Temple of Passion

Status: Finished

Temple of Passion

Status: Finished

Temple of Passion

Book by: ReaThomas


Genre: Erotica


He's fast. She's faster.

Lisabeth and Vikram are professional thieves - two of the best in
the business. The only two with enough skill to raid a fully
guarded, newly discovered Hindu temple in Southern India.

Vikram Singh wants the Flute of Immortality, believed to have
belonged to Lord Krishna himself. Lisabeth Baker gets there
first and once again Vik is left empty-handed by her skill and
cunning. Unfortunately for him he's already sold the flute
off to an influential buyer in the black market.

To get it back, Vikram is going to have to jump through all
Lisabeth's hoops - whether he likes it or not.


He's fast. She's faster.

Lisabeth and Vikram are professional thieves - two of the best in
the business. The only two with enough skill to raid a fully
guarded, newly discovered Hindu temple in Southern India.

Vikram Singh wants the Flute of Immortality, believed to have
belonged to Lord Krishna himself. Lisabeth Baker gets there
first and once again Vik is left empty-handed by her skill and
cunning. Unfortunately for him he's already sold the flute
off to an influential buyer in the black market.

To get it back, Vikram is going to have to jump through all
Lisabeth's hoops - whether he likes it or not.

Chapter1 (v.1) - Temple of Passion

Author Chapter Note

He's fast. She's faster.

Lisabeth and Vikram are professional thieves - two of the best in
the business. The only two with enough skill to raid a fully
guarded, newly discovered Hindu temple in Southern India.

Vikram Singh wants the Flute of Immortality, believed to have
belonged to Lord Krishna himself. Lisabeth Baker gets there
first and once again Vik is left empty-handed by her skill and
cunning. Unfortunately for him he's already sold the flute
off to an influential buyer in the black market.

To get it back, Vikram is going to have to jump through all
Lisabeth's hoops - whether he likes it or not.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: July 08, 2011

Reads: 715

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: July 08, 2011



**Disclaimer** This story will contain adult themes in later chapters! Thank you.

I would greatly appreciate any and all feedback! If you read this please take the time to send me a comment at the bottom, as encouragement and critique can only make a story better! Thank you for taking the time to read what I have written.

The armed soldiers had been arriving and departing the temple for the past hour, bewildered by the media frenzy that ensued following the startling discovery made by Professor Bennett. First local reporters had arrived, stumbling through the foliage, laden down by cameras and microphones once their all-terrain vehicles had taken them as far as possible. It hadn't been long before local journalists became national and about an hour ago the BBC foreign correspondent finally arrived, hot on the heels of a frustrated CNN reporter who looked largely out of her depth, irritated by the stifling jungle heat. She been bitching endlessly to her cameraman, bemoaning the necessity to trek three miles through the Indian jungle.

The appointed temple representative looked no less perplexed, having been dragged from his bed at sunrise, somewhat disbelieving that William Bennett, the eccentric archaeologist that he had dismissed as crazy not four weeks ago, had been right all along. Somewhat shamefaced he had addressed the press twenty minutes ago and announced that there would be no immediate announcements as to the validity of Professor Bennett's claims that the temple contained unprecedented treasures. This was all the verification that Lisabeth needed.

Bringing a pair of binoculars to her eyes, Lisabeth scanned the excavation site, watching proceedings unfold as the journalists talked among themselves, soldiers made themselves look important and Bennett's team of eager graduates struggled to contain their excitement. There were at least forty people at the temple site, twenty of which were tasked with guarding the entrances to what had been an undiscovered ruin up until two weeks ago.

While much progress had been made in excavating the three thousand year old homage to Lord Krishna, at least seventy percent remained hidden behind a few millennia worth of plant growth.

It pleased Lisabeth that the old man had been right and that despite having only a rough location and a group of six students willing to trek aimlessly through the jungle until they happened to find a rumored site, Bennett had accomplished what he had set out to do. It pleased her even more to see the temple representative, an egocentric and patronizing troll of a man called Mohan, unable to look Bennett in the eye as he babbled his way through satellite calls to the state's Chief Minister.

