Tea and Spices (An Erotic Novel of Colonial India) (11 page)

 
“Ah, a scholar of ancient erotic texts, are you?” The maharaja’s eyes twinkled as they stopped in front of a series of erotic paintings. “Many of these paintings are illustrations of
The Kamasutra
.”

 
Devora’s heart leapt as she gazed at the small, finely-detailed paintings. Men and women, often still partially clothed in exotic
saris
and
kurtas
, lay sprawled in a multitude of positions. Their legs were often spread wide, giving the spectator a clear image of the man’s penis penetrating the woman. The women all had large, beautiful breasts and curved hips, their bodies ornately decorated with gold jewelry. Devora gazed at the paintings with fascination, aware of the growing warmth collecting in her lower body.

 
She glanced at the maharaja, unnerved to find him looking at her rather than the paintings.

 
“Um, perhaps I should leave now,” she suggested.

 
He looked dismayed. “Mrs. Hawthorne, please tell me I haven’t offended you. Come, we will sit and have some tea and sweets. You know, it is considered rude in Indian custom to visit a person’s home and not partake of sweets.”

 
Devora didn’t know whether or not to believe him, but she went with him up the stairs to the balcony. They entered the same sitting room Devora had discovered with Louise, the one with large, cushy throw pillows scattered around the room and more erotic sculptures and paintings. The cloying scent of incense still clung to the air.

 
“Please, sit down,” the maharaja invited. “You will not be uncomfortable on the floor, I hope?”

 
“No, not at all.” Devora sank down into a nest of pillows, unable to help herself from relaxing against their softness. She felt utterly replete from their delicious lunch, not to mention somewhat stimulated from viewing the maharaja’s art collection.

 
She turned her head to look at him as he settled beside her.

 
“What’s your name?” she asked.

 
He looked at her in surprise. “My name?”

 
“Yes, your real name. Everybody only calls you the maharaja.”

 
He smiled, reaching out to trail his fingers down her bare arm. Startled, Devora jerked away from the sudden touch.

 
“My apologies,” the maharaja said. “I do not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

 
“No, that was just unexpected.”

 
“You dislike me touching you?” He stroked his fingers over her arm again. This time, Devora didn’t pull away.

 
“My name is Hastin Singh,” the maharaja said.

 
“Hastin Singh,” Devora repeated. She leaned her head against the pillows, her head filling with the rich scent of sandalwood incense. The touch of his fingers was light and teasing. “That’s a nice name.”

 
“Thank you.”

 
Devora gazed from afar at the erotic painting she had seen the other night, the one consisting of one man and five women.

 
“Are there other erotic temples in India besides Khajuraho?” she inquired.

 
“Yes, there are, often based on
The Kamasutra
as well.
The Kamasutra
penetrates many areas of Indian life.”

 
“I have a copy of it at home,” Devora confessed. “I’ll have to read it more thoroughly.”

 
“You know, there is a section on how a virtuous wife should behave with her husband,” the maharaja said.

 
Devora lifted an eyebrow. “Is that right? What does it say?”

 
The maharaja lifted his hand and rapped out a few words in Hindi to a nearby servant. Within a few seconds, the man brought him a bound copy of the sacred text. The maharaja opened the book to the fourth chapter.

 
“It says that you must act in accordance with your husband’s wishes as if he were a divine being,” he said. “And in his absence, you must wear auspicious jewelry and observe fasts.”

 
Devora thought of the abundant meal she had just eaten and couldn’t help giggling. “Well, I don’t think my jewelry is auspicious, and I love Indian food too much to want to fast.”

 
“You also should not leave your house unless you are accompanied by your husband’s servants.”

 
Devora rolled her eyes. “Don’t show that to Rohan. He’ll hold it up as the divine law.”

 
“And you are required to do everything for your husband’s welfare,” the maharaja said.

 
“Well, heavens, I don’t think I’ve followed those rules at all.”

 
The maharaja put the book aside and leaned back against the pillows. “I suppose that means you’re not a virtuous wife then, doesn’t it?”

 
Devora didn’t know whether he was being serious or joking, but she chuckled anyway. “I suppose it does. Oh, well. Virtue can be boring.”

 
She closed her eyes, suddenly feeling very relaxed and even sleepy. “I know that book doesn’t completely make women the attendants of men,” she said with a yawn. “In fact, I distinctly remember that several of those details involve pleasuring a woman.”

 
“Oh, indeed,” the maharaja said. “A man would be remiss if the woman did not obtain pleasure from their union.”

 
Devora turned to look at him, realizing he was much closer to her than he had been before. Oddly enough, she didn’t find his proximity alarming. Instead, she merely gazed at him for a moment.

 
“I don’t know how people do it, to be honest with you,” she said.

 
“Do what?”

 
“All those positions, even just for hugging and kissing. I can’t remember how many different types of kisses there are.”

“There is the straight kiss.” The maharaja moved closer to her, and then his lips barely touched hers. He lifted his hands to the back of Devora’s neck, his fingers sliding into her hair as he tilted her head slightly. “Then the bent kiss.”

 
Devora’s heart pulsed in her throat, but she didn’t pull away from him. He tasted like spices and curry, the touch of his mouth totally different from Gerald’s familiar kisses.

 
“And this,” the maharaja murmured, as he captured her lips between his, “is called the clasping kiss.”

 
Devora gasped inwardly, her fingers clenching around the edge of a pillow as the maharaja began to slowly plunder her mouth with his. A hundred thoughts splashed around in her mind, the most prominent one being that she should pull away from him. And yet, something inside her refused to obey.

