Black Gold series
Horribly burned during the first Gulf War, Leila al Sinan lives behind the veil, longing for a taste of the pleasure the loss of her beauty and her husband have long denied.
Imprisoned in an Iraqi jail, Jamil al Hassan has been whipped, beaten and used for eleven years. He'll do anything to escape his sadistic jailer Dubaq, Leila's brother-by-marriage. Anything, even give in to Leila's seduction.
Reader Advisory: May not be for the weak of heart due to mention of off-scene torture practices.
Publisher's Note: This story originally appeared in the Ellora's Cave anthology Captured.
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November 13, 2009
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Excerpt from Entrapped by Ann Jacobs
Tonight the light in the bunker was brighter. Jamil was lying as Dubaq had said he would be, chained to his cot. His position was the same as it had been the night before, except that now he did not have the iron collar clamped about his neck.
Her mouth watered at the sight of his satiny golden skin, his muscular torso and the massive organ that for the coming days was hers to enjoy. Already half hard as though anticipating her arrival, his lingam invited her to taste him, learn whether it was as hot and silky as it looked rising up from his freshly denuded scrotal sac.
Allah! He was magnificent.
When he met her gaze, he smiled as though he looked forward to having her use his lingam for her pleasure. When she felt her facial muscles contract, she realized that despite herself she had smiled back at him.
Her fingers knotted in the fabric of her tunic, and she began to lift it off.
No. She could not bear to watch his gaze turn cold, his handsome face contort into a mask of disgust. Leila let the tunic drop to the floor again as she approached her helpless love slave.
"Please. I would look upon you, houri."
He sounded so sincere, she almost believed him. Almost. "Silence. This is about my pleasure, not yours."
Sitting on the edge of the cot, her outer thigh pressed against his side, she uncapped a vial of fragrant oil laced with the fruit enzymes that would inhibit the regrowth of hair on the prisoner's magnificent body.
The heady scent of apricots, spiced with cinnamon and cloves and cardamom, filled her nostrils when she poured some of the oil onto her hands. Her fingers tingled at their initial contact with the smooth, supple skin that stretched over Jamil's hard-muscled chest.
Those muscles rippled when she slid her oiled hands over them, around small coppery nipples that puckered against her fingertips. Sleek, like heavy satin and warm, sweet cream, his skin absorbed the oil, taking on a golden glow in the light from harsh incandescent fixtures.
When she moved lower, his lingam came to full attention. Like the petals of a lotus on the riverbank, it unfurled, stretching and hardening as it rose over his belly. He moaned then strained against his wrist restraints as though he wanted to touch her too.