Page 33 of Desert King

Only in boxer briefs, he erects a tent. A buckskin tent, then uses an iron shovel to pick up rocks that glow from fire and places them inside. Then he carries a gallon of water and pours them over the rocks. I hear the hiss of steam from my perch just below the rise of the hill.

He says something to the men, flashing his white teeth as he turns, peels off his boxers, giving me the sight of his perfectly muscular ass, which is just as bronze as the rest of him. I take out my phone daring to hold it above my head and open the camera app. I rapidly click then bring it down. Tarak disappears inside his makeshift tent and the men roar with laughter.

A drum beats. Another man from his MC taps his palms on a small drum and starts chanting. Tarak’s deep voice joins from inside his sweat lodge.

I’m utterly mesmerized. I take out my phone, open the video app and crawl closer. By now the sun is going, a trail of stars glittering like diamonds emerge from the blue/black sky. The hairs on my arms rise. There’s something mystical out here. The Earth is still warm from the sun even though it’s gone. The drumbeat gets faster as does their chanting in a language I can’t understand.

Tarak comes out twenty minutes later, gone are his boxers. Instead he wears a buckskin loincloth. Chanting and dancing around the fire to the beat of the drum, he’s magnificent. Sparks from the flame shoot up into the sky. He suddenly stops. Turns his face to the sky and bellows the last line of his verse.

I’m awed. The men are silent. Tarak sits with them and he takes out what looks to be a joint. He smokes it all then goes back inside the tent.

I roll over against the hill breathing hard. I might hate the man, but he’s out of this world both in beauty and spirit. He’s a warrior but so much more I can barely understand. I’d like to read his book, devouring the chapters all from the safety of my bed. I could sigh over him, crush on him and learn all his secrets without risking any part of myself.

I should go. It’s pitch-black behind me and I need to make my way down the hill without falling. The flashlight is in my left hand. But I want to stay. I want to discover more of his secrets.

“Shit,” I mutter, noticing the bikers standing. They gather their things preparing to leave. Only Tarak stays behind. I’m so screwed if my truck’s spotted. I did park it down from the bikes, parallel with the rocks, tucked neatly under a ledge by the base of the hill. Hopefully, they’ll just ride off never looking that way. I’ll have to stay here and wait it out.

I turn back over on my stomach, inching closer to the top of the hill. The roar of the bike engines starting up come from below. One by one, their lights shine when they reach the trail to the main road. I’m safe for now.

Tarak’s back is to me. I decide to leave my spot and try to follow the rim of the hill to the other side. But the rocks are too much, I end up easing myself lower, climbing down slightly while carefully navigating the rocky terrain in the dark using the light from my cell. Finally, I’m on the front side of the hill and inch back up. But my foot gets caught between two rocks. My cell falls from my hand and I tumble. My hair’s in my eyes. My knees are scraped but I’m unhurt. I gingerly look around for my cell only finding it because it’s still lit up and tuck it into my pocket. I hear him cursing as he crashes down the mountain to me. I keep my head lowered, hiding behind my curtain of hair.

“Mandy?” He breathes. “Baby? I knew you’d come. You came from the stars tonight… on our anniversary. What would have been our anniversary.”

I swallow hard, not daring to meet his burning eyes. He leans down, takes my hand, pulling me up. The hair falls from my face but it’s so dark, I half hope he won’t recognize it.

“Baby,” he breathes, cupping my cheeks as his lips land on mine reverently. He kisses with his whole soul. Light, love, and passion infuse me. Passion meant for someone else. Stolen love that’s not mine. But I crave it anyway. I revel in this tender warrior’s kiss. I know he’s high. I taste it on his tongue. He might be hallucinating I’m his lost love, but he feels too good to quit. Just for one stolen moment, me, mouse gets to know what the word cherished feels like when it washes over you. I kiss him back, my tongue dancing with his under the stars. He moans, angling his hips closer. I feel him straining against my jeans. His loincloth does nothing to stop his body from demanding his love’s hips cradle his.

But I’m hardly his love.

I’m just the little brown mouse, still metamorphizing.

I gasp as my legs are swept out from under me as he picks me up, carrying me like the bride he’s mourning. We break for air. My heart cracks wide open for his tears to seep in. The strong bones of his cheek press against my softer one. His is wet from tears of joy at the reunion he’s having in his head. My heart lurches. I can’t do this. As much as I hate how he’s bullied me. Belittled me. I can’t sink so low to steal his soul like this. It doesn’t belong to me. It’s hers.

But his hands shake as he sets me down by the fire. His skin is hot to the touch. He’s on fire for the woman he thinks I am. My head falls to the side as his lips find my neck. His hands skim down my arms, one wrapping behind my lower back. “Touch me baby. Take me baby, I’m yours. Only you bring this desert king to his knees.” His plea is soft. If you could put imagery to passion, it’s reflected in his eyes as he looks at me.

