Wild Jasmine (10 page)

Yasaman felt a sharp spur to her pride, but nonetheless her conscience pricked her. “You know it is wrong to imitate the ancient lords of Egypt,” she said low. “They all say it is wrong, Salim.”

“But we will not do that, my sister,” he promised her. “There is far more to learn of passion than a man’s lingham slipping into a woman’s yoni. Trust me, little monkey. I will make you the most accomplished of brides.”

“Will my husband want an accomplished bride?” she questioned him sharply. “Should not my knowledge of passion come from him?” Should she like Salim’s hand upon her breast? Yet surely something so nice was not wrong.

“As long as your maidenhead is intact, my sister,” Salim told Yasaman with assurance, “he will care naught but for the pleasure you give him.” He dropped another kiss upon her naked shoulder.

“I am still not sure this is right,” Yasaman told him slowly, but her pride and her natural inquisitiveness were overcoming her scruples.

“I must remove my lungi, little monkey,” he told her, sliding off the bed and standing up. Let her see him nude. He was proud of his body. It was hard and firm. There was no fat on him, despite a fondness for wine.

Yasaman pondered a long moment. Then she nodded. His hand on her breast had given her a lovely, tingly feeling once she had gotten over the shock of the intimacy. She wanted that feeling back. He was only touching her. There couldn’t be anything wrong with just his touching her.

With a supreme burst of self-discipline, Salim masked his feeling of triumph as he unwrapped his lungi and laid it aside. For tonight he would keep a tight rein on his own desires. If Yasaman proved as passionate as he believed she was, there would come a night soon when she would not care what transpired between them. Indeed, she would beg him to plunge himself into her. He knew she was the female side of him. Once she overcame her childish fears, she would want him every bit as much as he wanted her!

Standing proudly, he watched from beneath hooded lids as she carefully looked him over. Then he returned to her side. “Turn the page, Yasaman,” he commanded her, and she obeyed.

“What in Allah’s name is this prince doing to his consort?” Yasaman demanded of her brother. She stared curiously at the picture which showed the beautiful maiden now upon her back, the prince between her open legs, his pointed tongue licking at her most intimate spot. The woman looked blissful, her sloe eyes half closed, as if she knew some special secret.

“It is the first great pleasure a man can offer his consort while preserving her maidenhead intact,” Salim told her.

“Show me!”

“Not quite yet, Yasaman,” he told her. Allah! How eager she was, but he must go slowly if he was to have her completely. “You have such lovely breasts, my sister,” he murmured. “I would like to caress them. That, too, gives pleasure.” He was now seated cross-legged, facing her. He leaned forward, reaching out with both his hands, and began to stroke her breasts fervently. “Give me your sweet lips,” he told her. “I would kiss you, but not like a brother kisses a sister; rather as a man kisses a woman.”

“You can do both things at once? That is quite marvelous!” she exclaimed. She leaned forward, pursing her lips as she did so.

Allah! Her innocence was so provocative, and it aroused him mightily. He kissed her firmly, then commanded, “Open your mouth, Yasaman, and give me your tongue.”

“Why?” She drew back from him for a moment, looking curious.

“Because that, too, gives pleasure,” he replied. “
Sweet, hot, melting pleasure.
”

Closing her eyes, Yasaman obeyed him. She was both surprised and delighted to feel delicious little shivers racing up and down her spine as his tongue caressed her tongue with long, slow strokes, while his hands continued to gently crush and caress her breasts. “Mmmmmmmm,” she murmured, quite pleased by this new and dawning knowledge.

He drew away from her mouth just enough to speak once again. “We will add a third element, my sister. So far it is you who are receiving all the pleasure. When I kiss you again, reach down and take my lingham within your delicate little hands. It is at rest, but perhaps your untutored touch can arouse it and give me pleasure too.”

“Oh Salim,” she cried, “it is really impossible to do all these wonderful things at one time, isn’t it? Besides, I have never touched a man’s lingham before. I do not know if I dare!” She glanced down shyly at his male organ; the love weapon, she had heard it called. His seemed most impressive, although she had never seen another.

“We can do everything, Yasaman, and much more, I promise you,” he assured her. “Take my lingham within your soft, pale hands, for you are the Mughal’s daughter and should fear nothing!”

