RemissionChapter Three
Angelus’s sure footsteps brought them back to his room quickly. He set Ramadevi on her feet and she tried hard not to notice as he locked the door and placed the key on a high shelf near his desk. Silently, he looked at her, then pointed to the covered dish on the table near the door. Ramadevi sat down and began to eat.
Angelus looked around idly. Alain had taken the trouble to clear up the spilled ink and the broken items Ramadevi had thrown earlier. He had also lit a fire in the fireplace. The flames cast a cheery gleam onto the objects around it.
Good. Ramadevi might be chilled once she took her clothes off.
Angelus watched her eat and was pleased to see she had a good appetite. She seemed tired, resigned–at least for now. That was one of the things Angelus most enjoyed about her. She did not submit easily and, even when she did, it was always short-lived. He observed the fine posture of her body, her straight back, the proud set of her head, the graceful movements of her arms and hands as she manipulated her silverware to eat.
When she finished her meal Ramadevi blotted her lips with the embroidered linen napkin and covered the empty dish, and rose from the table. Carefully, she lifted her skirts as they puddled and drooped around her.
“Come here.” Angelus beckoned her from the dark green sofa. She wondered how he had managed to keep his towel fastened through all the–
Slowly, she crossed the room and joined him on the sofa without a word. Angelus unbuttoned the rest of her dress’s buttons, lifted it over her head and off. He unfastened her waist tapes and her petticoats slid away, crumpling in a sea of ruffles at her feet. Easily he worked away the knots of her corset strings and loosened the garment. Ramadevi sighed in pleasure and relief at the sweet freedom to breathe deeply and bend her body.
His hands spanned her waist and caressed her belly; he pressed his mouth into the small of her back, sending a shiver through her. She sighed softly, and her slim hands covered his large capable ones as they stroked her flesh. Angelus watched carefully as she arched her back and inhaled deeply, her magnificent breasts rising, then dropping with the action.
Now. Time for the surprise.
“Tell me what this is, my Lion.”
Ramadevi opened her eyes, looked at him questioningly. Angelus gestured at a square-shaped bundle wrapped in fine silk fabric. Ramadevi picked it up and realised the object was wrapped in one of her veils.
Angelus had taken all her things from her when he brought her to live with him. All her costumes, jewelry, clothing, and accessories. Ramadevi had wept for long nights about it. He had taken objects that were precious to her–gifts from her father, memories of her long-dead mother. Her zills, the little cymbals that attached to a dancer’s fingers. Decorations for her hair.
Angelus had explained to her she owned nothing, only what he allowed her to have. The concept was not new to her. Slaves in the East were treated the same.
Ramadevi unfolded the rectangle of violet silk chiffon until it was sheer enough to see through. Her eyes widened in amazement.
Of all the things she owned that he decided to keep...
Angelus watched her expression carefully, curious as to what she thought.
“It’s a pillow book,” she answered his earlier question. “The Kama-Sutra.”
Angelus raised his eyebrows at her, gestured for her to elaborate.
“It was a wedding gift to my parents from my father’s relatives,” she explained. “The Book of Love.”
Angelus scowled and traced an imaginary design into the sofa’s plush upholstery. He had been shocked three years ago when he had discovered the graphically illustrated, hand-stitched leather-bound volume among Ramadevi’s possessions. Of course he’d seen pornography before, but not like this. He had been curious about the printed pages as well. After all, what needed to be discussed when it came to fucking?
“It isn’t about fucking.” She sounded impatient and Angelus realised he had asked the question aloud. “The Kama-Sutra is the study of love. Through the body and the spirit.”
“I’m sure that all sounds really fascinating in a classroom,” Angelus chuckled. “Sorry, precious, but I think the men in your country just made a religion out of fucking.”
“It can’t be any worse than the Christian Church defiling the act of love and making it something secret and shameful,” Ramadevi retorted.
“Am I to take it you studied this–Kama-Sutra?” Angelus sneered.
“Everyone does.” She emphasised the word “everyone” and looked at him like he was daft.
“You will teach me then,” Angelus declared.
“No.”
“What do you mean ‘No?’” His voice was deceptively mild. He never moved from his relaxed position on the sofa, yet Ramadevi sensed his displeasure.
“You have no interest in love or loving.” She kept her voice steady and wondered why she felt so sad.
He sat up and held out his arms to her. “Come here.”