Soon he would have to announce the contents of the temple to the hounding press and the site would be crawling with those claiming to have sole ownership of the treasures. Bennett would leave Andhra Pradesh with recognition for his exemplary work but he would return to Britain with nothing else once the state government took inventory and rubbed their hands together in delight. It was not uncommon for such treasures to be estimated in billions.

Lisabeth had read the texts that hypothesized what lay inside the temple that until a few weeks ago had been only a theory; ancient statues made of gold, coins, bags of emeralds and rubies and even the mythical weaponry of the Gods. A regular Aladdin's cave of wonders. It was also said that a near-perfect, rose-cut pink diamond of more than thirty carats was nestled within the handle of a sword. The diamond was referred to as 'The Lotus Star'. The government could have everything else, it was The Lotus that Lisabeth wanted.

It would be foolish to make any attempts to get into the temple during daylight, when the soldier's vigilance was peaking. By nightfall any noises she made would be attributed to the nocturnal scourging of wild animals, mythical beasts - anything but theft. The guards would be lulled by the darkness, their senses nowhere near as sharp as what sunlight afforded them.

As much as she wanted to have the stone in her hands, she would have to wait.

On the opposite side of the site, Vikram Singh kept his own binoculars trained on the slender figure in the depths of the jungle. He had recognized her the very moment his lenses had glimpsed her ten minutes ago. He would have known the very shape of her shadow having committed her to memory. It wasn't often that anyone in this business, least of all a woman, got the better of him. After the raid in Rajasthan five weeks ago, Vikram was still smarting. He had been minutes, seconds even, away from obtaining the dagger but when he'd entered the museum's exhibit room it was already gone and he had been the one to trigger the alarm. Escaping had been a nightmare after that.

He scowled at her departing figure, at her dark hair swinging in a ponytail as she disappeared into the trees. It bothered him immensely that she would be here, preparing to swoop. Vikram had heard through various channels that a new woman had turned up on the scene, more agile and resourceful than anyone they'd met before. Quite a few of the women had taken a dislike to her, calling her The Bimbo. Vikram had no doubt that it was jealousy that spawned their contempt, for in the past six months twelve of the biggest raids had had her hallmark all over them. The dagger in Rajasthan had been his first encounter with her, and one he wouldn't forget. For a few reasons, none of them good.

She'd almost collided with him int the museum, slinking through corridors in her own attempt to escape. He cursed himself for not relieving her of the dagger, but even in shadows she had been a sight to behold; supple curves in all the right places, feline-like agility and footfalls like a mere apparition as she had disappeared into the night. Vikram would have been lying to himself if he said he hadn't thought about her once or twice.

He wondered whether she intended on stealing any one thing from the temple or whether she would take everything she could carry. If she had any ideas about running off into the night with the Flute of Immortality, she'd be finding herself waking up on the floor of the temple with a nasty concussion because he would be prepared this time.

Vikram did not believe that the golden flute, rumoured to have belonged to Lord Krishna, would be capable of making anyone immortal, but the item itself would be worth millions and he knew just the collector who would fall over himself to give Vikram the asking price and Vik quite liked the idea of settling down in a private island in Polynesia, so as long as the woman had her eye on a different piece of treasure - or several different pieces of treasure - they would pass once more as shadows in the darkness and with any luck it would be the last time that she turned up at a site he had his eye on.

Presently he was preoccupied with the heat, moist and humid, making him sweat. The jungle climate was a challenge, dulling his instincts and distracting him as he tried to make plans. Even for a native such as himself, the south Indian humidity was cloying, making it difficult to breathe. He felt tired and irritable, longing for daylight to fade and nightfall to offer a modicum of respite.

He retreated from the temple site heading for the abandoned caves two miles away where he had set up camp. He would bathe in the cool waterfall, revise his strategy and come back when it was dark. With any luck he'd be stretched out on a bed in an air-conditioned room at The Oberoi in Mumbai by tomorrow.

Chapter Two

The stone was magnificent, almost the size of her palm and practically flawless.

