Muhamed stepped closer. The tantalizing scent of musky sweat and tangy spice teased her nostrils, reminding her of the pleasure they had shared the night before, and of the pleasures that awaited them in the light of day.
'Thank you for your compliment, about my… my person,' she said breathlessly. And returned it. 'You are a very handsome man, you know.'
A patch of light clearly delineated his left cheek. Dark crimson stained it; denial flashed in his black eyes. He opened his mouth… 'Thank you,' he said gruffly. And cupped her cheek with the wet washcloth. It was warmed by the heat of his body.
The touch was electric.
Or perhaps it was his manhood which prodded her stomach that was electric. It, too, was damp.
The intensity of his gaze took her breath away. She squeezed her eyelids closed and concentrated on the rough-soft caress of the washcloth, cleaning her left cheek, her right, her forehead, her chin, her neck, her chest, her left breast…
Her eyelids snapped open.
Muhamed's eyes were veiled by thick black lashes.
A squire near her husband's vicarage had once purchased a young stallion for breeding purposes. When the stallion had proved to be sterile, the squire had castrated the beautiful beast.
Megan had watched it in a field one day, trying to do what nature had intended it do but which the squire had made impossible.
Or perhaps it had not been impossible.
Perhaps the gelded stallion had been able to gain release, as Muhamed was capable of gaining release.
Perhaps the gelded stallion had also given his mare release, as Muhamed had given her release.
Muhamed diligently washed her right breast, rubbing and rubbing until her engorged nipple throbbed.
She sucked in cool air, needing to know-'Did the concubines… did the men suckle their breasts?'
Or was she, indeed, an abomination, to want a man to suckle her as mothers suckled their infants?
He lifted his eyelids. Black eyes pinned her as the washcloth cleansed her. 'Yes.'
'What else did the'-no, she could not use the term eunuch, not when his member bridged her stomach and his eyes probed her soul-'the men do to the concubines?'
'Harem women possess
'What is'-pain-pleasure zigzagged back and forth between her nipple and her womb-'
'Artificial phalluses.'
Megan's heartbeat staggered.
'Sit down on the bed and lie back.'
So he could wash her private parts.
So he could kiss her clitoris.
But what if he did not like the sight of her… the taste of her?
'It is not necessary that you do this,' she said hurriedly.
'It is not what you wish?'
'I…' The cleansing was for him as well as her, he had said. She thought of the pain he had endured in the harem, watching others engage in the pleasures that he was denied. While Megan was not a young, beautiful concubine, she could give him this. 'Yes, I wish it.'
Megan stepped backward. The backs of her legs hit the mattress.
She abruptly sat down, bed squeaking. Dull pain radiated up through her pelvis, faded at the cold compress of wool blankets and coarse sheet.
The floor would be equally cold and far harder on his bare knees.
Reaching out, she grabbed a pillow and dropped it on the floor. At the same time dark, long, narrow feet stepped forward. The pillow landed on top of them.
She glanced up… and froze.
A single eye stared at her.
She instinctively reached out… and closed her fingers around warm, pulsing skin.
Muhamed audibly sucked in air, but he did not pull away.
Last night, sheathed inside a French letter, he had felt like rubber; now-'You feel like satin,' she murmured, mesmerized by his circumference and length and pure masculine beauty.
Gently, she grazed the engorged tip-it was dusky purple in the muted light. Slippery clear moisture dampened her thumb. A tiny heartbeat pounded inside him.
She looked up in wonder. He tensely stared down at her.
Megan said the first thing that came to mind. 'I never knew a man would be so soft, yet so hard.'
'Did you not see-or touch-your husband?'
'The English are more concerned with modesty than sensuality.'
'I am circumcised.'
'You are perfect,' she said in all sincerity.
Hearing the words she had spoken aloud, she blushed.
His manhood flexed inside the ring of her fingers.
She had pleased him with her compliment. Such a simple thing to do, when he gave her so much pleasure.
Pride was a little thing to sacrifice if it would give him back the joy that had been taken away from him.
Realizing the opportunity he presented her with, she reached for the washcloth.
Muhamed knew what she was going to do. What the harem concubines had not done for those men who had given them pleasure.
He gave her the washcloth.
Megan carefully washed him, there, underneath his penis where the skin was smooth save for a hard seam of puckered scars. He stiffened; she persisted, washing the root that was darker than the hairless skin at his groin, the stalk that was thicker than the circumference of her fingers, the purple-tinted crown that cried crystal tears.
She kissed him, there on the tip of his manhood.
He grabbed her head, palms stopping her ears so that all she could hear was the beat of her own heart that matched the tiny heart that beat against her lips.
She tasted him.
Slippery salt coated her tongue.
She opened her lips against him-smooth flesh dragging over smooth flesh, mouth opening wider-
Suddenly the heat cupping her ears disappeared, and a hard hand grasped her braid, pulling her head back while the sound of labored breathing surrounded her.
Muhamed's hard features were drawn; his black eyes filled with-what?
Her heart lodged inside her throat. 'Did I hurt you?'
'A man can gain release through a woman's mouth as well as her vulva,' he gritted.
Megan saw behind his harshness.
He wanted the release he spoke of. He wanted it so much that he was afraid of it.
'I would enjoy bringing you to orgasm in such a manner,' she said calmly.
His mouth twisted-a grimace of pain rather than pleasure. 'What if I told you that some concubines enjoy it when eunuchs penetrate their back orifices? Would you enjoy that, too?'
His meaning slammed through her. The image hovered in her thoughts, refusing to fade. It was overlapped by a vivid picture of an artificial phallus.
She had never imagined such acts as he conjured… had she?
When she had picked cucumbers from her small garden, she had never imagined the object to which their shape bore a striking resemblance… had she?
When she clenched the muscles inside her vulva, she had never noticed that her buttocks also tightened… had she?
