other as she contemplated Jameela’s statement. Her pretty features tensed for a moment then relaxed as though she was receiving a message only she could hear. She nodded slightly then turned her attention to the door.
The portal opened and Jameela was relieved to see Dagan entering the room. His hair was wet; the dark locks glistened as they clung to the collar of his black shirt. His clothing was not wet so Jameela assumed he had either come fresh from his morning bath or had been out in the turbulent weather. “I am happy to see you, milord,” she said, standing.
Dagan glanced at her then looked to Astrid. “I will attend this session, Wench. Be about your instructions.”
Jameela drew in a harsh breath. “No!” she gasped.
The black-clad warrior turned his attention to Jameela. “You object to me being here?” he asked, his tone sharp.
Shaking her head, Jameela held out her hand. “No, milord, but as nice as Astrid appears to be, she is a stranger to me and I am…” Her face turned redder. “I would not feel…I would…I don’t…”
Dagan waved away her objections. “So noted,” he said.
Astrid bowed her head to the look Dagan sent her way and left quietly without a backward glance, closing the door softly behind her departure.
“Thank you,” Jameela said.
“It is a good thing you weren’t won by one of the Brothers who would share you with his fellow warriors,” Dagan told her.
Jameela lifted her chin. “I am not sure I could have survived under such conditions.”
“Survived?” Dagan repeated. “Aye, you would have survived, Wench. Thrived?” He shook his head. “Most likely not.” He pointed to the stool and waited until Jameela sat down. “I take it the lesson had not started.”
“No, milord.”
“Then we will start with the basics,” he said. His amber eyes moved over her from head to toe then settled on her expectant face. “I want you to put your hands in your hair and drag your fingers through the curls from scalp to the nape of your neck.”
Jameela did as he bid, slowing down the movement at his quick command.
“Again,” he ordered, “and much slower this time. Close your eyes and continue until I tell you to stop.”
The motion was soothing to Jameela and she was relaxing. In her mind, it was Dagan’s hands moving so sensuously through her heavy tresses.
“Once more and stop with your hands clasped around the base of your neck,” he instructed. “Lean your head back and imagine the gentle kiss of rainwater falling on your face.”
Outside, thunder rolled across the firmament so it was easy to fantasize soft raindrops peppering her flesh.
“Do you feel the drops sliding down your chin?” he asked.
“Aye,” Jameela agreed on a sigh.
“Can you feel one raindrop making its way along your neck?”
“Aye,” she whispered.
“Take the first and second fingers of your right hand and follow that raindrop as it slides down your neck and to the hollow of your throat.”
Unconsciously, Jameela ran her tongue across her upper lip as she slowly traced the path of the phantom raindrop.
“Let your fingers rest in that soft hollow,” Dagan said. “Can you feel the pulse beating there?”
“Aye.”
“Open your fingers and spread them across your breastbone. No! Do not open your eyes!”
Jameela quickly closed her eyes but not before seeing Dagan standing right in front of her. So silently had he moved, so soft and low was his voice, it was almost as though his words had been coming from inside her head.
“Now I want you to very slowly, very lightly lower your hand to your left breast.”
A tiny frown marred the perfection of Jameela’s pretty face. Her forehead puckered with the command but she nevertheless obeyed, her cheeks reddening as she touched herself.
“You have been told,” Dagan said, “that touching yourself is wrong, but that is not true. The gods gave us our bodies and the instinct for finding things that will bring us pleasure.
The portal opened and Jameela was relieved to see Dagan entering the room. His hair was wet; the dark locks glistened as they clung to the collar of his black shirt. His clothing was not wet so Jameela assumed he had either come fresh from his morning bath or had been out in the turbulent weather. “I am happy to see you, milord,” she said, standing.
Dagan glanced at her then looked to Astrid. “I will attend this session, Wench. Be about your instructions.”
Jameela drew in a harsh breath. “No!” she gasped.
The black-clad warrior turned his attention to Jameela. “You object to me being here?” he asked, his tone sharp.
Shaking her head, Jameela held out her hand. “No, milord, but as nice as Astrid appears to be, she is a stranger to me and I am…” Her face turned redder. “I would not feel…I would…I don’t…”
Dagan waved away her objections. “So noted,” he said.
Astrid bowed her head to the look Dagan sent her way and left quietly without a backward glance, closing the door softly behind her departure.
“Thank you,” Jameela said.
“It is a good thing you weren’t won by one of the Brothers who would share you with his fellow warriors,” Dagan told her.
Jameela lifted her chin. “I am not sure I could have survived under such conditions.”
“Survived?” Dagan repeated. “Aye, you would have survived, Wench. Thrived?” He shook his head. “Most likely not.” He pointed to the stool and waited until Jameela sat down. “I take it the lesson had not started.”
“No, milord.”
“Then we will start with the basics,” he said. His amber eyes moved over her from head to toe then settled on her expectant face. “I want you to put your hands in your hair and drag your fingers through the curls from scalp to the nape of your neck.”
Jameela did as he bid, slowing down the movement at his quick command.
“Again,” he ordered, “and much slower this time. Close your eyes and continue until I tell you to stop.”
The motion was soothing to Jameela and she was relaxing. In her mind, it was Dagan’s hands moving so sensuously through her heavy tresses.
“Once more and stop with your hands clasped around the base of your neck,” he instructed. “Lean your head back and imagine the gentle kiss of rainwater falling on your face.”
Outside, thunder rolled across the firmament so it was easy to fantasize soft raindrops peppering her flesh.
“Do you feel the drops sliding down your chin?” he asked.
“Aye,” Jameela agreed on a sigh.
“Can you feel one raindrop making its way along your neck?”
“Aye,” she whispered.
“Take the first and second fingers of your right hand and follow that raindrop as it slides down your neck and to the hollow of your throat.”
Unconsciously, Jameela ran her tongue across her upper lip as she slowly traced the path of the phantom raindrop.
“Let your fingers rest in that soft hollow,” Dagan said. “Can you feel the pulse beating there?”
“Aye.”
“Open your fingers and spread them across your breastbone. No! Do not open your eyes!”
Jameela quickly closed her eyes but not before seeing Dagan standing right in front of her. So silently had he moved, so soft and low was his voice, it was almost as though his words had been coming from inside her head.
“Now I want you to very slowly, very lightly lower your hand to your left breast.”
A tiny frown marred the perfection of Jameela’s pretty face. Her forehead puckered with the command but she nevertheless obeyed, her cheeks reddening as she touched herself.
“You have been told,” Dagan said, “that touching yourself is wrong, but that is not true. The gods gave us our bodies and the instinct for finding things that will bring us pleasure.
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