Free ClaimedbytheNative by Rea Thomas Page A

breathtaking in his beauty; his body was solid—not
bumpy and beefy, but hard and taut. The mundu hung low on his narrow hips,
offering me a tantalizing view of his groin. There were crisp, dark hairs
leading downward in a delicious trail from the little indent of his
bellybutton. His abdominal muscles seemed to flex beneath my scrutiny and his
shoulders squared, his posture as rigid and upright as a soldier.
    Perhaps I was yielding some unknown magnetism for his gaze
was fixed upon me, unwavering in its intensity. I felt the deep seeds of
arousal begin to grow within my belly as his impenetrable eyes narrowed in
contemplation. His lips were plush, the lower of the two a delicious curve that
I could imagine sweeping my tongue across. I broke our gaze long enough to
study his mouth and imagine what he would kiss like. Something about his pure,
potent sexuality told me he would kiss as well as he did everything
else—amazingly.
    I knew nothing of this man. Not his name or age, what
he did or where he came from—but my instinct told me he would be a powerful,
possessive and thorough lover. Everything I needed in the aftermath of my recent
heartbreak. I needed someone who would make me forget the pain, could reignite
my libido with one hard and obstinate stare.
    I was surprised when he began to move, his strides wide as
he crossed the beach. I expected him to stop, to introduce himself and make
inane small talk while we navigated the awkward preludes. He barely slowed as
he approached me, his impressive height suddenly apparent as he drew up level.
This close, I could see the length of his lashes as they formed a black frame
around his equally dark eyes. His lips parted to speak only a single, heavily
accented word.
    “Come.”
    I could imagine the same, gruffly spoken word issued in a
different type of command altogether. I was startled by his self-confidence and
the assuredness with which he spoke. He didn’t afford me a moment to reflect or
refute, striding up the stone steps to the ancient fort wall—a relic of the
British rule—above my head. His bare feet slapped against the hard, dry stone.
    I watched him go, noticing the stiff, ropy muscles in his
calves and the backs of his thighs. I was immersed in the fantasy of that body
thrusting against my hips, claiming and possessing me.
    The golden sunlight caught his beautiful features as he
paused for only a moment, looking down at me with unspoken command. I was
compelled to move. Casting off my inner doubt, I retraced his footsteps, climbing
the steps to the top of the fort. He remained ten paces ahead, affording me a
perfect view of his backside. I wondered if he wore underwear beneath his
native dress. I hoped not.
    I had lost all sense of personal safety. I had two travel
books in my backpack that devoted whole chapters to traveler safety. Rule
number one, especially for a lone woman, had to be not going away with
strangers. I heard the small, weak voice in the back of my mind as it warned me
against the stupidity into which I was walking. I remembered my reason for
coming to India in the first place—for adventure, for a fearless leap into the
unknown.
    As I began to doubt myself, I remembered Jerald. I pictured
his face as I burst into our newly purchased home and saw him with the unnamed
brunette with the big tits, fucking on my brand-new kitchen table.
    I forged onward, determined to vanquish the memory of the
man who had broken my heart almost a year ago. My mind played a colorful
montage of the months that had passed since. I saw myself sobbing, alternating
between total despair and red rage. I envisioned the estate agent as he sadly
hammered the “For Sale” sign into the lawn of the house he had only recently
sold to us. I could so vividly remember the moment I carried boxes of my belongings
to my car, taking only the essentials and never wanting to see the furniture
Jerald had tainted ever again.
    After everything I had endured in ten months, I was ready