Lisabeth turned on the desk lamp and tilted The Lotus Star, dazzled by the fiery flamingo pinks and brilliant orange hues that glinted and sparkled, flecked with purple and blue - like a kaleidescope. An very expensive kaleidescope, she thought with a smile. The diamond was everything she had imagined it to be. Selling it would be easy, too, for there were already a number of bidders waiting in the wings, prepared to battle it out for the most perfect diamond of its kind. Of course they would have a dozen experts verify it's majesty, but Lisabeth was certain of its phenomenal value.

Finding it had been easy and going at dusk instead of nightfall had been a stroke of genius; for once the sun had gone down a horde of extra security had arrived to guard the inner chambers.

Lisabeth smoothed her thumb over the cool, glassy diamond and grinned at her reflection in the hotel mirror. Three days had passed since she'd raided the temple and the media had gone crazy over the theft. A NDTV news bulletin flashed up on the television screen behind her, the excavation site was now crawling with police who were desperate to capture the bold thief who had stolen treasure worth an estimated sixty million dollars.

Setting aside the diamond, Lisabeth turned to the long, slender parcel wrapped up in a piece of linen. The flute had caught her eye as she'd been leaving the chamber; sitting on a pedestal with such celestial beauty, she had wondered at it. None of the temple's other treasures, each worth a unfathomable amount of money, had been given such importance. She had snatched it on a whim and bolted from the chamber before the military could captured her.

It had been only now that she had a chance to properly look at it; getting out of the jungle had been her first priority. Getting out of Andhra Pradesh, her second. Flying across India was out of the question with security as tight as it was. The train to Tamil Nadu had taken forever and she was exhausted from staying awake to guard her baggage. If she had lost the diamond to a petty thief, Lisabeth wouldn't have been able to forgive her stupidity.

The flute was made of gold, ringed on both ends with bands of diamonds and rubies, each one probably a carat in weight. The gold was burnished slightly, but its magnificence was no less impressive. Lisabeth wondered at it, wondered why the temple officials had treated it with such respect, all those years ago. She found that she wished she possessed the ability to play it, for something about it was almost ethereal.

Next week she would take it to be valued and if it was not worth much she might even keep it as a souvenir of her efforts and triumph.

Wrapping it up and depositing it along with the diamond in the hotel safe, Lisabeth turned her attention back to the television as she changed into a t-shirt and slipped into bed. The sensation of the soft, malleable mattress beneath her body was tantamount to euphoria after the days she'd spent sleeping in a tent. Within mere minutes, she was asleep.

* * *

At breakfast the next morning, Lisabeth read about her own exploits in the newspaper while she ate cereal. Another guest at the hotel, staying in Chennai for business, had discussed the robbery with his colleague over coffee. Lisabeth had listened, imagining what their reactions would be had they known that the temple thief was sitting at the next table.

As she finished her second cup of tea, a hulking man of more than six-feet pulled back the chair facing her and sat down. She looked up, weary.

I'm not interested in a companion, thank you,” she announced stonily. The man's rakish features knotted in annoyance; dark brow coming down as his full lips thinned to a tight line. She glimpsed his eyes - their irises glinted like copper; a burnished yellow. National Geographic eyes, she thought. Admittedly, he was attractive - more than the dozen or so others who had attempted to woo her with some inane chat-up line since she'd been in India. He leaned forward, close enough that she could see minuscule flecks of green in his eyes, as though the copper was beginning to oxidize.

Lisabeth,” he said slowly, as though testing her name. That he knew it in the first place rattled her and she was instantly alert, scanning the breakfast room for an exit. He didn't look like a cop, but she was taking no chances. “There is a gun pointed at you under this table, don't feel it necessary to look,” she heard the familiar click of the hammer cocking. “I want you to take me to your room and give me the flute that you stole from Andhra Pradesh. Do you understand?” Lisabeth swallowed and nodded slowly.

As she pushed her chair back, the gunman's hand flew out from beneath the table and grasped hers. She froze, furious with herself for trembling, furious with him for thinking he could threaten her with a gun and take what she had risked her freedom for. “If you try to run or call for help, I will shoot you. Clear?” She nodded again, a single sharp jerk of her chin. “Good. Get up.”

As they stood he tucked the small handgun into his jacket pocket but she sensed that the barrel was pointed at her and she didn't want to test his assurances that he would gun her down if she tried to run. Besides, with legs as long as his she had no doubt that he'd catch her before she would reach the end of the hotel garden.

