Her legs were firmly between his thighs. Now he put his arms about her and drew her up against his chest. Together they rocked back and forth, their arms and legs now entwined, their tongues caressing one another in sweet embrace. Her breasts were pressed hard against his smooth chest, and his hands moved down to cup her buttocks, raising her up just slightly. Velvet cried out with delight as she found the first peak of pleasure. For many long minutes they sat face to face, their bodies entwined, making passionate love, each giving the other sweet, lingering moments of delight. Then came one flaming minute when the lovers soared together only to slide back finally to reality.
With a sigh Velvet lay her head upon Akbar’s chest. With a matching sigh he slipped a loving arm around her. They lay together, slipping in and out of a light sleep for at least an hour, and then Velvet had the desire to make love again. Slipping from the bed, she fetched a basin of warm, perfumed water and several cloths. He grumbled at the sudden loss of warmth.
“If you would permit Rohana and Toramalli to attend us …” he began, only to be silenced by her.
“I want no one, even a slave, to be present during our most intimate moments. You may say what you wish about their powers of observation, but they are still human beings and cannot help but see and hear us even if they dare not acknowledge it. Our love is for us alone, my darling. I will not share my time with you!”
She carefully cleansed him free of all evidence of their prior lovemaking, handling his lingam now without any show of embarrassment, even when it began to rise and stir beneath her delicate touch. He watched as she then quickly bathed herself, and removed the cloths and basin. When she returned to him she was freshly perfumed with jasmine, now her favorite scent as gillyflowers were not grown here. It surrounded her like an invisible cloud, and he could see that her hair had been brushed with a jasmine-scented brush, for it was slightly damp and shining with fiery lights.
Velvet saw the desire in his dark eyes as she walked toward him, each step deliberately slow to entice and arouse him. It was a small trick that Rugaiya had taught her, and she had learned it well. She moved upon the balls of her feet, her body long, her buttocks tight, her breasts thrust forward.
Lying on his back amid the pillows, Akbar watched her. She was the most desirable and graceful woman he had ever seen. She almost slithered onto the bed, her slender hands sliding up his legs ahead of the rest of her. Her warm hands massaged first his feet, then his calves, and finally his muscled thighs. Swinging her body over his and leaning just slightly forward, she caressed his smooth chest, her fingers moving in a circular motion over his skin.
“Does this please you, my lord?” she murmured provocatively.
The corners of his mouth twitched just slightly, but he answered coolly, “It pleases me,” and nothing more. He did not even look at her, his impersonal gaze staring over her shoulder.
Her hands moved upward to cup his face between them, and bending forward just a wee bit more, she covered his mouth with her own, running her little tongue over his lips and then thrusting it boldly into his mouth. She caressed his tongue with her own until he thought his blood would surely boil, and then she sucked upon it lingeringly. It took every ounce of willpower that he had not to take her then and there, but he was very much enjoying having her act the aggressor. Only since Yasaman’s birth had she occasionally begun to make love to him, and he frankly enjoyed it. Still, he could not resist clasping her delectable bottom in his two hands and fondling the deliciously springy flesh of its twin cheeks.
Releasing him from the kiss, Velvet sat back just slightly but not quite enough to dislodge his hands. Then cupping her breasts in her own palms she began to play with them, fondling the sensitive flesh, teasing the nipples until a little moan escaped from between her lips. When he tried to release her bottom, she would not let him, seating herself firmly upon his hands and looking straight into his eyes while she continued to play with herself.
She could feel his lingam growing large and hard beneath her, and the very thought that he would soon possess her excited her further. Unable to help herself, she began to squirm slightly upon him. Bending forward again, she brushed the nipple of one breast over his cheek, a softly taunting smile upon her face. He was ready for her, however, when she rubbed the other breast over his mouth. Capturing the nipple in his lips, he encircled it with his tongue, licking the sensitive flesh until it tingled, and she shivered. It was then that Velvet raised her lower body and impaled herself upon his staff.
“Little bitch,” he growled at her, loving the way her tight, sweet yoni encased his throbbing lingam.
