Free Desire's Sirocco by Charlotte Boyett-Compo Page B

it pressing against her womb, endeavoring to penetrate as far as her body would allow. That fleshy weapon was huge and rock-hard, giving as much pleasure as it seemed to be reaping. When it exploded inside her, she tightened her clasp around his hips and arched her lower body up to his. It was only a second or two before her orgasm commenced like tiny fingers gripping and releasing, gripping and releasing his penis repeatedly until his bellow filled the Chamber.
    “Mine!” he shouted.
    “Yours,” she dared to say.
    “Mine,” he whispered as he collapsed atop her.
    She stroked his damp cheek as he laid his head upon her breast. Through the contact of their sweaty bodies, she could feel the rapid tattoo of his heartbeat. His breathing began to slow almost immediately and she knew he was falling asleep.
    Almost as soon as the thought entered her head, she felt hands insinuating themselves between the Master’s body and hers and his weight was lifted from her. A cool wash of air moved over her flesh and she sighed.
    “I will be back for you,” she heard Brother Qutaybah say in a petulant tone.
    Boot heels scraped against the stone floor as the Conclave moved away, one of their Brothers carrying the Master to his rest. She wondered if it was into Dagan’s arms they had laid him.
    She was not left alone for long. Qutaybah returned as he said he would and tossed her gown at her. Half asleep, she jumped as the material hit her chest and she sat up, more annoyed than fearful of the Master’s chancellor.
    “I don’t have all night to wait for you, woman,” Qutaybah snapped.
    “Where is Dagan?” she asked as she pulled the gown over her head.
    “That is of no concern to you,” Qutaybah sniffed. “Be quick, now. I am weary and I believe I am coming down with a cold.”
    It was on the tip of Jameela’s tongue to tell him she hoped he was and that he would succumb to the illness. Her world would be a much brighter place without the bad-tempered chancellor and his barely concealed dislike of her.
    “Why do you dislike me?” she asked as she slid down from the table, knowing he’d not offer to come to her aid.
    “Impertinent chit,” Qutaybah spat. “Keep your questions to yourself!”
    Jameela reached up and dragged the blindfold from her eyes. She would soon be the Master’s legal wife and in that position, she knew she would campaign to replace Brother Qutaybah with a Brother who exhibited a more acceptable demeanor.
    “I did not give you permission….” Brother Qutaybah began but Jameela cut him off with a dismissive wave of her hand.
    “I am the Master’s concubine but I will soon be his Lady-Wife. Perhaps it would be wise for you to show me the respect such a station deserves, Brother Qutaybah,” she said firmly.
    The lanky man sputtered, his beady eyes as wide as they would go at her audacity. His mouth opened and closed like an eel’s—an amphibian to which she had come to liken him—oily and slippery, and sneaky.
    “Have you heard of pillow talk, Brother Qutaybah?” she inquired as she headed for the doorway.
    “P…pillow…?”
    “When a husband and wife discuss things in the secrecy of their marital bed,” she explained. “Many a job, a position…” She turned to look back at him. “Even a head, has been lost due to pillow talk.”
    Brother Qutaybah gaped at her. As understanding set in, he blinked several times, holding her stare as his brow crinkled with concern.
    “Think on it,” Jameela said and turned back around. She left the scarecrow of a man standing in the Chamber, blinking.

Chapter Five
     
    “What did you say to Brother Qutaybah last eve to make him so quiet this morn, Wench?” Dagan asked when he, instead of Brother Qutaybah, came to escort Jameela to the Hall for the breaking of their Fast.
    “I but reminded him that I will be the Master’s Lady-Wife and that pillow talk can be a very dangerous thing,” she said quietly.
    Dagan grinned and reached out to clasp her