The Sheik and the Slave

“Do you wish me to say anything else? Or just your name?” She watched his eyes as he watched her.

“Only my name. And look at me when you say it,” he added. Their eyes locked again and she tore hers away.

Katharine cringed at the intimacy of it all and forced herself to look at his dark beauty. She nodded.

“My name is Mohammed,” he said. “After my father and the great prophet.”

Katharine grinded her teeth as he spoke and his eyes flashed darkly in the sparsely-lit bath. The room was cool and intimately lit, with sunlight pouring in from glass windows on the ceiling.

“Mohammed,” she spoke lowly. At the last syllable, she looked away from him.

“Come here, princess. You are too far away. I can barely hear you,” he said. His voice was low and warm. She had stepped away from him when he had released her hands, but he wanted her closer.

She stepped directly in front of him, so close she could run her fingers over his chest. He reached out and took the sponge from her; it was her only tangible lifeline tethering her to sanity.

“Again,” he said.

“Mohammed,” she repeated. Her lips puckered as she spoke his name and he couldn’t stop his desire.

“Once more,” he commanded. He watched her lips pucker as she breathed out.

“Moha,” she began. With his name still on her lips, he pulled her against him suddenly. His mouth descended upon hers and devoured her breath and his name. His tongue delved into her mouth, as he had dreamed about so many times. He had been inside her with his mouth and fingers but he had never kissed her before, and he reveled in it. He pulled her slim hips to him and she was nestled between his legs.

His hands moved to touch her face and his tongue delicately opened her mouth. His fingers threaded into her golden hair as his lips took hers. He would not stop.

“Ah!” she exclaimed and backed away from him suddenly, holding her hand before her mouth.

Her tongue darted out and he saw that he had bit her. He saw a drop of blood.

“Katharine,” he said, starting to apologize, but then he realized what he was doing. He had never apologized to any woman for anything.

She tried to lower her eyes before he saw the tears in them, but it was too late. He saw them.

“Is there anything else?” she asked.

“No,” he replied.

Katharine left the bath and felt the water sluicing down her body, leaving a trail of her wet footprints along the tiles. When he could no longer see or hear her, she felt tears falling down her cheeks. She was so frightened. The feelings he aroused in her were strange and very strong. She couldn’t fight them forever.

She knew it was only a matter of time.

Chapter 4

There was great excitement in the harem the next day. Women were throwing open their wooden chests and opening drawers to pick their finest clothes for the evening.

The sheik had prepared a large musical festival for the palace, and a smaller concert had been arranged for the harem women. The women were kept separate to protect them from male eyes and to preserve the honor of the family. However, Mohammed thought of them and wanted them to enjoy the festivities.

The traditional Arabian music usually consisted of the oud, qanun, nay and sagat. The music was lively, but could also be solemn and yearning when partnered with a singer. The oud was a beautiful instrument and could be compared to the Western guitar. The nay was a flute and could sound hauntingly beautiful.

"We will have a fine evening with all the accomplished musicians," cried Gameela, happily trying on her beautiful jewel-toned clothes.

Nahweh, the West African girl with dark skin, chose a deep blue outfit that complimented her.

The women stood around in small groups, discussing the upcoming concert and ready to attend the party, as Katharine approached Bashasha.

"Bashasha, may I speak with you?" Katharine asked.

"Of course, little one, what is it?" Bashasha asked her.