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The Tantric Curse

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Anupama Garg

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“Elspeth reached up a tentative hand to comfort him, palming the cheek that wasn’t covered with woad. He wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her closer. Her lips parted. His tongue swept in. Her belly clenched, and a warm glow settled between her legs. He left her lips and began kissing her chin, her cheeks, her neck. “Ach! Ye’re sweet, lass.” Pity dissipated like morning mist. Instead, little wisps of pleasure followed his mouth’s path. The stubble of his beard grazed the tops of her breasts, and her nipples tightened almost painfully. She sucked her breath over her teeth to keep from crying out in pleasure and surprise when his palm covered her breast, the pressure sweet even through the stiff boning of her pink silk bodice.”

“Stop.” She covered her breast with her own hand. “That’s no’ a healer’s touch.” His smile was sin incarnate. “Ye’ve the right of it there, lass. That’s a lover’s touch. And ye’ve had only the smallest bit of the pleasure, only a taste of what I would give ye an’ ye allow it.” “No,” She scrambled to her feet to put some distance between them. “An’ ye try to take me, I’ll scratch yer eyes out, Rob MacLaren.” “I’d not take ye. Not a step further than ye wish. I ken ye’re a virgin and wanting to stay that way,” he said earnestly. “But there’s great delight for a man in the giving of pleasure, ye see. And ways around a maidenhead that’ll leave ye still pure when we’re done.” She’d forgotten to breathe as he spoke. Now she sucked in a quick breath. “Shall I pleasure ye, Elspeth?”