Resigned, Lisabeth led him through the foyer and along the corridor to the elevator. She glanced sideways at him, taking in his chiseled features; the curve of his jaw, a slender Roman nose, arched cheekbones and finally those altogether unique eyes that watched the steadily decreasing numbers on the elevator display unit. He wore faded blue jeans which clung to his thighs and hips, a black tank and a khaki green jacket that presently housed a loaded weapon.

Who are you?” she asked after clearing her throat, concerned that her voice would betray the collected composure she sought to display. He glanced at her quickly and then away.

We run in similar circles,” was all he said.

The elevator chimed and he nudged her into the cramped car. Lisabeth felt a moment of panic as the doors slid closed, sealing her inside a three by three foot cubicle with a man who could, at his whim, shoot her dead. She thought briefly that could launch into a combative attack before he knew what had happened, but his sheer physical power - the fact that he seemed to be comprised of solid muscle - put paid to any notion of escape.

In the hallway they passed a chambermaid who ignored them as she replenished her cart with towels and sheets. Lisabeth didn't try to catch her eye either, for altering the police would inevitably result in her capture. If she cooperated, he might be gone in minutes.

Once inside the bedroom, the gunman wasted no time in removing his weapon, allowing her to glimpse the compact firearm fully. It looked tiny in his large hand but its deadliness was in no way diminished; Lisabeth knew that a single wrong move would result in the General Manager of the small colonial establishment finding her corpse in a day or so.

The flute,” he said, brusque.

What's so special about this flute?” Lisabeth asked, crossing the room to the safe. Her instincts had been right - the instrument was placed on the pedestal for a reason. Reason enough that this madman had went to extreme measures to find it.

Really, Lisabeth?” he tilted his head, appraising her. “Like you don't know.” The safe beeped its approval at the code she punched in and as she withdrew the linen-wrapped package from within she was certain that she heard a small hitch of anticipation in his breathing.

Carrying it as though it might burn her, Lisabeth returned to the foot of the bed where he stood, eyes fixated on the sliver of gold that peaked through a gap in the material. She extended her hands, as if to give it to him. The gun wavered a fraction off target as she stepped back, throwing him a kick so fierce that the weapon flew across the room and smashed into the glass door that contained the mini-bar. He staggered, bewildered as Lisabeth tossed aside the flute and took the gun in both hands. For a fleeting millisecond while he caught his bearings, she saw a glimmer of fear in his amber eyes.

So now,” she growled, “you're going to tell me who you fucking are and how you found me.” His cheek twitched and he glanced quickly at the flute on the bed. The linen was entirely unraveled.

I just want the flute,” he said, his voice placating.

Who are you?” Lisabeth stepped back, far enough that he couldn't lunge at her, close enough that if required she could fire a warning bullet at his foot.

Vikram Singh.” The name sounded familiar; another thief, she thought.

Why do you want the flute?” They both looked at it this time, equally perplexed that it would be worth so much effort.

I have someone waiting on it. It's already sold.” Lisabeth hummed, drawing her lips into a pout as she reflected on this. He was watching her and she wondered if he expected her to simply shrug and concede that he could have it. “You got into the temple first, before the guards arrived. I was too late.” He sounded angry at himself - she saw the irritation when his jaw clenched. “Again.”

Again?” she prompted.

You got to the Maharajah's Dagger in Rajasthan before me.” Lisabeth recalled the jewel encrusted weapon that she'd sold to a collector in Saint Tropez. It had been worth more than she'd let it go for, but by the time she had taken it across three continents, she was happy to be rid of it.

Vikram glared at her, then at the flute. She almost felt bad, knowing that the only piece she had truly coveted from the temple chamber was The Lotus Star diamond, which she had obtained as planned. Relaxing her shoulders she tossed the gun into the safe and slammed the door shut. It's disappearance brought about an immediate release of tension to the room. Vikram's broad shoulders loosened.

How did you find me? Does anyone else know you're here?” Lisabeth withdrew the flute from the bed, resealing the linen cloth around it.

