his body and enjoying that he was a man. It was another to have him walk into her bedchamber, half-naked and know that he was there to touch her as no one else had.
No one except the Cybeline priests who had shoved objects into her and delighted in her pain.
“Khalid…” Her voice quavered as she called his name. She was frightened, he knew, and knelt before her, taking her hands in his, saying nothing but hoping she could feel his love. “They did terrible things to me.”
“You have told me.”
“It doesn’t matter to you?” Her eyes, rimmed with dark lashes, stared into his.
How to answer? Of course it mattered, but on the other hand it did not, for it did not lessen his love for her. “Only in that I would have spared you these things, Little English. It does not change how I care for you.”
“Will it feel the same, when you put things into me?” There it was, the biggest fear she had, that the marriage bed would be as terrifying as had been the Cybeline temple.
“Sweet one, I could never harm you, no part of me. I swear it on my soul. What the Cybeline did was blasphemous, monstrous….I wish I could kill them all and erase what they did, but I cannot. All I can do is promise that I shall never hurt you, and that I will spend my life trying to please you.” His soulful eyes, which so often crinkled in humor, now pooled with tears, one spilling across the tattoos on his cheek.
Without thinking, Acenath reached to catch this lone tear with a finger. As she did, her eyes locked with his, her hand sliding down to his shoulder. Khalid reacted just as automatically, turning his head slightly until their lips found each other, letting her kiss him first, and then, returning it.
It was the first time she had initiated a kiss, and he wanted it to last as long as possible. He also wanted to be closer, to hold her in his arms in a true embrace. Rising slowly, he eased onto the divan. It was a simple thing for him to slide onto the seat beside her, one hand cupping the back of her head while the other steadied his ascent so the kiss wasn’t interrupted. As he maneuvered, his arm brushed against the swelling buds of her breasts, and she sighed against his lips.
She was a novice to these things, but already yearned for Khalid’s touch. Surprising herself, she guided his hand to her breast. As she did, she pulled away from the kiss, however, and Khalid grew concerned. “What it is, sweet one?” he queried. She didn’t answer and puzzled, Khalid removed his hand from her breast, worried he had moved too quickly. “What is wrong? Have I …done something…”
Acenath’s lips curved into a soft smile as she put her finger to his lips. “Nothing is wrong. I just want to see your face.” Relieved, Khalid returned his hand to where he knew a small, perfect nipple waited, round and firm and responsive to his tender caress.
He moved with care borne of experience. In Cairo he had bedded a number of girls sent to their service with their virginities intact. He undertook this with all the honor it deserved, for they were warriors as well as young girls experiencing the wonders of sex for the first time. He had also soothed those who had been abused during their duty, whose bodies had been treated cruelly by other men. It was considered a sacred thing, to ease away the pain of the soul this caused.
Acenath was both virgin and rape victim in Khalid’s eyes, and, even more, she was the woman he loved. She was a virgin as she had never, truly, felt the love of a man, as it was meant to be. The rape had been done by objects, which saved her from any fears of pregnancy, but also left her with a terrible memory of what sex would be. Khalid would replace that memory with one of love, but there would be no chance of pregnancy tonight, for Khalid promised himself that he would not place his manhood within her. That would be saved for their joining night when any child they conceived would carry the legality of his name.
As he looked into her face, so filled with trust, he remembered all these things, and vowed to honor them, no matter how strongly he wished to fully consummate their bond. There would be time for that later, when she came to him as a bride. Tonight was for teaching her that sex was a gift, a wondrous thing, a glimpse of heaven shared with Earthly beings, and he was ever mindful of that.
It pleased him that she wanted to see his face and had not requested they turn down the single oil lamp that illuminated her little chamber. He, too, wished to watch her face as passion possessed her, but would have agreed to be in the dark, if she had so asked. Some women preferred the darkness, but Khalid liked to see his partners. It increased his own enjoyment to watch their faces alit with arousal.
