Tea and Spices (An Erotic Novel of Colonial India) (14 page)

 
Rohan murmured another goodnight and left to return to the servants’ quarters. Gerald finished his brandy and put the glass on the sideboard. Despite the alcohol burning through his veins, he still felt tense. He knew his tension wasn’t only a result of his words with Devora, but also simply from having been without a woman for two weeks.

He was in no mood to attempt amorous activities with his wife, so he went out onto the veranda and started in the direction of Kalindi’s dwelling on the outskirts of the village. A single oil lantern burned in the window of her room.

 
Gerald didn’t bother knocking. He opened the door and let himself in, his passion surging at the sight of Kalindi’s half-naked form lying underneath the sheets. Her dark skin fairly glowed in the dim light as she lay with her head propped on her hand, skimming through a magazine spread out on the bed. She wore a sleeveless, cotton shift, and the bedsheet slid off her figure to expose her bare thighs.

 
Gerald closed the door hard, causing Kalindi to look up, startled.

 
“
Sahib
!”

 
“Hello, Kalindi.” Gerald reached up to unbutton his shirt. His cock was half-hard already. “I’ve missed you.”

 
Kalindi stared at him, her dark eyes sparking with a hint of mutiny. Then she pressed her lips together and nodded. “I am missing you, too.”

 
Gerald cast his shirt aside and unbuttoned his trousers, reaching out to run his fingers through Kalindi’s coconut-scented hair. “Come on, then, darling. Make me feel good.”

 
Kalindi’s throat muscles worked as she swallowed, lifting herself up to enclose the head of his penis between her lips. Gerald let out a groan as Kalindi began to take his stiff flesh into the hot, wet cavern of her mouth. Her lips slid slowly over him, her tongue teasing as she traced the veins of his shaft.

She was a wicked one, Kalindi was. She knew how to please a man. She reached down to caress his testicles, rubbing beneath them with a light touch that scorched his desire.

 
Gerald wrapped the length of Kalindi’s hair around his hand, pumping his hips so that his prick slid in and out of her mouth. He loved watching Kalindi when she was doing this, the way her lips puckered up and her tongue flickered out of her mouth.

He reached down to massage her breasts through her shift, rolling her large nipples between his fingers. He liked Kalindi’s body, which was full, womanly, and very different from Devora’s more slender figure. Ah, how delicious to have the best of two worlds.

 
Gerald pulled away from Kalindi, his cock as hard as stone as he pulled the woman’s shift over her head. He gazed for a moment at the lush curves of Kalindi’s body, then straddled her abdomen and pressed his cock between her breasts.

 
“Squeeze them,” he said hoarsely, feeling as if he would explode then and there.

 
Kalindi pressed her breasts together, her abundant flesh surrounding and immersing him like warm pillows. Gerald’s entire body stiffened with tension as he pumped himself back and forth, his hips slamming against the undersides of Kalindi’s breasts.

A powerful pressure began to build at the base of his penis, and he pulled away from her before he lost control completely. He slid down the length of Kalindi’s body, reaching to push her thighs apart and delve his fingers into the plentiful curls between her legs. Kalindi gave a little moan of pleasure, spreading her legs even wider to allow him access.

Gerald pushed his erection into her slowly, savoring the sensation of her tight heat enclosing him. His blood was hot with the need for release, but he so enjoyed the act of fucking that he sought to prolong it for as long as possible.

 
Pushing Kalindi’s legs almost up to her chest, he penetrated her as far as he could go, pushing in and out. Her body shook with each thrust. Whimpers spilled from Kalindi’s throat in a steady stream. Gerald bent to capture one of her nipples between his teeth, licking thirstily at the salty taste of her skin.

Ah, woman. He could drown in a woman’s taste and scent and, oh yes, her cunt. Kalindi’s inner muscles tightened around him in the way she knew he liked, stimulating his fire all the more potently. With a groan, Gerald pulled out of her, grasping his cock in his hand as he stroked it up and down. Within seconds, a shudder of pure rapture exploded through his body, and his seed spurted out onto Kalindi’s belly.

 
“Oh, Christ.” Gerald flopped down next to Kalindi, gasping as he tried to catch his breath. “That was wonderful.”

 
Kalindi propped her elbow on his chest as she gazed down at him with a smile. “You are missing me, yes?”

“Sometimes, yes.” Gerald put his hands on her shoulders and dropped a kiss on her forehead before pushing her gently away. He wasn’t certain he liked Kalindi’s growing possessiveness. “I must go now.”

 
“You will return when,
sahib
?” Kalindi asked.

 
“I don’t know.” Gerald dressed quickly. Kalindi was wonderful when it came to satisfying his physical needs, but he had little use for her otherwise. Housekeepers and cooks were readily available in this godforsaken country.

 
Kalindi watched him dress, skimming a hand down her naked body.

 
“Goodnight, Kalindi.” Gerald dug into his pocket and tossed a few rupees on the bedside table before he turned and left.

***

CHAPTER SEVEN

 
“Honestly, I simply can’t understand it.” Mrs. Thompson shook her head and took another dainty sip of tea. “Your husband is away at work every day, and yet you still won’t join us for our bridge parties. What is it you do all day long?”

 
“I’ve been working on my paintings,” Devora said. She waved a hand towards the dining table, which she had converted into a veritable worktable. Her sketchpads, paints, and pencils lay scattered over the entire table, and a half-finished painting rested on an easel by the window. “I’ve done so many sketches that I thought it was about time I turn them into paintings.”

