Mate Marks: Thirst

Mate Marks: Thirst
Kate Hill
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2009 Kate Hill

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In a time before recorded history, some with otherworldly powers mastered a spell that guided destined mates to each other. Though few can now wield this ancient power, some masters of the art still exist. Those bound by mate marks cannot resist their magical pull, but the marks can only bind souls that are meant to be joined.

In her school days, Malika had been into gymnastics. She enjoyed being strong and flexible and she loved discipline. Unfortunately, the time came when she had to choose between sports and study. She'd pursued her academic career with sports on the side, so she'd given up the chance to become an Olympic gymnast.

Yet it didn't feel the least bit strange to her that so many years later she was still bouncing around her in-home gym. Her technique was still good, not Olympic class, but damn close. And of course she was a lot older.

Malika rose to a perfect handstand, then performed a series of flips across the mats.

"Not bad for thirty-five." She grinned.

She walked to the window and glanced out at her woodsy backyard. It was almost time for her to leave for the museum. A new shipment was scheduled to arrive today and she was so excited about it that she had scarcely slept last night.

Last week she had been contacted by a lawyer employed by a descendant of the little known Spanish explorer Arias Del Rio. For some inexplicable reason, Malika had always been drawn to that particular historical figure. She'd written several papers about him and had always wished for more information about his life. So little had been recorded about him and his exploits.

It had been like a dream come true when the lawyer had informed her that Del Rio's last blood descendant wished to donate several of the explorer's belongings to the museum. She hadn't imagined any relative of Del Rio would know about her little, off-the-beaten-path museum. Few people in New England knew about it, let alone Spain.

Malika strode toward a pair of balance beams and performed one of her favorite stretches -- a split across both beams. She held the position, concentrating on her breathing. Her eyes closed, and she relaxed completely -- strange considering this wasn't the most comfortable position in the world.

A hint of fear and arousal shot through her when she felt the strangest sensation between her legs, like a man's warm breath fanning her labia. She drew a deep breath and her heartbeat quickened. A warm, wet tongue tickled her delicate folds then slowly thrust into her pussy. The split left her completely exposed and though she hadn't been thinking about sex when she'd mounted the balance beams, her fantasies had quickly taken over. Only this didn't feel like a fantasy. The sensations were far too real.

That skilled tongue withdrew from her pussy and trailed along the side of her clit. The tip of it teased the sensitive nub, making the flesh ache.

Malika's pulse raced and her nipples tingled. She forced her eyes open and noticed the entire room seemed blurry, except for her immediate area. It was as if she was in a dream. Was it possible that she was still asleep in her room and this was purely a figment of her imagination? It had to be. She should have been terrified, but in this almost drugged state, engulfed by so much raw pleasure, she only cared about one thing. She wanted these fantasy lips and tongue to push her over the edge. The orgasm built inside her with every swipe of that wet, velvety tongue.

Glancing down, her heart skipped a beat. Her red leggings and exercise bra had vanished and there was a man seated beneath her. She couldn't see him very clearly, but made out broad, sleekly-muscled shoulders and a mass of wavy hair the color of milk chocolate. His hands caressed her widely-stretched legs, his fingertips almost tickling her inner thighs.

Malika quivered with desire and wondered how much longer she could hold this position. His lips tugged at her clit, then his tongue swept over it again. Those hands reached up farther and stroked the tops of her smooth, muscular legs. He must have felt her trembling and there was no way he could miss how hot and wet she was. Again his tongue thrust into her pussy, and her flesh rippled around it, clenching and unclenching like the muscles in her belly.

"Oh, damn," Malika panted, wobbling a bit in her precarious position, yet she didn't want to move for fear of shattering this unbelievable fantasy.

Again she glanced down, and this time the man's eyes came into view. They were wide-set and the color of a mountain lake on a sunny day -- a beautiful, mysterious blue. They burned with lust and something more that Malika couldn't quite place, yet it excited her beyond belief.

Then he closed those gorgeous eyes. Long, dark lashes cast shadows on his cheeks as he continued lapping her. Malika was once again swept away by the passionate strokes of his tongue.

She cried out sharply when he began licking her clit relentlessly. There was no stopping it now. His strong hands held her trembling thighs as he drove her into a mind-shattering climax.

"Oh, lord!" she moaned. "Oh my! Oh yeah. Ohhh!"

With all her years of study she could have thought of something better to say, but right now she was lucky she could still talk at all. The delicate flesh of her pussy, perineum and ass pulsed and her entire body shook with the most intense orgasm she'd ever experienced.

In the midst of it she tumbled to the mat and landed with a grunt.