Their lips met once more and, reaching out, she found his manhood. Gently she caressed it, her hand enclosing it, squeezing it, releasing it and stroking it lightly. To her amazement, Salim’s lingham both grew in length and breadth. It hardened until it was like a pillar of iron in her hands. When he groaned suddenly, Yasaman pulled away, saying frantically, “I have not hurt you, Salim, have I? Oh, I did not mean to harm your love weapon!”

“
No
,” he reassured her through gritted teeth.
Allah!
He had not expected that she would arouse him so thoroughly, so completely, so quickly. She was only a maiden! He wanted to press forward until he filled her yoni to overflowing with his passion; but he also instinctively knew that now was not the time. If she grew frightened and cried out, it could be the end for him. His father was in the palace tonight.

Salim knew that should the old man discover what he was about with Yasaman, Akbar would not hesitate to replace him
as his heir with Salim’s own son, Khusrau. This time there would be no pleas for amnesty from the ladies of the household. Mariam Makani, his mother, and all the important consorts, adored Yasaman. As for Rugaiya Begum, she was not his friend. They would never forgive him for this incestuous seduction. Indeed, they would encourage his father to destroy him. Akbar would probably administer the death blow himself if he discovered his son in a clandestine and prohibited relationship with his naive young sister.

Yasaman trusted him so completely.

“Why then did you cry out?” she questioned him, piercing his thoughts.

“Because you gave me great pleasure, my sister,” he told her, struggling to regain control of his body, on fire with her touch.
He had to distract himself
. “Let me give you a similar delight now, Yasaman. We will imitate the page you have open in the Pillow Book.” He stroked her cheek, kissing her lips lightly. “Lie back, little monkey, and spread your legs for me. Be careful you do not tumble off the bed. It is very small, I can see.” He leaned forward and placed a satin bolster beneath her neck and shoulders.

“It is not meant for two people, Salim,” she told him, and carefully positioned herself. “What are you going to do?”

He knelt between her limbs and leaned forward to caress the soft folds of flesh offered up so innocently to him, saying softly, “What the prince in the picture is doing, my precious one. Hidden within your nether lips, my sweet, is a tiny jewel of great sensitivity. Only the most delicate of touches can arouse it, allowing you pleasure as you have never before experienced.” With two elegant fingers he lightly stroked the soft, plump mound beneath his hot eyes. Yasaman squirmed nervously, a half giggle escaping her at the tickly feeling his touch gave her as his two thumbs gently pulled the folds apart.

Fascinated, Yasaman watched as Salim bent farther forward, his dark head pushing between her open thighs. She glanced over at the page of the Pillow Book. Yes. It was quite correct.
Then suddenly she felt it
. Tiny, feathery touches to her most intimate self. A momentary panic raced through her.
What was Salim doing?
Her head rolled to one side and then the other. His hands were pressed flat on either side of her.
What was he doing?
The shock of realization raced through her.
His tongue!
He was putting his tongue on her! Her heart beat wildly.
Briefly she considered whether he should be doing this to her, and yet … yet.

She shivered, and then quite suddenly relaxed. Salim would not hurt her.
He would not!
Indeed, his tongue on her hot flesh was quite pleasurable. She made a soft sound, and, as if by some sort of signal, her body felt surprisingly languid and violently tense all at the same time. She sighed and her eyes closed of their own volition, allowing her to float free. It was so lovely. So deliciously lovely. She was melting into nothingness.

He groaned low and then growled softly to her, “Do you feel the pleasure, Yasaman? Do you feel it?” Allah! She was like no other. He would never be able to get enough of her honeyed cream.

“
More,
” she begged him shamelessly.

For a moment longer he complied; but then Salim realized that Yasaman would soon no longer be satisfied with just this charming foreplay he offered. He wanted her, but there was so much more for her to learn and know before they consummated their mutual passion. He would not spoil that time with unseemly haste now. When the time came she would beg him for everything he could offer, and he would give it to her gladly. He flicked his tongue back and forth against her little jewel, drawing her first taste of hot, sweet passion to an end. She shuddered a final time and cried out softly.

