Book Of The Month Extract - Chilli Heat
"When her travelling companion lets her down at short notice, Nadia reluctantly agrees to take her recently divorced mother, Valerie, on her gap-year trip to India. However, her mother turns out to be anything but the conservative presence she had feared.
As the two women explore India's most exotic locations, it is Valerie who experiences a sexual reawakening with a succession of lovers and Nadia who is forced to wrestle with her own inhibitions and repressed desires."
Whet your appetite further with this exclusive extract from June's Book Of The Month, the sultry and sexy Chilli Heat.
I haven't smoked in years, but when I hear Nadia start snoring and know that she's finally dropped off, I get up and walk over to the jeep to crash a cigarette. The older camel driver is sitting in the driver's seat; as I climb in to the passenger seat, he motions into the back and I see his little brother asleep there, curled beneath a sheet.
'No sleep?' he says, and I shake my head and gesture around me.
'Too beautiful,' I say, and he seems to understand, smiling and nodding.
For a while, the time it takes to smoke my cigarette, we sit in silence. I think about Charles, wonder what he's doing now, what he thought when he read my note. Did he call me a traitorous bitch or did he, as I suspect is more likely, shrug off my departure, get on the phone to some little friend in his next port of call? Was he sleeping now, or wakeful in some plush hotel suite in another city, taking his dildo out of his case, handing it to his companion with that commanding yet needy gleam to his eyes? Has he even given me a second thought since I've gone?
I glance over at Abhay to find him looking at me. He smiles shyly. There's nothing commanding to his expression, and I realise that's what first turned me on in Charles, the way he decided in a flash what he wanted and set out immediately to get it, brooking no dissension, is exactly what turned me against him in the end. He was calling all the shots and I was his puppet.
I place my hand on Abhay's thigh, lower down towards the knee. I don't want to scare him away, want him to know he can trust me, that I won't push any further if he doesn't want me to. He places his hand over mine, lightly, looking down at it and not at my face, and I feel his fingers trembling. Then he seems to come to a decision.
'Not here,' he says, glancing up at me, head jerking back towards his sleeping brother, and he lets go of my hand while we climb out of the Jeep. Then he walks round the front of it, takes my hand again and leads me over the dunes without a word. For a while we stand kissing, his hands moving lightly over me, flitting over my nipples, erect beneath my flimsy pyjama top, and then I feel an immense need for him inside me and, taking off my top and slipping out of my pyjama bottoms, lower myself to the sand.
'No,' he utters. 'Wait.' I watch as he unties his dhoti and then unfolds it so that it forms a sheet. His thighs are muscled and lean from all the walking and camel-riding; over them rises his cock, bobbing a little, eager for me. I lie down on the dhoti, rub my pussy lips, in a hurry now to feel him within me. It's only been a couple of days, but already I feel deprived, in need of satisfaction beyond the pleasure my own hand could bring me. Abhay slides in to me easily. I raise my buttocks a little, bear downwards to meet his tentative thrusts and welcome him in. In response he slides his hands under my buttocks, lifts them a little higher, then a lot higher, looping them over his shoulders, so that now he's kneeling and I'm up on my shoulders. The position, which I've never tried, allows him to get in really deeply, and also exposes my clitoris to his gaze. He admires it for a moment, then brings one thumb to it, starts brushing it with the pad.
Suddenly he stops, looks to one side, as if he's heard something. For a moment he squints in to the darkness, one finger over his lips, then he shakes his head as if he was imagining things, or as if whatever it was – I don't know what animals might roam this desert at night and I'd rather not spook myself by letting my mind dwell on it too much – is of no import. I take advantage of the hiatus to gradually lower my hips to the ground again and turn over. Feeling more assertive than I ever have in my life, I guide Abhay down, so that he is sitting up, and then I climb aboard him and slot myself down over him. He clutches my buttocks hard as I slide myself up and down his pole, his mouth and tongue on my nipples, kissing, sucking. Then I lean back, my eyes filled with starlight, and, bringing my hand to my clitoris, bring myself to orgasm with him inside me – an act that, in turn, causes him to climax too. As my own carries me away, I sink my teeth in to my hand to avoid screaming out in to the night and waking the others, or drawing the attention of animals to us. Abhay, when he comes, does so open-throated but silently, head thrown back against the dhoti as his whole body convulses against mine.
Afterwards we say nothing. What is there to say? This will never happen again and there's no point in making it out to be anything more than it is. But I already know, as I head back to my makeshift bed on the dune, that I'll never forget my night in the desert and my taciturn but hot-blooded camel driver.