He saw the first glimmer of that in Acenath’s pretty features, her eyes soft and relaxed as the joint of his thumb circled her now swollen nipple. Despite his desire to watch as she became ever more sensually aware, he bent his head to her neck, found the sensitive area beneath her ear and kissed her, over and over again, until she mewled in delight. Her skin was smooth and smelled of clean, nubile, young girl, of the mild, sweet flowers that bloomed in the spring after a rain and turned the dunes alive with their bounty. She had made his heart bloom in the same way, he realized. “Acenath… dear girl, how I love you,” he purred between kisses, his own ardor increasing with each moment she spent in his arms.
Acenath’s head was spinning but not in an unpleasant way – no indeed. It was with the heady intoxication of love ripened and ready for the sharing. Khalid’s hands and lips and voice, the feel of his skin beneath her own hand, all these things added to the rush that swept over her.
Perhaps it was her desire to touch him that surprised her the most, for she was fascinated with the bare chest upon which her open palm pressed. Khalid was powerfully built, his muscles hardened by years as a warrior, and she found the feel of them, flexing slightly as he moved, amazing.
Emboldened, she let her fingers explore the smattering of tight, black curls nesting in the valley of his chest. They were denser than the ones that surrounded his nipples, and led to a thick ribbon of hair that trailed down his rock-hard abdomen. Her fingers followed this path, eliciting an abrupt sucking of air from Khalid. It startled her and she stopped, pulling her hand away as if he had become hot to the touch. “I….I…am sorry,” she stammered, blushing in embarrassment, for obviously she had done something wrong.
“Shhhh….shhhhhh…. ‘tis nothing to be sorry about. It was wonderful having you caress me so. It surprised me, that was all.” He took her hands in his, raised them to his mouth and kissed the open palms. “Such pretty hands, Acenath. I have dreamt of them upon me.” Tenderly, he replaced one hand to where it had been on his belly, just above the waist of his trousers. Huskily, he said, “My body is yours. You may touch me anywhere you wish.”
Her blush reddened as her eyes flicked downwards to the spot where her hand rested. Below, was the obvious expression of his maleness. She was not as naďve as to miss the meaning of the bulge in his trousers. “Even there?” she asked, pulling her hand away quickly.
“If you wish. I warn you, however, that I am not a statue of stone who will remain silent and still.” Alarmed, she looked up, but his warm grin reassured her. “I am flesh and bone, and will respond as a man.” He would not, could not, disguise the fact that he was already doing so. It had been months since he had last indulged in female comfort, ever since his feelings for Acenath had bloomed into love, and now, having her near, long pent-up urges surfaced. He wondered how she would deal with this, and surprised himself by offering, “Would you like to see what your touch does to me, Little English? It is not something to fear. It is a gift you give me.”
He was not sure how she would answer. If she declined, he would be content to kiss and gently fondle her. If she accepted, he would introduce her to his body and to the power she possessed as a woman. Either way, he wanted her to be in control of what was happening.
“Do you want me to?” Acenath searched for guidance. Indeed, she WAS curious as to what was occurring, but she was unsure of herself and of Khalid’s wishes. He knew so much more about these things than she, after all, and she had been told what to do by others all of her life.
Her Medjai blood, suppressed for years, surfaced now. It had been nurtured in the months since she left Cairo, surrounded as she was by strong Medjai women. Ameera, Safi, Jehan, and, perhaps most of all, Carrie, had shown her that being a wife was more than being a servant. She was, indeed a young girl, still a year shy of sixteen, but she was quickly becoming more. She was blossoming into a woman, and this changed everything.
Her education included learning that a woman was not passive in sex, as, particularly when dwelling with Ardeth and Carrie; it was impossible for her to not be aware of the physical expression of love. Tent walls were thin, and the sounds of coupling were familiar ones. Moreover, in every tent considered part of her extended family, there was honesty about the way things were between a man and woman. The men, too, had aided in her understanding, although inadvertently, by treating their wives with respect.