Raising himself from between her quivering thighs, he silenced her with a deep kiss, plunging his tongue, still wet with her juices, into her mouth to subdue her. His hard body covering her soft one, he reveled for a long moment in the firmness of her full breasts.

Then, not daring to remain atop her lest he lose complete control, Salim rolled to one side and sat up. “There, my sister,” he told her in a deceptively calm voice, “you have tasted passion. Did you like it?”

Yasaman opened her turquoise-blue eyes and looked directly at him. “Yes,” she said softly. “I liked it very much, Salim. Will my husband give me pleasure like that?”

“Yes,” he told her, “if he is a good lover.”

“I do not want to marry any man who is not,” was her ingenuous answer. “How can we tell beforehand, Salim?”

“His reputation should precede him,” the prince answered, amused. Yes, Yasaman was his equal in matters of passion. He would teach her everything, and she would be for him alone.
A fourth wife could be nothing but good fortune. Four had always been his lucky number. Man Bai, his cousin, the mother of his children; loyal and sweet. Amara, adoring and politically correct. Nur Jahan, quick, intelligent, ambitious for him and herself, too, if the truth be known. Yasaman, his half sister. Passionate and hot-blooded. His equal and his refuge. Together they would be perfect!

“Look!” Yasaman had recovered and had turned to the next page of the Pillow Book. “The consort has taken her lord’s lingham into her own mouth. That gives him pleasure, doesn’t it, Salim?”

“Yes,” he said, struggling to restrain the shudder welling within him.
Not yet
, his more cautious self warned him. If you allow her that, there will be no going back.

“May I give you pleasure in that manner, then?” she asked.

“Not tonight, my sister,” he told her, pleased with the look of disappointment that sprang into her eyes. “It is late. You have learned much already and are an apt pupil. Let us save some pleasures for another time.”

“
When?
” she demanded eagerly.

“I will come to you tomorrow night, my sweet sister; when all have again gone to their beds. Will you like that?” He arose from her bed, and picking up his lungi, wrapped it around his burning loins.

“Yes,” she told him slowly, “but it will seem like a hundred years, Salim.”

“Passion anticipated is usually best, Yasaman,” he told her wisely. “Now come and bid me a proper good-night, little monkey.”

She sprang from the bed and, to his delighted amusement, wrapped her arms about his neck, her body pressing hotly against his. Their lips met in a torrid kiss that left him frankly breathless.
Patience!
the inner voice warned him. He drew back and, with a cool smile, calmly departed her chamber, although he did not want to go.

Yasaman watched him leave. With a sigh she picked up the Pillow Book, then glancing regretfully at it, closed it and put it away. Smoothing the wrinkles from her bed, she lay down again, but sleep seemed elusive now. Slowly her hand crept to that magical spot between her legs and she pushed between the folds of flesh.

How moist she was.
Moist and hot
. Her fingers began to play lightly within the wetness. A tiny tingle of delight raced
through her. It was nowhere near the pleasure his facile tongue had given, but it offered relief from the anxious irritation that seemed to have suffused her entire body. Her fingers played fiercely and more fiercely until at last, with a sigh of relief, she felt herself relaxing. Her breathing became slow and even as she slipped from a waking state into a deep sleep.

From the shadows of the room a shapeless form emerged and silently padded across the floor. Taking the Pillow Book from where Yasaman had placed it, Adali picked it up and hurried from the chamber. He had observed everything that had happened between his little princess and her brother. The child had been entrusted to his care since she was six months old, and never before had he allowed evil to come so close to her. He had been aware of Prince Salim’s wicked intentions toward Yasaman for several years now, watching carefully each time brother and sister were together. Ever vigilant for the safety of his princess, he often saw danger long before others saw it, even the good Rugaiya Begum. Many times he had quietly prevented harm coming to his little lady without anyone else knowing. But this was different. Tonight he had been forced to watch the prince weave his sensuous spell about Yasaman while he remained helplessly silent, for his knowledge could be his death warrant. Prince Salim was totally ruthless, as Abul Fazl’s murder had proven. Adali knew he could not aid his young mistress from beyond the grave. He realized he was facing a problem that required someone of greater stature and power than he had. He knocked softly upon the door of Rugaiya Begum’s chamber, hoping against hope as he did that the emperor would not be there with her.