 
“Well, you can only do so much doodling,” Adele said. She was sitting on the piano bench, looking very refined and British in a white dress and pearls. “Isn’t Gerald leaving this weekend again?”

“Yes, he has to take a trip to Delhi,” Devora replied. “He promises that the next time he goes, he’ll take me with him.”

 
Mrs. Thompson chuckled. “Oh, my dear, they always say that. But don’t worry. You’ll get used to living with an absent husband. We all do eventually.”

 
Devora glanced at Adele, who nodded in agreement. “Yes, we do.”

 
“Well, Gerald is different,” Devora said. “He has no intentions of simply leaving me here to rot.”

 
“Oh no, they never have the intention of doing that.” Adele turned to the piano and began to play a light, delicate tune. “Somehow, though, that’s what always seems to happen. That’s why we have to occupy ourselves with bridge parties and luncheons.”

 
“Speaking of luncheons—” Mrs. Thompson leaned forward as if she were about to impart news of great importance, “—we heard that you dined with the maharaja himself recently.”

 
Devora’s eyebrows lifted. “Really? Where did you hear that?”

 
Mrs. Thompson waved her hand in the air. “Oh, you know, dear. Servants gossip, don’t they?”

 
“So I’ve been told,” Devora replied dryly.

 
“Well?” Mrs. Thompson’s double chin fairly quivered with excitement over the possibility of hearing the news from the main source. “Is it true? You dined with the maharaja?”

Devora nodded. “Yes, it’s true. He invited me to have lunch with him a few weeks ago. It was all very proper, I assure you.”

 
“I don’t doubt it,” Mrs. Thompson said. “But, my goodness, Devora, you must have more caution. This is how rumors get started, and with the maharaja’s reputation, you can’t be too careful.”

 
“It was a very simple lunch,” Devora said, knowing perfectly well she was about to be the subject of rumors herself, probably ones started by Mrs. Thompson.

 
“The mere idea is highly irregular, you know.”

 
“We also heard that you returned after dark,” Adele said, pinning her gaze on Devora as if daring her to dispute the fact.

 
“Yes. We had car trouble on the way back, I’m afraid. These things do happen.”

 
“Yes, but not often when one is returning from a maharaja’s palace,” Adele said.

 
Devora made a big show of looking at the clock. “My goodness, would you look at how late it is? I’m so sorry we didn’t have a longer opportunity to visit. I do hope we can get together next week sometime.”

 
“Yes, and I might suggest that you do join us for bridge.” Mrs. Thompson collected her gloves and hat, giving Devora a pointed look. “You wouldn’t want people to think you are unsociable now, would you?”

 
“That’s the last thing I want,” Devora agreed. “Thank you both for stopping by.”

 
She saw them out, then rang the servant’s bell for Kalindi to clear away the tea things. She considered the idea of giving Kalindi a lecture on gossiping, but she knew it would be a futile effort. Instead, she went to her easel and resumed work on her painting. She had drawn a sketch of a full-breasted female statue, and she was in the process of making a small painting from it.

 
“
Memsahib
, you require something?” Rohan stopped beside the table.

 
Devora glanced up. “Oh, no, I just wanted Kalindi to clear the tea things,” she replied. “Thank you.”

 
Rohan nodded and turned to leave. A sudden thought occurred to Devora as she looked at the broad expanse of his back.

 
“Rohan?”

 
He turned towards her again. “Yes?”

 
“May I draw you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

 
“Draw.” Devora gestured towards her sketchpads and pencils. “I would like to draw a portrait of you.”

 
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

 
Devora sighed. “Do you think
anything
is a good idea?”

 
“Begging your pardon again, please?”

 
Devora put down her paintbrush and approached him. She placed her hand on his arm, realizing this was the first time that she was actually touching him. His arm felt warm and strong underneath his jacket. Devora guided him to a chair and told him to sit.

 
“
Memsahib
, I must return to my duties.”

 
“Oh, sod your duties for a change.”

 
“Excuse me?”

 
Devora couldn’t help smiling. He looked as if she had just asked him to strip naked and dance the waltz. “All you have to do is sit there, Rohan. I’ll do all the rest.”

 
She turned one of her sketchpads to a fresh sheet of paper and picked up a sharpened pencil. After gazing at the lines of Rohan’s face, she focused her attention on the paper and began sketching what she saw. His face was made for representation on paper. A strong jawline; high, broad cheekbones, a sensual mouth, eyes as dark as midnight and filled with mystery. Devora drew his black hair with long, sweeping strokes, pleased that a few locks of his hair fell over his forehead. Somehow, the wayward strands humanized him.

 
“Wait. Move your head to the right a little.”

 
Devora stood and put her hands on either side of his head, turning his head slightly. His hair felt delicious against her hands, and she fought the urge to stroke her fingers through the thick strands. Her heart leapt as she glanced at him and saw that his eyes were on a direct line of vision to her breasts. And that he was looking at them.

Devora’s nipples hardened against her dress so suddenly that she was shocked. She quickly moved to sit back down, unnerved by how she had reacted to a simple leer that any man would have made in the same circumstance. Clearing her throat, she resumed the sketch.

 
Although she usually tried to capture an expression on her subjects’ faces, she knew that such a feat would be impossible with Rohan. His implacability would transfer even to paper. Devora spent an hour rendering his likeness on her sketchpad before she put her pencil down.

 
“All right, that’s all I need,” she said. “Thank you.”

 
Rohan nodded shortly and stood. “May I see it?”

 
Devora hesitated, but opened the pad and showed him her work. Rohan looked at his image. In that moment, Devora realized she was holding her breath as she waited for his verdict.