This is the first sensual scene in WINGS OF FIRE, page 27 in the print version. In this scene, Antony and Parisa are separated by thousands of miles on Second Earth and can’t communicate telepathically. Parisa is able to open her ‘voyeur window’ and see Antony, but he can’t see her or hear her or receive her thoughts. Yet they engage sexually anyway, and this is how it unfolds…
So it was, that on the third day following Parisa’s disappearance and because Havily had brought tangerines into the villa, Medichi had pleasured himself. And for whatever reasons, it was at that same moment that Parisa had found him with her voyeur’s window. But only when he’d released, his fist pumping hard, had he heard her beautiful voice in his head, a soft melodic, Antony. Several times before the abduction, he thought he’d heard her voice in his head, the emergence of her telepathic ability. So, when he heard the sound again, he knew he had not been mistaken, he’d heard her voice and yes, she was alive.
He’d rejoiced. He’d cried out. He’d wept because that’s when he’d felt her presence, very faint but very real and he knew she was still alive. He’d spoken to her for an hour afterward, even though she still couldn’t communicate mind-to-mind with him. He’d talked and talked about all that they were doing to try to find her, he encouraged her to stay alive, he promised her he’d never stop looking for her. He’d only stopped talking when he felt her drift away and finally end the communication.
From that moment until now, he’d repeated the ritual with her every morning after not just battling through the night but returning from hunting down rogue death vampires as well. He would return to the villa, shower, and ready himself to meet his woman.
Right now, with the towel looped over his lap, only one question rested in his mind; would he hear her voice, feel her presence today? In other words, was his woman still alive?
Jesus, his fingers trembled around the small silver bowl he held in his hands. In the bowl, nine small Satsuma tangerines were piled on top of each other, tempting him with the forbidden as though he stared not at a tangy citrus fruit imported from India Two, but the original apple from the Garden of Eden.
Time to get on with his morning ritual. He’d never been this man, to limit himself strictly to the use of his fist. If he needed a fuck, he went out and got one. He’d worn out a lot of velvet in the booths at the Blood and Bite, getting the release he needed. Mortal women flocked to the vampire club every night and kept the warriors of Second Earth satisfied; both the Militia Warriors and the Warriors of the Blood. The club had been designed just for that purpose and had even been sanctioned by Madame Endelle, the Supreme High Administrator of all Second Earth. But from the moment he’d met Parisa, the club had lost all interest for him.
So here he was, craving only the scent of tangerines and the voice of his woman in his head one more time. Parisa was the rich fruit that he craved and this absurd bowl of citrus was a pale substitute for her. But oh how each breath he took made him feel close to her as he held one of the tangerines to his nose and dragged air through his nostrils.
He set the bowl on his nightstand. And holding one tangerine in his hand, he plunged his thumb hard into the center, breaking the loose skin apart. He pulled the skin back. Juice flowed. He kept peeling until the wedges were exposed. He thrust his thumb into the middle once more, breaking up the wedges. More juice flowed.
He shuddered. The smell penetrated his brain and his eyes rolled back in his head. Yes, he was hard. What else would he be? From the moment he had first caught Parisa’s scent, the one thing he could count on was a fierce demanding erection when she was near.
The hairs on the nape of his neck rose and relief poured through him.
Now he felt her. Yes. He closed his eyes. He could tell she was near, just a strange rippling vibration along his back, now across his shoulders, now over his neck. Yes, she was here.
The terrible tension inside his chest, the frightful worry that she was dead, eased within him. For the first time in twenty-four hours he could breathe.
“I’m here,” he said aloud. “I’m ready for you.”
He put his mouth to the tangerine, suckled the juice, and groaned.
*** *** ***
Parisa’s heart ached, a low throb deep in her chest, a pain that had become so familiar it was now a comfort.
She still lay on her side, on her large four-poster bed, the window of her preternatural voyeurism open.
She could see Antony now. Like a good director, she could move her window to any position she desired. Tonight, thirteen-plus hours ahead of him, she panned her vision so that she could face him, as though she was standing right in front of him.
She drew a ragged breath as though her throat had shriveled. Yes, he was handsome since he had strong cheekbones and a sharp angled jaw, but to her he would always be beautiful. His hair was black, thick, straight and long, almost to his waist now. He’d showered and his hair was damp, even dripping in spots. He took long, steaming showers after a night of battle. Many times she arrived early enough that she would watch him in the shower. He was lean and muscular, all warrior.
Yes, so beautiful.
It was morning for him, night for her, which meant they were both heading to bed at the same moment in real time. She saw his suffering and she knew just how much their separation had cost him. What he couldn’t know was that he had been her salvation, her tether to sanity, while held in this absurd house in Burma so far away from the dry desert air of Phoenix. But thanks to her gift, her preternatural voyeurism, she was only inches away from him.