The short tendrils of hair around Acenath’s forehead curled into ringlets, and Khalid adored them. Many times he had been near her and resisted the urge to tenderly brush them away from her face. He did so now as he answered, “I wish you to do whatever you desire. Everything that happens between us will be as you choose.” All but one thing, he reminded himself. He considered not voicing this but then, thought better and continued, “Except that I will not place my manhood inside you. We cannot risk a child until we are wed.” She nodded in understanding, and, smiling, Khalid finished, “Besides, what is it Carrie says? ‘Why buy the cow if you are getting the milk for free?’ Or in this case, the Ox. Some things should be left for our joining night, or else you might not want me.” He winked and she giggled like the young girl she still was, the warm light of the single lamp highlighting her lovely dimples.
Acenath knew what she wanted, and placed her palm, fingers splayed, against Khalid’s washboard belly. Her fears had melted like a sugar lump in hot tea, replaced by stirrings of arousal and sensuality “I will always want you, Khalid.” He would have answered in the reciprocal, but again, her touch sent a shock radiating through his body. Words failed him, and he kissed her temple.
As he did, she slipped her hand lower, skimming over the fabric of his pants until she felt the rigid firmness of him pressing against the cloth. The hardness surprised her, but she did not pull her hand away. Fascinated, she ran her fingers the length of it, delineating the contours of the shaft and head. She found the string that held the trouser front closed and pulled it. Freed from its last vestige of clothing, his manhood jutted upwards from a dark nest of black curls.
Acenath quickly looked up at Khalid, who watched through heavy-lidded eyes. He caressed her downy cheek with the back of his hand. How delicate she was, he thought, and how wonderfully unafraid. “It is the part of me made to pleasure you, Little English,” he reassured in a low, sensual voice.
Her cheeks blushed at the thought of this, but she hesitated for only a moment before looking back at his groin, and at the evidence of his desire. She renewed her exploration of his body, this time touching the most masculine part of him directly. It was so different, she thought, from the skin on the rest of his body, so tight and warm. As she moved to the tip, she smiled with surprise at the velvet softness of the head. Again and again she ran her palm over the surface, amazed by the sensation.
His penis was achingly turgid, and her every touch served to heighten this. Khalid forced his mind away from thoughts of consummating their love, of taking her fully, and concentrated on keeping his reflexes under control. He had not anticipated that he would become so heated so quickly, and hoped he could delay the inevitable outcome of the sensations already surging in his loins. When her hand stroked the tip, petting it, he knew he could no longer stop what was happening, and swiftly, quietly spoke, “Let me take it.”
Gripping the swollen organ in one hand, Khalid covered the end with the edge of his trousers and jerked several times, firmly, until his loins pulsed uncontrollably, spilling his fluid into the cloth. His eyes closed and he moaned lowly as the quick climax surged through him. As it passed, he folded the cloth around the warm moisture and looked at Acenath, who had watched in amazement. Smiling slightly, he explained, “It is my seed. One day it will give us, Allah willing, many fine children.”
“Why did it….spit?” Her eyes went from his face to the organ now resting quietly against Khalid’s thigh.
“Your hand on me, Little English, it was…” He paused to kiss her cheek. “Quite pleasurable. I regret I did not have the self control to hold back a little longer, but, as I said, I am a man and responded as such.”
“This was a good thing?”
His smile broadened at her earnestness. Surely she was a marvelous girl, and he promised himself, again, to treasure her with his entire being. “Most assuredly.”
“Can I see it?”
It was an odd request, perhaps, but Khalid did not hesitate, and opened the cloth, showing her the creamy stain soaking into the indigo cloth. She peered at it and observed, “So this is how a joining cloth is made?”
He closed the folds of his trousers around the spent semen and tucked his now relaxing penis back into his pants before continuing, “It is not only the man’s fluid on the joining cloth, but the woman’s as well.”
She reminded Khalid that she would not be able to make the stain of a virgin’s maidenhead on the cloth. “I can’t leave any, Khalid. They took that from me. They made me bleed already.”
How could he forget the sight of the clotted blood running down her legs and the soiled dress that clung to her body like a shroud? He stifled the raw anger such a memory caused and answered, “They took away only the little membrane inside, but you still make fluid, almost as much as me, I imagine.” Her eyebrows drew together in puzzlement and Khalid wondered if anyone had explained to her how a woman’s body responded to a man’s tender ministrations. He kissed her forehead, not because he knew what to do, but because he did not. He simply loved her.