She put the book back on the low table in front of the sofa and turned to Angelus. His eyes were smokey, filled with carnal heat. The yearning feeling came over her again, her nipples growing hard and sensitive.
He is so beautiful without his clothes! Am I beautiful like that to him?
He guided her into the position he liked: Ramadevi on her knees astride his thighs, her hands on his hard-muscled shoulders for balance. His palm cupped one of her aching breasts. Rama sighed deeply and bit her lip.
Angelus soothed the hot flesh, gently massaging her. He watched her face intently, watched her struggle with herself, not wanting to give herself to pleasure. His other hand fondled her thigh through the fine, nearly sheer cotton of her pantaletts.
Unexpected pride stabbed Angelus. After all, she had been in his keeping for over three years now. He controlled virtually everything she did, everything she ate, everything she learned. He’d had a hand in creating and nurturing the beautiful body before him.
“You still dance.” He said it flatly, not asking a question. Her body’s gorgeously fit musculature spoke for itself.
“Yes,” she answered simply, met his dark gaze squarely without fear or defiance.
“I told you not to.”
Ramadevi was silent. She refused to dignify his remark. She was the Deva. She would not excuse herself. Or ask his permission. She did not answer to an earthly superior. She glared at him, a proud glint in her huge beautiful eyes.
Angelus nodded slowly as though she had answered him.
“Lucky for you, I’m not in the mood to punish you,” he said laconically.
“At least, not tonight,” she added drily.
He chuckled appreciatively. “Not this minute,” he agreed. He began to pet and massage her other breast.
“Tell me something,” he began conversationally.
Ramadevi closed her eyes and leaned closer towards him. His touch was soothing and erotic.
“I’ve been told men in your country liken pussy to a flower,” he said crudely. He flashed her a predatory grin as her eyes opened.
She couldn’t help flinching. She could never get used to the European attitude for sexuality. The crude way they spoke about it, disrespecting the very bodies God gave them!
“Sometimes, we call the yoni a lotus blossom,” she admitted.
“Hmmmm,” Angelus considered. “Appropriate, I think. In a way.”
“Mmmmmm....” She moaned desperately as Angelus suckled her nipples, laving them with strokes of his wet tongue, then closing his lips on the flesh.
As her head fell back and she started to tremble, Angelus reached for the string on her pantaletts, opened them, easing one hand down her belly, trailing to her soft center. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he lightly stroked the contours of her pubic mound, slowly traced her moist lips and cleft.
“Outside are the most open petals,” Angelus observed quietly. “Then, beyond them, are the more delicate smaller petals.” His fingers gently opened her and caressed the soft hot folds shyly hidden inside her nether lips. “Then,” His fingers gently searched until they found what he sought. “The bud itself, so little and delicate, but so perfect.”
His free arm tightened around her waist as she shuddered. It felt like her legs wouldn’t support her anymore.
“Angelus,” she began.
“Grow your hair here.” Angelus covered her smooth-waxed vulva with his hand, whispered the words hotly into her breast. “For me, Egypt.”
Ramadevi drew a sharp breath. No decent lady of her rank grew body hair. Rama had continued the custom even in Europe where apparently none of the women groomed their bodies regularly. It was one of the few old customs Angelus had not been able to prevent.
And now he told her to grow her woman’s hair–for him.
She stirred, made a soft sound as though she would speak.
“I want you to lie back and spread your legs for me so I can play with it. Pet you. Right here.” Angelus stroked her mont idly, as he might caress a favored pet. “I’ll brush it with your hairbrush and curl it in my fingers for you.” One fingertip traced her loins. Ramadevi stifled a gasp.
“Angelus...” Her voice trailed away at the erotic picture his words put in her mind.
He kissed the side of her neck, softly blowing on her warm skin, as he continued to stroke the rosy little pearl of flesh within her, commanding her pleasure. Her hips moved rhythmically as the fiery hunger inside her grew and built.
“Will you do it, my Lion?” He coaxed. He could demand it and even force her to stop the sugar-syrup treatments that kept her soft and smooth all over. But he didn’t want to force it.
He wanted her to choose–to please him.
Her smooth pubic lips disturbed Angelus. They made her seem still a child, undeveloped. He wanted to see her veiled in ebony curls to help hold her scent, her wetness, his own fluids when he–
“I want to feed you!” she whimpered. Her skin was flushed and beginning to sweat.
Angelus slowed his stroking, raised his eyebrows at her. “Then do what I want, my precious, promise me...” He lowered her to the sofa, leaned over her body.