But I don’t dare touch him. His kiss alone is making me wish I was a dead girl; the one he loved. His stolen passion reminds me so much why I need to live.

He groans, taking my mouth hostage. My tears mix with his as he lays me down on the bedroll. His large palm is up my shirt cupping my breast. I lose all thought. I’m lost in his touch. In the way his big, warm hands feel on my skin. I stuff the guilt down until it fades behind the burning need his touch arouses. His hands roam over my skin. He lifts his head, pushes my shirt up to my shoulders and I breathe in hard as his mouth skims my breasts, savoring them both one by one. I clutch the top of his silky head, my eyes moving up to the heavens looking down at us. “I’m sorry,” I murmur to the stars looking down. It’s one of the most magical, mystical, romantic moments of my life and I stole it.

After my words whispered above. I let go. Completely let go and give all my locked-up passion back to him. My shirt comes off. Pressed skin to skin—we roll. He places me on top of him. His hooded eyes glitter as he watches his own hands palm my tiny breasts, completely covering them. I move my hips against the hardness under his loin cloth. He chuckles low. “My bride. How I’ve dreamed we’d spend the night here. Just like our ancestors did. I made you a bridal bed. Do you like it?”

He rolls again, hands at my jeans, trying to take them off. I can’t let it go this far. Taking this from him would be too cruel. A sin that can’t be undone. I stop his hands. “Not yet. Kiss me some more. Cherish me more.”

“Anything. Anything you want. I’ll always be anything you need.” He stares so intently at me; I swear his gaze goes right through me to my soul. I believe him. I shake my head worried at what kind of cocktail of drugs could ever make him believe I’m her. But it’s clear he’s on it. So, under its spell he’s not the Tarak I met. He’s the man who no one else sees. Out here in the wild, he’s not an MC Prez. He’s just her heart. And she’s his. I’m just the stand-in. The unwanted interloper who can’t stop taking this moment and wishing it was really hers to have.

He kisses me. Pins me down against the soft down sleeping roll and touches me in long lazy strokes. The feel of his smooth skin contradicts his muscles carved from steel. My hands memorize him, tracing every muscle of his back and biceps. But he’s impatient. His hands again go for my jeans. “I need to taste you, baby.” His mouth moves down my navel, he looks up wickedly at me and peels my jeans past my hips. My cry echoes across the rocks to the valley below as his tongue parts my folds finding my swollen clit that’s starved for a man’s touch. I cry for it when it finally happens. I feel like I’ve stuck my hand in a light socket. I’ve never felt so alive. So completely alive, and very aware I’ve overstepped the invisible line I drew back in the sand somewhere.

He doesn’t stop. My hand fists in his hair, my hips move up into his decadent touch. I cry out, pant like I’m running a race and approaching the finish line as he adds the touch of his hand to me.

Then I’m weightless, shooting past the stars; soaring high into the sky. “Mandy. Please, baby,” he rasps, with all the love in his soul in his eyes. Tears prick my eyes. I can give him this. Give this poor man a stolen memory the way he gave me one.

This time my hands shake as he rolls to his side next to me and my hands reach between us, go under his buckskin cloth, and wrap around him. His eyes shut. He grits his teeth hissing as if I’m causing him great pain. “Don’t stop,” he begs.

I moan, still feeling the aftershocks of his hands and mouth in me. On me. My breasts are tender and sore from where his mouth pulled and tugged on them. My skin is chafed from his beard. He’s marked my body. I’m drunk on his love. Completely jealous of Mandy and disbelieving she cheated on him. His touch is unrivaled. Unparalleled. I feel for Edge. Two hours ago, I thought he was the king. But now I know better. No wonder Edge hates Tarak. Being a close second is still not number one.

My hands sheath him. He’s so hot, he’s fire itself. I move up and down by instinct. I haven’t done anything like this in years. But that doesn’t seem to matter. I wonder if maybe it’s been a while for him. Maybe he clung to the ghost of her love and never wavered. He’s thick in my hands and I know he’s close as he tenses, and his shaft gets even harder if that’s even possible. “Mandy. My love. Forever,” he promises, grabbing my face for a passionate kiss as he empties himself in my hands in wave after hot wave.

He rips the cloth from his hips, uses it to clean up and curves his naked body around mine. I turn my face to the fire as he spoons me. Tears fall from my eyes. What we shared was beautiful. I never expected his heartbreak to bleed into me, breaking mine into smithereens. I feel so safe. So, loved. He holds me tight. The drugs, the spent passion and the warmth from the fire puts him out. I need to leave; need to sneak away like the love thief I am. But I can’t make my body move just yet. I steal more time. More moments not meant to be mine. I know I’ll never be with him like this again. The next time we come face to face, he’ll look at me like I’m nothing while I’ll stare at him with stars in my eyes. It’ll be demeaning. Embarrassing and nothing less than I deserve.

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