Instead, she fairly sank against him, parting her lips to allow him to enter her more thoroughly. So different from Gerald. This man exuded sensuality and lust as he stroked his tongue slowly over her teeth and licked the inside of her lips. Desire sparked in Devora’s blood, a desire kindled by painted visions of men and women engaging in acts of pure carnality.

 
She felt the maharaja draw slightly away from her. She opened her eyes, her breathing hard as she turned to look at a woman who stood before them. An incredibly beautiful woman, dressed in a dark green, silk
sari
and draped with gold jewelry. Her eyes were lined with kohl, and a small diamond pierced her nose. She wore dozens of gold bracelet and rings, including several on her toes.

Devora stared at her as if she were a vision out of nowhere.
Good God, what if this was the maharaja’s wife?

 
“Who…” Devora swallowed hard and tried again. “Who are you?”

 
The woman looked at the maharaja, who nodded slightly.

 
“My name is Alpana,” she replied, her words hesitant and tinged with a heavy Indian accent. “I come to please you, yes?”

Devora looked from Alpana to the maharaja and back again, suddenly getting a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as she realized what Alpana was implying. “No!”

 
“Wait.” The maharaja put his hand over Devora’s, shaking his head as he started to laugh. “She means that she will bring us tea and sweets,” he said.

 
Devora’s heart was pounding so hard that she could hear it inside her head. “That didn’t sound like what she meant.”

 
The maharaja said a few words in Hindi to the woman, who padded off in a rustle of silk and gold. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hawthorne. Her English is not very good.”

 
A thought occurred to Devora as she recalled Kalindi’s words. “Is she part of your harem?”

 
The maharaja laughed again, that deep, throaty chuckle. “You’ve heard of my harem, have you?”

 
“Yes. Do you have one?”

 
“I do enjoy women, if that’s what you mean,” the maharaja replied.

 
“Does that mean yes?”

 
The maharaja shrugged and waved his hand towards one of the servants. “I fear I have frightened you.”

 
Devora didn’t reply, although she acknowledged that he had. She suspected this situation might present her with more than she had bargained for. Excitement was one thing, but to be confronted by a harem woman was quite another. Devora remembered her and Gerald’s last coupling when he had questioned her about her interest in other women. The mere memory caused a rush of heat to flood her body.

 
A different servant brought them cups of tea and a silver platter filled with milky sweets. Devora popped one of the sweets in her mouth and sipped her tea, trying to collect her thoughts. She licked sugar off her finger and eyed the maharaja.

 
“What exactly do you want from me?” she asked.

 
“Why, nothing at all, Mrs. Hawthorne.”

 
Devora smiled at the innocent tone to his voice. “Now, why don’t I believe that?”

 
The maharaja pressed a hand against his chest as if she had mortally wounded him. “I want to be your friend,” he said. “Can you accept my friendship?”

 
“That kiss felt a little more than friendly.”

“You didn’t like it? Then I will never attempt such a brash act again.”

 
Devora smiled again. Such melodrama. She surprised herself with her next words. “Well, I didn’t say that,” she said.

 
The maharaja glanced at her. “You would like it again?”

 
“Possibly.” Devora didn’t know what she was thinking, but she did know that the maharaja’s kiss had been a heady one. She didn’t even really consider the notion that she was being unfaithful to Gerald, for it felt as if she were in a completely different world, one removed from the conventions of Western propriety.

 
When the maharaja leaned towards her again, she didn’t pull away. She let him touch her lips with his in a kiss that again deepened slowly. Devora sank back against the pillows, her bones going weak as she let him move over her. Men had touched and kissed her before Gerald, but none possessed the same kind of seductive heat as the maharaja did.

 
His hands skimmed lightly over her body, lingering at the hard points of her nipples and the curve of her waist. His touch was feather-light, almost purposely gentle, as if he were afraid of scaring her away. His body pressed against hers. He was a large man, hardly slender, and the weight of his physique pushed Devora against her bed of pillows until she felt wholly surrounded by him.

 
She had never been so close to a man like him before, and her senses spun with a myriad of sensations. Her legs parted almost unconsciously to accommodate him, her blood surging as she felt his erection pressing against her thigh.

She closed her eyes. The maharaja slid his lips to her neck, flicking his tongue into the hot hollow of her throat. Sweat broke out on Devora’s forehead as she became immersed by heat, scents, and spice. The maharaja’s hands slipped underneath the wide straps of her dress, pulling them over her arms as he slowly bared her body to his gaze.

 
Devora’s breath caught in her throat as she realized the sheer magnitude of what was about to take place. She couldn’t have stopped him even if she wanted to, for she felt as if the tides of the ocean itself were rising inside her.

Some dim, rational part of her mind made her turn towards the door to see if the servant was still standing there, but the room was empty. Sunlight filtered through the marble lattice.

Pushing aside any lingering inhibitions, Devora gave herself up to the pure sensuality of her surroundings and her lover. As the maharaja cupped her breasts in his hands, he began murmuring words in Hindi that sounded exotic and musical.

 
Devora experienced a momentary fear that her slender, small-breasted body, so wholly different that the voluptuous, Indian fertility goddesses, would be displeasing to him. The maharaja soon alleviated her fears by fairly worshipping her body, stroking his hands and lips over her skin with a kind of reverence. He pushed her dress off her body, then threaded his fingers through the dark curls between her legs.