I called Frank Davis, he knew your name. After that, finding you was easy. I have to say, I'm surprised you don't use aliases when checking into hotels. And no, no-one else knows.” Lisabeth smiled slowly, clutching the flute in case he had any ideas about snatching it when she was distracted.

Lisabeth Baker isan alias, as I am sure is Vikram Singh.” He shrugged, neither in confirmation or denial. “What are you willing to trade for the flute?” Vikram straightened, outraged by the very notion that he'd need to acquire the flute by means of payment. She clicked her tongue as if speaking to a particularly dimwitted child. “Come now, you didn't think I was going to just giveit away, did you?”

Vikram's lips became a sneer and he wondered how he had lost all his power in a matter of minutes. When they'd entered the room she'd been complacent, obeying his commands because her life had been in danger. Now, the damn woman looked almost smug. “What do you want?” he growled lowly, narrowing his eyes, almost as though intense focus might cause her to spontaneously combust.

Split the profit?” she suggested. “Sixty forty to me?”

You're kidding, right?” Vikram's fists were bunched tight.

It's mine now. There has to be a decent profit for me.” He frowned.

Forty sixty to me,” he offered begrudgingly. “Or perhaps you would like to select something of equal value from my collection as a trade?” Lisabeth was curious. She thought he must have promised the flute to a dangerous client, one whose disappointment might result in a bullet to Vikram's head. It wasn't unheard of in their world. Or perhaps the flute was worth more than he was letting on. Whatever it was, she would decide the terms under which he obtained it.

Fifteen million and its yours,” she declared.

It's only worth twenty. That's seventy-five percent to you? I don't think so.” Lisabeth smiled.

It's an easy five million for you, given that I did all the leg work because you were too slow.” That pissed him off, she realised, and she found she rather enjoyed it. He was even better looking now that there was no gun between them, and she decided that he was nowhere near as threatening as she had first assumed. Vikram Singh did not enjoy negotiating with her.

She peeled back the linen and stroked the flute, running her fingers over the encrusted diamond and ruby band. He watched her, the motion of hand was erotic, as if she were enraptured by it. Lisabeth had wanted only to tempt him with a glimpse of the smooth golden length and the sparkle of the gemstones, she did not expect the smoky arousal that took possession of his eyes. Dark lashes fanned across his cheeks as he blinked and swallowed.

Lisabeth thought of the men who had tried to seduce her in the past few weeks; a collection of haphazard hopelessness that left her wondering if suave was a word unheard of in any of the country's languages. Their techniques ranged from downright sleazy to cripplingly shy. The in-between spectrum had not been any better, either.

Vikram was different; his appeal was not limited by roguish good-looks and a firm body. There was something deeper, perhaps determination or ruthlessness that Lisabeth found titillating. It might have been the prolonged absence of physical intimacy in her life - after all her career choice wasn't conducive to a long lasting agreement by any means. She made it a rule to stay in a single place no longer than two months.

Maybe he felt the same, she thought. Their lives were remarkably similar, driven by solitude and a necessity for unyielding concentration.

Lisabeth cleared her throat.

Okay, Vikram,” she said. “Here's what I want.”

Chapter Three

Vikram splashed a handful of cold water over his face and straightened, lifting his eyes to the mirror above the basin.

It wasn't often that people surprised him but he supposed that he'd always known Lisabeth was a woman who could - from the moment she'd stole off into the night with the Maharajah's Dagger.

Admittedly even that hadn't prepared him for her proposed trade off; five million dollars and two nights.

At first he had stared at her blankly, realizing only that she had dropped her profit requirements down to twenty-five percent. His mind caught up quickly and he feared his expression might have been comical at first. Lisabeth Baker had smirked at him, twirling the precious flute in her fingers like a baton, daring him to take it. Reveling in her own amusement at his stunned silence. He felt foolish now, water dripping from his chin as he watched his doe-eyed expression in the mirror. His exit to the bathroom had been swift, half owing to the erection pressing against his jeans, for he'd never been propositioned quite like thatbefore.

It occurred to him that she could have hightailed it out of the room following his departure, but when he had excused himself Lisabeth had laughed with such genuine mirth that he believed she would still be there, if only to continue her enjoyment of his discomfort.

Take your time!” she had called after him.