For several moments she lay panting, her eyes closed and every muscle in her body relaxed.

Now this was the way to work out.

A smile tugged at her lips, then faded. Her eyes flew open and she glanced around the gym. Everything was clear again, and that dreamlike sensation had faded along with her sexy, blue-eyed lover. Glancing down, she saw that her exercise bra and leggings were back. Obviously she'd been daydreaming, though the warm dampness and last telltale pulsations between her legs told her that the orgasm had been quite real.

"Damn," she whispered, rubbing her hands over her sweaty face.

There was something horribly wrong with her. There had to be. Zoning out like this just wasn't normal.

Usually she experienced this kind of sexual fantasy in dreams, but over the past few weeks she'd been undergoing them while fully awake.

She'd mentioned it to Clara, her close friend and assistant at the museum. Clara had suggested that Malika might be lonely. She did spend almost all her time at the museum and had never been much for dating. When had she ever had the time? As a teen and young adult, when other girls were going out with friends, Malika adhered to a carefully planned schedule of gymnastics and study. In high school and college, when it came to honors, her name was at the top of every list. Yet she wasn't trying to prove anything to anyone except herself. She enjoyed her studies, particularly history. Crazy as it seemed, she felt closer to the past than she did to the present.

Malika wasn't hiding herself away at the museum, but immersing herself in the one thing she loved above all others.

Yet maybe Clara was partially right. Sometimes Malika wished for someone who shared her interest in history, and she didn't mean another woman like Clara or a grandfather figure like Josh. There were times, especially of late, when Malika wanted an M-A-N.

Sighing, she closed her eyes and could almost feel her fantasy lover's mouth on her again. A shiver darted through her, partially from arousal and partially from fear.

Was she going crazy?

If she was, then she guessed there were worse ways to do it. At least she'd go down with a gorgeous, blue-eyed expert in cunnilingus between her legs and a smile on her lips.

* * *

Around six o'clock that night, Malika stood in a private room at the museum, unpacking trunks from Spain. She'd hoped to spend the entire day with Arias Del Rio's belongings, but other issues had interrupted her and she still had lots of boxes to go through. One in particular she'd been saving. It was a beautifully carved sarcophagus. She wondered where Del Rio had gotten it, as it appeared to be of Chinese origins, and she had never read anything about Del Rio traveling to the Far East. Of course so little was written about his life that he could have gone there. She hoped that within these boxes she'd find some written records of his life.

At the moment she was sorting through a variety of antique swords while waiting for Clara, who had gone to find the museum's two maintenance workers. By the size and weight of the sarcophagus, all four would be needed to open it.

"Here we are, Malika," Clara said, stepping into the room, John and Isaac at her heels. They were a father-son team, both tall, redheaded and sturdily-built. John was around forty years old and very well preserved, if you like the biker type. Isaac was eighteen, lankier than his dad but with the same denim and leather, long-haired style.

Clara, on the other hand, was just over five feet, wore a plain tan pants suit and kept her mousy hair in a twist behind her head. Thick glasses with dark brown frames rested upon her snubbed nose. She reminded Malika of a schoolteacher and the maintenance guys her bad boy students.

"All right. I know this thing looks indestructible, but we need to be really careful, guys," Malika said.

"What do you think is in there?" Isaac asked. "Looks like a coffin to me."

"Technically, that's what it is," Malika told him. "But don't look so worried. I seriously doubt there's anything in there at all. Del Rio probably took it back with him from a voyage to the Far East."

"If you say so," John said. He and Isaac glanced at each other and shrugged.

Moments later, all four grunted and strained as they pushed aside the heavy lid.

"Uh... uh... uh," stammered Isaac who was near the end of the sarcophagus.

"What's wrong?" Clara demanded.

"D... d... dead guy," Isaac whispered, pointing inside.

Not that he needed to tell them. By now all four were staring at the contents of the stone box. At first everyone stood, speechless, except for Clara who kept repeating, "Oh my lord. Oh my lord. Oh my lord" until Malika elbowed her in the ribs.

"I thought you said it was empty?" John demanded.

"How was I supposed to know?" Malika snapped. Now that the initial shock had worn off, adrenaline kicked in. Her heart pounded and her mouth went dry. She wasn't sure if it was a result of having a dead body in her museum or because the corpse was so damn handsome.

Thick brown hair draped shoulders as broad as the sarcophagus was wide. He had rather fine features, except for that square, ultra-masculine jaw. His nose was long and well-shaped, and his lips were just as fine. Those thick, dark eyelashes had to be about two inches long. Sure, he was on the pale side even for a white guy, but he was dead after all.

Shit, Malika, that's sick! You're ogling a dead man?