At first her rhythm was excruciatingly slow and teasing, but gradually her pace quickened, and suddenly they were both lost in the fiery madness of their shared passion, flying together to that paradise known only to true lovers, never even remembering their descent from the heavens into blissful sleep.
In the days that followed, life took on an almost unreal happiness for Velvet. She could not remember ever having been so content, feeling so loved. Her parents had, of course, adored her, but even when she’d sat in one or the other’s lap, she could feel them loving each other with their eyes, oblivious to her, or to anything else for that matter. How often had she been told of the great love that had led to her very existence? The love she now experienced, however, was that same kind of love that her parents had for one another, and she finally understood their constant preoccupation with each other. She hoped that little Yasaman would not feel shut out by the love she and Akbar shared, but she vowed to herself it would not happen.
She smiled. Akbar was really determined to spoil their daughter, but then she thought how fortunate it was that he loved their child so very much.
She had to take him to task, however, the very next day for bringing the baby along with him in his howdah when he went on a tiger hunt. When she scolded her husband, he looked quite hurt and replied, “Yasaman was quite safe withme.”
“Safe?”Velvet cried. “Safe upon that rogue elephant you insist on riding?” She made a marvelous picture of outraged motherhood standing before him and clutching her infant to her breast.
“The elephant simply cannot tolerate anyone but me,” he explained.
“Do not takemydaughter from her nursery again withoutmypermission,” Velvet said. Rugaiya Begum and Jodh Bai agreed with her, chattering at Akbar furiously, one in Persian, the other in Hindi.
Laughing, Akbar held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“I give up,” he said. “I cannot argue with you all. Very well, Candra, my darling, I shall not take Yasaman tiger hunting until she is at least five.”
It was at this point that Ramesh was granted entrance into the room by Adali. “My lord Akbar, so this is where you are hiding yourself. Have you forgotten the interview that you promised to give the traveling Christian father who has been brought to you by Father Xavier?”
With a sigh the emperor stood up, bid his wives farewell, and left them to return to the audience chamber of the main palace. It was a beautiful room, though not as grand as the great audience hall at Fatehpur-Sikri. The floors were made up of squares of red and gold marble, some areas of which were covered in magnificent red, blue, and gold rugs. The walls of the room were painted with scenes of triumphs in the emperor’s life. There were tall gold censers burning fragrant oils on either side of the wide aisle leading to the raised dais with its golden throne, which was studded with sapphires, diamonds, rubies, pearls, emeralds, beryls, and corals. Akbar had quickly dressed himself in the Persian fashion: white silk trousers, a matching coat embroidered with gold, diamonds, and pearls, and his usual turban with a huge pigeon’s-blood ruby in the center. Seated cross-legged upon his throne, he made an impressive picture.
Michael O’Malley could hardly keep himself from staring. It was the most incredible room he had ever seen, and he longed to be able to examine more closely the wonderful paintings upon the wall. How Skye would love the thick carpets! They made what she had in London seem poor stuff indeed. Forcing his eyes back to where they belonged, he glanced from beneath lowered eyelashes at the emperor himself. Akbar’s bearing is most regal, he thought. Put him at any civilized court in Europe, and no one would not recognize him for the king he is.
Father Xavier gave him a quick poke, and, realizing that the Jesuit was bowing low before the enthroned figure, Michael O’Malley did the same.
Akbar hid a little smile. He had not missed the tall Christian priest’s overawed examination of the room. Languidly he raised his hand in signal to Father Xavier that he might speak.
“Most High Emperor, may I present to you Father Michael O’Malley, a bishop of the church. He brings with him a request from my superiors in Paris that he is to have a private audience with you. He is quite fluent in French.”
A private audience? Akbar was most curious. Usually the Christian priests loved to make quite public their attempts at his conversion. “Clear the room,” he commanded Ramesh. When only he and the tall man remained, he said, “Speak, priest. I am listening.”
“My name is Michael O’Malley, and I am the bishop of Mid-Connaught, in the country of Ireland.”