He’d begun the ritual they shared every morning-night. She’d finally had the courage not just to voyeur him and look at him, but to keep her voyeur’s window open and really be with him. She had watched him pleasure himself, making use of a tangerine, knowing that for him she carried the scent of tangerines. For her, he was a rich sage but it wasn’t a spice used much in this part of the world so he had the advantage of her. He could savor a tangerine and believe she was close. Her choices were ginger, chili, turmeric, coriander but no sage.
Of course, she had the advantage of being able to see him. She could hardly complain.
So here she was and she moved closer, until she was a few inches from his face. She watched his tongue nestle within the tangerine and she could hear the small sucking noises he made. She knew that he was imagining his tongue inside her body. He’d told her that as well. Desire was too small a word for what she felt for this man, this warrior. She would be the tangerine for him and he could devour her, take her in his mouth and swallow her down.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as her need for him grew, her thighs trembling. She had to keep her voice quiet otherwise the servants would descend on her demanding to know what was wrong with her.
She leaned closer and kissed the air an inch or two away from. He groaned, as though feeling how close she was. She watched his hand glide lower, sliding down his chest. She pulled the window back to watch. His abs were rippled, taut, rolling hard mounds she wanted to touch, to lick, to savor. His forefinger touched the narrow erotic line of hair that led down. Lower. Lower.
In her mind she spoke to him, Yes, touch yourself for me. I’m here. I want you to know pleasure. Antony, hear me.
His groans thickened the air. With one hand he held the tangerine to his mouth, his tongue working feverishly. With his other hand he held himself in a firm grip, pumping now. His hips moved, jerking forward.
She panted now and the core of her spasmed. She rolled onto her stomach and slid her hand between her legs. She pushed, pulled, pressed. Her hips bucked off the mattress as she watched him. His groans were loud in her ears. She could tell he was close. He opened his mouth and the groan turned to a shout as he came.
She came with him, the core of her body rippling and tugging, streaking pleasure up through her tender flesh. She imagined him inside her and the sensation intensified. She withheld the gasps and moans that wanted to erupt past her lips for fear the servants in the hallway would hear her. Antony. Antony, bowled from her mind and sped along the telepathic highway.
All movement on his bed ceased, as it always did just at this moment. “I hear you,” he said aloud to the room. “You said, Antony, Antony. Twice tonight. I feel you near me, Parisa. I know you’re here and I know you’re alive. Thank God.”
Antony, she cried out with her mind. More tears slipped down her cheeks. She shifted back onto her side still looking at him. I’m here, she sent. I’m here. If only her telepathy would improve. At least he’d heard his name twice. That was something. Not much, but something.
“Parisa, I have a piece of information about you, but getting some usable results from the grid might take a few days. I found a rogue death vampire in northern Arizona, Mortal Earth this morning. He knew Rith. He was connected with the underbelly of Mortal Earth rogue life and he knew of you. I searched his memories and discovered that you were in Burma on Second Earth. Carla’s already moved Central’s grid in place. We know your signature doesn’t show up, so we’re hunting for an anomaly, anything that seems out of the ordinary. Again, it will take a few days and I swear to you I’d dematerialize to Burma and start hunting for you myself but the damn place is as big as Texas.”
She heard his frustration but her mind whirled with the possibility that Central could locate her in a day or two, maybe three. Oh…God…yes!
“If only you could communicate better telepathically. Can you try? Please try. I heard my name twice tonight. That has to mean something.”
Her own frustration rose until she was kneeling in bed, beating her fists against her pillows. Had she tried? Only a thousand times. Of course I’ve tried, she sent.
“You can do this. I know you can. If I can feel your presence like this, I know you can talk to me.” He flopped back on the bed and shifted his hips to bring his legs straight out in front of him. His cock lay half-thickened on his groin. He was very big and so damn beautiful. She watched tears fill his eyes, spill over, then run down the sides of his face and into his long warrior hair. She moved in close and pretended to touch his hair, run her fingers through it.
“The minute we find an anomaly, I will come for you. We’ll all come for you. All the brothers.”
I’m near Mandalay, she sent, but she knew it was useless. She had tried a hundred different ways to communicate but all that he’d ever been able to hear was his name at a moment of ecstasy. Why couldn’t he hear her any other time? Why could he only receive a telepathic communication from her at the moment of her release?
She had tried different locations as well, moving from room to room while she called his name, changing the time of day, the time of night, beneath the tamarind tree, away from the tree, shouting the words in her head, then calling them softly, but nothing had worked. When she opened her voyeur’s window, that strange preternatural gift she possessed, she could find him anywhere. She just couldn’t communicate her thoughts to him.
He slid his hands behind his head, his gaze fixed somewhere on the ceiling. “I love that you’re here with me,” he whispered. “And I can feel you near.”
Good. I’m here.
“Do I disgust you? Please understand, it’s the only time I can hear your voice. I wouldn’t do this otherwise.”
You could never disgust me. I know you, Antony. I’ve listened to your warrior brothers as well. They speak of you with such respect and they turn to you for advice, for your approval. I love your kindness and that you’ve never stopped searching for me.
It was almost a conversation.