Two days of what? he wondered. Was she an aficionado of bondage? Domination? Now, he thought with a smile, if she wanted him to tie her to the bed, he didn't have too much of a problem with that. Even dressed in jeans and a t-shirt Lisabeth was enthralling.

Naked... His cock hardened again as his imagination drew its own conclusions.

If he was honest, recent solitary nights had been spent with her on his mind - even though he had caught only her shadow and the briefest flash of her face as she had turned her head, peering into the darkness of the museum. He couldn't deny that his imagination had twisted her agile body into countless forms since Rajasthan. Mostly whilst he had brought himself to orgasm, dirtying the sheets of another anonymous hotel somewhere.

Not unlike his current locale, in fact.

Even in his most lewd fantasies, however, Lisabeth had not negotiated a deal that involved him being complacent to her every whim. His mouth went dry, blood pumping nosily in his ears. She had perfected the come-hither look, he thought, recalling a few moments before as her slender fingers had caressed the length of the golden flute, touching it with the sacred reverence that it deserved. Vikram wondered if she'd show his cock the same sense of wonderment.

Despite his pretense, to himself and to Lisabeth, that he'd retreated to the bathroom to ruminate over whether or not to accept her proposal, Vik knew somewhere in the back of mind that he had always intended to agree. In fact, if he truly thought back to some of those lonely nights - and one particularly bleak rainy night in Kolkata - he would remember deciding that eventually, one way or another, he would have the then nameless woman once.

But ultimately it didn't really matter whether he wanted her or not; the flute had been sold to Nikolai Volkov, a Russian art-dealer living in Kuwait. Vikram had been to his house, a homage to any piece of art or antiquity that cost millions - including a priceless Fabergé egg that Vik himself had obtained, once owned by a Russian tsar. Dealing with Volkov was great when things ran smoothly; there was a fortune to be made and the flute was to be the ultimate in his collection. Vikram knew, however, that when things didn't run smoothly, Volkov was not forgiving man.

Vik knew that his private wealth, accumulating respectable interest in a few numbered bank accounts, could make him disappear if the need arose. It was his family in Punjab that would be vulnerable. Volkov had ways - the professional alias was flimsy to men of his stature.

Vikram dried his face, took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door.

* * *

Lisabeth locked the flute away and busied herself while Vikram afforded himself the privilege of pretending that he really had a choice. That he was a stubborn man of ego and pride indicated to her that pushing those buttons would result in the kind of forty-eight hours she so desperately needed. Libido was, at times, a distracting thing.

Admittedly it wasn't her style to ask for sex - especially as a non-negotiable business deal, but something about Vikram Singh had reminded her just how long the dry-spell had been, and there was only so many times a woman could fantasize her way to climax before the thrill was dulled by the realization that physical intimacy couldn't be replicated. Not even by the most fertile mind.

Vikram was the archetypal figure of masculinity. She had been with men that many women considered sexy, owing to power and money. The confidence of the modern man was almost more important than his physical stature but Lisabeth preferred six-foot-something of testosterone any day. Standing in the modest hotel bedroom Vikram had been wound tighter than a cuckoo-clock and Lisabeth's physical yearning had come alive, eager to see what happened when all that pent-up energy came undone.

The running water ceased and Lisabeth smiled. It had taken him fifteen minutes to brood in the bathroom, weigh up his non-existent options and come to the realization that whether he liked it or not, he was at the mercy of any and all of her sexual whims for the next two days. Lisabeth was impressed by his stubborn disposition; she had expected him to fold in five.

Vikram returned to the bedroom, his jacket now removed.

She sat back on the writing bureau and crossed her legs, affording him the pretense that she was genuinely interested to hear what he had decided. To her surprise he had taken command of his emotions and his expression was stony.

Alright,” he said. “Five million, two nights.” His tone was businesslike. “When do we start?” Vikram set his jacket aside and stood before her. She thought he looked like an artist's model, waiting to take his clothes off for a nude drawing - and a fine model he would make, too. Without the added layer of his jacket she could admire the hard breadth of his shoulders, how every muscle was sculpted - even those still concealed beneath the black tank that he wore. Lisabeth reflected on his physical prowess, aroused by the idea of being under him, on top of him.

