Deities of Deceit

Chapter Forty

Yarima Abubakar | Forty
BEAUTY AND THE SHEETS
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"Clear! Clear!" the royal guards shouted, waving their hands at secretaries, scholars, lawmakers, and bureaucratic staffers routinely going about their day in the hallways of the palace as we raced to the lifts. We were on the fifth floor, seventy-nine floors away from Nimah's bed chamber.

Nimah weighed the same as a feather in my arms, yet each stride was a struggle to survive. His sudden sickness had made him delirious in seconds, he wriggled in my arms and mumbled words I could not understand, however, the difficulty was with his hands.

They went everywhere he could reach, sliding under my blouse, across my chest, into my hair, my neck, my cheek, my lips. His touch was like venom, spreading through my blood with a striking heat, strong enough to put in me a constant state of uneasiness. It mattered little how many times I moved my face away, his hands always found their way back to my skin in need, or search of something.

Three royal guards stood with us on the lift as we ascended, his moans and cries of plea filling the silence as my eyes trained forward, away from his. I had caught a glimpse of how sultry his lashes became as sweat soaked them, and willed myself into keeping my eyes straight ahead. The rush that traveled through me the first time felt like a heat wave and I was determined to make sure it never happened again.

"Where is the royal healer!" I barked at Effiong who stood waiting as we departed the lift.

"On his way, Your Highness," Effiong replied, breaking into hurried steps to Nimah's bed chambers.

Effiong hurried to lift the blankets once we made our way through, servants zapping here and there to pull the curtains apart and fill his bath.

"No no no," Nimah cried, holding onto me when I tried to move away, "don't leave me," he pleaded.

"The healer will be here any moment," I said, moving his sweat-soaked hair away from his forehead. "Just hold on, I will hurry your bath."

"No, stay, please." His hands pulled mine to his cheek. "You feel so nice." He smiled a little and I swallowed, turning away from his eyes.

He was too out of it, too sunken into unknown depths and I knew this to be true, I could not hold him accountable for the words he spoke, and yet my cheeks flushed at his words. Words that were not truly his. His hands slid under my blouse, softly brushing against my waist, and I shivered backward. "Yarima..." he muttered between soft breaths.

Without thinking, my eyes drifted back to his. Nimah barely ever look at me, let alone say my name, and in such a dangerously mellow voice, with sweet sultriness, as if to soothe the heat wave his touches triggered. His fingers crawled to my chest as quiet whimpers escaped him, squeezing and pressing where he could, as he bit down on his red wet lips. They continued until they were once again at my lips, softly caressing.

"Your name is as soothing, do you know that, gorgeous?" He smirked. He spoke weakly, but his voice was vibrant and firm, resonating deeply inside me. "And your hair..." He twirled a single loc of my hair around his finger. "I think about touching it, a lot. Braiding your locs together."

My breath hitched, "Nimah..."

"I think about your hands on me... Like that night, at the ball. You touched me... here." He was guiding my hand to his waist

"What?" asked quietly, blinking.

"Touch me that way again. Touch me like that all over." He rubbed my hand all over his waist. "So warm... and nice..." He whimpered, pulling me closer.