“Do you wish me to show you?” he asked, knowing that if she said no, he would accept it, but if she said yes, he would do whatever she wished.
“Yes.” Acenath’s eyes, which carried in them the history of two countries, of
He saw no fear in her, and continued to stroke her cheek and neck while his other hand reached to the front of her tunic. It was held closed by a series of toggle-like buttons, and Khalid’s fingers, while large, nimbly unfastened the first two. It was not so much as to expose her, but just enough to let his lips find the tender skin of her neck.
As soon as his mouth tasted the warm, delicate flesh, he moaned and felt his loins tighten anew. Pressing his face against her cheek, he silently prayed, “Allah, give me patience”. It would take all his control, he knew, not to take her body completely, for this slip of a girl turned his blood to flame.
She turned her head just enough to capture his lips with her own, giving him a kiss that reminded him that she was very nearly a woman, with desires raging within. She pressed her mouth against his, eagerly, earnestly, perhaps a bit abruptly, but Khalid did not mind. After moving about her with such caution, he welcomed the passion, the wildness in her kiss, and returned it by parting his lips, inviting her tongue to delve deeper.
When she did not, he encouraged her by flicking his own tongue along her lips, dancing lightly, coaxing, tempting, and all the while, teaching. Acenath, emboldened by arousal, mimicked him, letting her tongue dance with his. For a brief moment their tongues awkwardly abutted before hers slipped into his mouth and in that second, Acenath’s sexuality fully bloomed.
She arched upwards, rubbing her still-covered breast against Khalid’s palm. How badly she ached! How badly she wanted to feel his hands upon her! It was as if something inside her burned white hot and only Khalid could quench it. Without breaking the kiss, Acenath leaned back into the pillows piled on the divan, pulling Khalid with her until he rested practically on her. She needed no one to tell her that the feel of his body atop hers was good. Her arms entwined his neck as she moaned into his mouth.
Breathing heavily as he broke the kiss, Khalid looked down at the newly awakened tigress. It was his sweet Little English, but she was far more, now. She was a woman filled with need. Opening her tunic fully, Khalid let his kisses trail across her neck and shoulders to the valley between her budding breasts. One hand already covered the nipple of the left. How like the blossoms of an almond tree, he thought, how pink and delicate, and how lovely. He kissed the right, gently teasing it with his tongue as she squirmed beneath him, pushing herself deeper into his mouth, crying out as his teeth brushed the hard button.
Her leg was by his side, knee bent, the thigh pressing against him as she called his name. His hand abandoned her breast to stroke the smooth skin of her leg, pushing her skirt higher until he cupped her bare buttock. Again, she cried out, but softly, her body a mass of quivering nerves.
Nearly past the point of caring, Khalid forced himself to remember where they were. “Hush…we must not….we must not make sounds or…” She had turned her hips just enough that his fingers felt her moist, secret place. Unable to think, let alone speak, he swallowed hard, closed his eyes and made the words leave his lips. “We must not cry out.”
“Then kiss me, Khalid,” she whispered, guiding his face down to hers. “Kiss me, kiss me….kiss…”
Kiss her he did, as his fingers caressed the tender skin of her inner thighs, the most beautiful skin that one day, he thought with great love, would bear his mark. She was open to him, as Medjai woman wore nothing under their skirts unless they were in their monthly time, and his hand brushed lightly over the soft fluff of hair marking the entrance to her cleft. Of course, she would still have her fur, he realized. She would not be prepared until her wedding night, when she would come to him as bride.
This was not yet that night, he reminded himself, and yet, it was a time of joining. A time of passion. A time to show her that love between a man and a woman was a wondrous thing.
His fingers slid back and forth in the groove of her flower, moving easily in the dampness of her arousal. He imagined the night when he would fully embrace her, when his seed would fill her body with the promise of life, and slowly slipped his middle finger deeper, curving it against the most sensitive tissue.