You're such a romantic,” she replied blithely, half mocking him. “I was going to light candles, too. Now you've gone and ruined it.” Vikram sighed - a heavy, long sigh that conveyed his impatience and displeasure at being a slave to her whimsy. His bicep twitched, fist clenched. “Get comfortable, Vikram. There's no rush.”

Lisabeth slipped off the table, enjoying herself. Payback, she thought, for his arrogance and bravado at the breakfast table earlier.

He stood still when she brushed past him, allowing herself the privilege of touching his bare arm, pleased that the sinewy flesh was as hard as she'd imagined. His head turned sideways, golden eyes staring down at her with a mixture of contempt, frustration and lust. Her heart began to race when his fingers encircled her wrist in a tight clasp, drawing her close enough that she felt his breath fan in slow, even bursts across her cheeks.

Five million and two nights, Lisabeth. That was the only conditions laid down. Don't fuck around with me.” She felt the stirrings of arousal, the pulse between her legs at watching the tautened spring tighten to breaking point. Just a little more...

There's no gun now, Vikram. Put away the bravado and play nice.” Pulling her wrist from his grasp, Lisabeth took a single step past him and resisted the urge to cry out when every ounce of brawn and bone thrust her against the opposite wall. The thud of their bodies contacting the stone reverberated through each of her limbs, his weight pinning her in place, taking her breath away. She felt a momentary flicker of fear that passed quickly but not before he noticed, acknowledging it with a smug, mirthless chuckle that announced his victory in obtaining the upper-hand.

What's wrong, Lisabeth? Nothing witty to say?” His cock was hard against her belly. He likes it rough, she thought, twisting her hips. His fingers caught her chin, hand pressed against the column of her throat. If he wanted to, she realized, he could break her neck in a second. “What's that?” he asked in response to her muffled whimper. She cursed her weakness - that his indelicacy brought her to a submissive, murmured plea. “What do you want?” He pushed her, his unanswered taunts resulted in his fingers tightening to a vise-like grip around her jaw. “No rush, haan?” His voice was gravelly in her ear, a betrayal to his outward control, a testament to his growing desire.

The thrust of his hips brought forth a moan that emanated deep in her belly, to the base of her throat. Vikram's free hand slipped under her t-shirt, his palm testing the weight of her breast, thumb and finger roughly pinching her taut nipple through the layer of her sensible sports-bra. Lisabeth's back arched in response, her pride relegated to some far off part of her brain, superseded by the desire to be thoroughly fucked. It had really been far too long.

When his hand released her, Lisabeth sucked an unsteady breath into her lungs, half relieved. His fingers knotted in her hair, twisting the strands until her head fell back in compliance. Any misconceptions she still harbored about being in control were relinquished as his mouth closed over her exposed throat. Her fingers tore at the flimsy tank he wore, pulling and stretching the material. He undid the button of her jeans with deft precision, his fingers inside her panties and caressing her wet flesh within a second.

Her own fingers were nowhere near as steady as she fumbled with his jeans, her wrist brushing the length of his cock with each failed attempt. Lisabeth cursed the coordination that had abandoned her in the desperation to wrap her fingers around the hard length of him.

Vikram's teeth nipped at her throat, at the tender flesh above her clavicle, his tongue pausing to taste the thunder of her pulse. Even if her slick wetness had not been indication enough of her desire, the wild staccato of her heartbeat surely gave her away. Fingers teased the entrance to her body, the soft strokes near torture when every inch of her skin was tingling, frustrated. Ten thousand nerve-endings had awakened in her clitoris, drawing the tender nub out of hibernation. He seemed to enjoy watching her features twist in pleasure, reveled in the moans of encouragement.

Lisabeth tore at his jeans, relieved when she felt the waistband slacken. Vikram's body went stiff, his mouth stilling on her throat when she took his cock in a fist. He voiced his approval at her long, slow strokes in a language that Lisabeth did not understand. His accent thickened, voice lowered. She rocked her pelvis, yearning for relief. A single finger dipped inside her in half-compliance, caressing the soft, wet flesh. She said his name in a rolling plea. Lisabeth hadn't moaned a man's name in such a long time that her own voice sounded foreign.

