The Kadin - Bertrice Small [49]
In the split second that their souls touched he lost himself to her forever. He adored her. He could not get enough of her. She belonged to him completely, and yet it was he who felt enslaved
The moon had set and he looked over at the sleeping girl. She lay on her side facing him, one arm beneath her head His eyes feasted on her naked body—the moist pearly sheen of her skin, the coral-tipped nipples of her breasts, the sooty fringe of her lashes against her cheek, her hair a red-gold mass of disarray against the pillows. He shuddered with hunger for her, but remembering how newly opened the bud of her maidenhead was, he rose instead from the bed and going to the door, called a slave to bring a basin of warm water, linen, cool drinks, and sweet cakes.
When all he had requested had been brought and placed by the bed, he gently rolled the sleeping girl upon her back. Dipping the soft linen into the scented water, he tenderly sponged the dried blood from her thighs. A slave should have done this, but he wanted no one else in the room to break the spell their love had created.
Finished, he pushed the basin aside and after drawing a light cover over the still form, walked out onto the terrace. Breathing deeply, he inhaled the cool air, and slowly his mind began to clear. I am in love! The words rang jubilantly in his head. Never before had Selim Khan had a real relationship with a woman. There had been soft, compliant bodies upon which he had vented his desire, but these had lasted no more than a night or two.
She had bewitched him, his little love. Never before had he felt the emotions that now assailed him. He felt loving, tender, and protective. How could one innocent little girl stir up so much confusion in a grown man’s heart and mind? He shook his head and walked back inside. He wanted to talk with her, hear her musical voice, and know that she felt the same.
Taking a cup of fruit juice in one hand, he sat down on the bed and playfully ran his other hand down the curve of her body. She murmured in soft protest and then, stretching like a newly awakened baby, opened her eyes. He handed her the cup, and she drank greedily.
“Have I slept long, my lord? I have never felt so rested.”
“A few hours, little love.”
He could not take his eyes off her, and she flushed shyly beneath his gaze. Placing the cup on the table near the bed, she drew his head down to her breasts.
“If you continue to stare at me so, my Selim, I shall burst into flame and become a cinder.”
She looked at the man who lay contentedly on her breasts. “Have I pleased you, my lord?” The power of her conquest sang in her voice.
Looking up at her, his eyes twinkling, his voice amused, he murmured. “You are incomparable, o moon of my delight!”
Realizing the foolishness of her question, she turned her face from him and giggled. The prince sprang from their couch, clutched her hand, and vowed passionately that never had one such as she graced his bed. They both dissolved into gales of laughter, and the slaves outside the door nodded to one another that their master’s first ikbal must indeed be wise to please her young lord so much that they could laugh so happily in the midst of their love-making.
She pulled him tumbling back into the bed, and he looked down on her. “If you tell anyone of this farce, I shall strangle you,” he glowered, but his eyes were laughing.
“My lord, I am well aware of your position,” she answered him, and he realized their silly byplay was something she would never share with anyone, because it was theirs alone. Was it possible she loved him a little? he wondered.
Cradled in each other’s arms, they talked softly until they fell asleep.
She woke at a touch of her shoulder. “My lady, it is almost dawn,” said the slave.
Nodding, she rose slowly.
“Where are you going, Cyra?”
“It is almost dawn, my lord Selim. Custom demands that I return to the women’s quarters.