He was prepared for the surge of her hips as she bucked upwards, steadying her with his body, his mouth muffling her squeals of surprise and delight. She was unafraid, he knew, and ready to understand the way it would be between them. Rocking his hand so that his knuckle excited the pearl of her womanhood, Khalid brought her to a climax, his hand showing her the pleasure that, one day, he would give her with the part of his body designed for that purpose.
There was only love between them, love and trust, as she climaxed, his mouth on hers as his hand took her over the edge. She was beautiful, he thought over and over, so beautiful, and she was no longer afraid.
Afterwards, he felt her body relax and moved beside her, holding her against his chest. He could not count the number of kisses he had given her, but gave yet another, on her temple, before saying in a soft, husky, voice, “That is how it is between a man and woman. It is a great blessing.”
“Will it be like this when we are married?”
He brushed her hair from her face before answering. “It will be better, for there are many more ways we shall enjoy each other.”
“You will show me these?” She looked up at him, her face joyful.
Laughing softly at her eagerness, he replied, “If you wish, Little English, but not until then. We will not touch each other like this until our joining, you must understand this.”
“I understand.” She nuzzled into his chest, savoring the salty fragrance of his skin and grew thoughtful. “Khalid?”
“Yes, sweet one?”
“If the Cybeline had not taken me… had not done to me what they did, we wouldn’t have done this, would we?”
“No, we would have waited for the joining night.”
Without hesitating, she continued, “Then I am glad they did what they did, because I am glad we just did what we did.” She yawned sleepily, and then asked, “You will hold me all night, like in the desert?”
He knew he would have to leave early in the morning, long before daybreak, to ride with Masoud. “I rise before dawn, but I shall stay here until then, if you wish.”
“I wish,” came her answer, quietly said, for she was nearly asleep. Khalid pulled a blanket over them both as he, too, closed his eyes. In his heart, there was no longer a conflict of honor and love; of duty with desire. There was only the knowledge that what had happened between them was right for himself as well as Acenath.
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It was hours before daylight when Safi stepped into her tent from the bracing air of the early Egyptian morning. Keenly aware of the sentries’ rounds, she was certain none would be in this part of the village at this time. Even so, she had pulled her cloak low over her face. She wanted no one to know she had not spent the entire night in her own bed.
No one could know that Acenath and Khalid had been alone.
Safi wasn’t certain her brother had spent the night with the girl until she lit a small oil lamp and saw his tunic neatly folded upon the divan. How like him, she laughed soundlessly, to be as neat as a soldier even if his mind was on far more tender matters. She had just turned to set a kettle of water to boil for the morning’s tea when the soft rustle of cloth caused her to look over her shoulder with a smile.
Khalid, scrubbing his face with his hands, stepped from Acenath’s chamber, aware that his sister was in the tent but unsure as to what to say. Part of him knew there was little need to say why he was stepping from the small alcove, shirtless, his pants as rumpled as his hair. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that he had been with Acenath. Still, Khalid attempted to explain. “I… she... ” He looked back at the tapestry door and then again at his sister. “Acenath and I…”
Safi motioned for him to sit by the small fire that warmed the corner of the tent. “Shhh. Let her sleep. I will make breakfast for you.”
“Safi… I…” He sat on the edge of the divan, staring at the carpet, and looking, Safi thought, like a little boy confessing to pilfering sweets.
Smiling at how men always made these things so complicated, Safi poured two cups of tea, sat beside him, and handed one to him. “You need not worry so, Khalid. It will be a beautiful day.”
Gingerly sipping his tea, he considered her words and asked, “You will see she is… fine?”
“Of course, and, if you can break away from Masoud for a few moments, perhaps to even take the midday meal with us, you will see how fine she is. That is, if my brother is the man I think HE is.”
He looked up sharply and saw her dark eyes laughing at him, much as they had when they were children. He could not help but laugh as well and drawl, “Poor Ibrahim. If that is a daughter you carry, he has no idea of the danger his sanity is in. Two females in his tent… and if the daughter is like the mother… Allah have mercy upon him.”
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The Cult of the Cybeline – Chapter 34