There were many things she wanted to do to him: spend hours exploring every nuance of hard body, taste his skin with her tongue, make him beg for mercy. Perhaps he already was, she thought. His voice continued in a stream of his native tongue, his eyes closed. Lisabeth's thumb stroked the smooth, slick flesh at the tip of his cock in swift, precise circles until his resolve disintegrated. Vikram stepped back, the movement so abrupt that Lisabeth stumbled backward.

He tore her jeans and panties over her legs, then his own, before grasping her hips. Lisabeth's surprise was muffled by his mouth, hard on hers. His kiss was fierce and unromantic, teeth nipping her lower lip until she thought he might draw blood. She drew her legs around his waist, arms around his neck. The effort with which Vikram held her aloft ought not to have been a surprise, yet somehow his strength continued to impress her. His cock brushed her thigh, upward until she felt a gentle nudging at the opening. Lisabeth wanted him inside her, filling her and stretching her, each thrust bringing her closer to orgasm. She expected him to ease into her and savour the slick, hot warmth. Instead, he plunged into her pussy with a firm, hard stroke.

Oh, God!” Her voice was a startled cry, a mixture of unprecedented pleasure and a sting of pain at being tore open with such thoughtless abandon. Vikram braced his hands on either side of her head, hips pistoning back and forth. Lisabeth slipped one hand between their bodies, teasing her clitoris with two fingertips. Her thighs flexed, the coil of her orgasm tightening at the bottom of her belly.

Vikram bent his head, tonguing at her nipple through the fabric of her t-shirt. She regretted not having the foresight to remove their remaining clothes, wishing that his tongue could flick and tease her bared nipples. Next time, she thought. There would be a next time, and beyond.

Lisabeth pressed her fingers hard against her clit, her orgasm within reach. She wanted to delay, to luxuriate in the increased endorphins, their bodies conjoined and moving in tandem. They slammed nosily against the wall in a rhythm that could not have been mistaken for anything else. The exhibitionist in her hoped that someone next door was listening, envious of their passion, their inhibition.

Vikram I'm...” he kissed her, drawing her words into his mouth. His fingers covered hers, working her clit in furious circles. She began to tremble, her orgasm washing over her in a brilliant, all encompassing burst of pleasure that flooded his cock in sticky, hot fluid. The wave came and went, turning her limbs to rubber. She rode out the tremors, breathless. Vikram stilled inside her, rocking his pelvis, nudging the soft cushion of nerves inside body. The subsiding waves gathered momentum, a second weaker, but truly exhausting climax shuddering through her womb.

He slid out her, teasing at her clit until she begged him to stop, sinking to her knees. A trickle of sweat slid between her breasts, absorbed by the stretched and misshapen material of her t-shirt. Vikram towered over her, his rigid cock inches from her parted lips, glistening from their combined juices. He took her hair in a fist, bringing her head forward. Lisabeth's protest went unheard, silenced as he brought her mouth down over his length. Her willingness to pleasure him was not thought of and she was forced to comply, wrapping her fingers around his shaft.

She tasted herself, and him, running her tongue over his length in deft circles until he tightened his fingers into a painful fist around her hair, thrusting into her mouth in two long strokes that she struggled to accommodate. His thighs stiffened beneath her palms and she felt the pulse of his cock as he came, expelling a stream of slick seed unto her tongue and down her throat, grunting her name in three distinct syllables.

They were silent for long moments, drawing ragged breaths into their lungs. The bedroom seemed eerily silent in the absence of their pleasured moans. Vikram stood over her, hands braced on the wall and she glanced up, watching the rise and fall of his chest.

She had to concede that Vikram had won this round for she had been powerless to stop him and in the aftermath of their passion, Lisabeth found that she was irked by his presumption that he could call the shots.

There were two days left, she thought, collecting her clothes from the heap on the floor. Two days in which Vikram would obey her commands and make-love to her with the single focus of bringing her optimum pleasure. She would suck his cock when she decided to, not when he did.

Slipping out from under the shadow of his body, Lisabeth got to her feet, pulled off her t-shirt and unclipped her bra before retreating to the bathroom with a decisive slam of the door.

There were no words exchanged.

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