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“How did you know I’d be leaving home?” She asked, her palm caressing his strong arm distractedly.
“I sent Aziz to watch.” He answered casually, his hand also hovering over her narrow waist and pert hips.
“I didn’t stand a chance.” She concluded.
“Did you want to?” His lips caressed her shoulder.
“We won’t go there again, will we?” She sighed. “You know we have to stop this as much as I.”
“I can’t.” He said simply, and it echoed her own limitation. “Do you want to hear about the hell of a night I had?”
She didn’t need to; she understood exactly what he was talking about. “You have this wicked habit of acting on your desires.” She brushed a lock of hair from her face. “We British curb impulses we consider wrong.”
“Poor repressed people.” He nipped her ear. A man so full of life as he would answer precisely this.
“It’s not a question of repression; it’s a question of doing what’s right!” She stated firmly.
“And what do you people have to show for when you get old?” He popped his head from the pillow and directed his cognac eyes at her. “Are you satisfied with the life you lead, on a balance?”
He had a point, she reckoned. Trying to do what was right begot a healthier society, but what about the individual? Wouldn’t she have nostalgic memories of them when she got old? Didn’t she herself deny regretting anything of what she’d been doing for the past few weeks a thousand times? Wasn’t she collecting remembrances for when she had to marry and live a lukewarm life? “The more we do…this, in more danger of falling pregnant I am.” She replied instead.
“I admit we’re…working hard on it, yes.” His naturalness baffled her.
“And?”
“We elope, of course!” In truth, he expected exactly that. If she fell pregnant, she’d have no choice. She’d have to accept him and not marry a watery milk-sop of their bloody ton.
“Elope?” She asked, turning to him in utter amazement. She imagined the reactions of the female population of the ton. Lady Lucinda eloping with the barbarian to live romantically in a tent in the desert. Lucinda wasn’t sure they wouldn’t line up for such a destiny. She’d be envied, to say the least. “You must be crazy!” She completed, and so was she to even consider the possibility. She got up abruptly, in a vain attempt to shake the tantalising idea from her distorted mind.
“You’re right. My crave for you drives me crazy!” Professing his love for her would make him weak before her, he feared. His hands came under his obsidian-haired head on the pillow. He watched her as she moved around his bedroom. Delicious. His body already reacted to her. He couldn’t live without her, so he wouldn’t, he decided.
He talked about wanting and desire. And that was it, she mused. He had no feelings for her as a person. He didn’t love her as she irrationally loved him. The conclusion saddened her. Lust would fade with time. Even the most head-over-hills attached couple had to make their relationship progress through maturing, beyond the urges of body and passion. Nothing stayed the same, growing up was part of the process. She looked at him disheartened. She couldn’t love for the both of them, even if the expression of his eyes made her hot inside right now. “I have to go.” It’s all she could say at the moment. Conflicted emotions duelled in the battlefield of her heart, urging her to find closure.
“Aziz will be here in an hour.” The information got her giddy. One hour of him in his bedroom was self-control suicide.
Absent-mindedly, she knelt down to pick up her clothes and collect her hair-pins. Tariq never quit watching her and the view of the hour-glass figure made him catch fire. He got up silently, stalked to her lowered behind her, making their bodies encase in each other.
“Tariq.” She breathed as a wave of steam took over her.
He held her tightly and his hands sauntered everywhere. On her breasts, at the core of her, while his mouth hovered on her neck, the curve of her shoulders, her upper arm, his breath ragged. Such an attack on her senses rendered her weak and wanton.
“I need you again, Lucinda!” He muttered in her ear. “It’s a torment to stay away from you!” He plunged in her, extracting a surprised moan of pleasure as they dived in their incandesced frenzy all over again.
The unique way Tariq had of showing love was by touching her. A flash of clarity cut through him as he moved in her on the verge of explosion. Physical contact made him express what coursed through his emotions. Caressing, revelling, stroking her came as wrenching essential for him. That’s why he had this mad necessity to be near her. Because he needed to assuage his love for her. The heat of her body on his fulfilled the hunger to give and receive. And give. And give. His feelings for her. It was endless, incomparable, immeasurable. He had to keep on doing it. Or he’d die. Die from the lack of his body on hers, in hers, with hers. Coherent conjectures vanished as he found his ultimate release in her, and she in him.
Lucinda got home just before luncheon. She hoped she’d meet nobody as she climbed up to her bedroom. She found herself in a feverish state of jumbled sentiments and needed her solitude.
“How did your trip to Oxford Street go, my dear?” Lucinda froze on the act of climbing a step at her mother’s voice.
“It was…revealing, mama.” She said without turning her flushed face to the older woman and rushed up.
Her mother looked at her bewildered and shrugged as she strolled back t
o the drawing room.
Revealing, indeed, she contemplated, as she shut the bedroom door with a thud and leaned on it, head fallen on it. He pleasured her in the most innovative ways. A single memory of it got her blood to boil anew.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
