ClaimedbytheNative (4 page)

Navin released my clit, holding me in place, forbidding me
from moving despite the fact I had no energy to stay upright. I wanted to slump
to the mattress in complete exhaustion. His hands on my hips were firm, his
thrusting almost painful. I was trembling, overcome with emotions I could not
explain.

He gave a deep, animalistic groan, pulling out of my pussy
as he came in great, hot bursts across my ass. His fingers dug into my skin.

“My God…” he said after a moment, breaking the lengthy
silence that followed our lovemaking. I felt him shift, moving away from me to
snatch his
mundu
from the floor. He wiped away his cum with the soft
cotton, surprising me with an affectionate kiss to the spot between my shoulder
blades. “Lie down, Rosie.” His voice was as commanding as ever, yet remarkably
tender.

I obeyed, turning to lie against the single pillow on his
bed. I was sated, exhausted from more than the vigorous activity. I felt as
though every ounce of emotional tension I had been carrying around was gone,
leaving me with a weariness I had not earlier been aware of. I looked up at
Navin as he brought a light blanket from a pile I had not noticed before.

He turned to me, covering my still-naked body. He stood,
studying me in silence for what might have been ten seconds or five minutes.
Time was remarkably hard to grasp in the haze of emotions I was feeling. I’d
had no awareness of the changing light, or how the bright early morning had
shifted to dark cloudiness.

“You’re so sad…” Navin said in that uncertain way he
articulated himself in English. He seemed unsure of whether or not his words
were correct. Yet they were. His words were more accurate than he could ever
have imagined.

At the exact moment I opened my mouth to convey this
thought, a rumble of thunder that seemed to rip apart the very earth beneath us
tore across the sky.

There was something about a Kerala thunderstorm that
couldn’t quite be explained. I had not noticed the clouds rolling in, or the
skies darkening to the color of pewter. When the rains came, the drops pummeled
the dried earth, and the smell that followed was delicious. I lay on Navin’s
bed, listening to the angry patter of the rain against the roof of his shack. I
was amazed at the hut’s construction, surprised by the lack of leaking.

Through the open doorway, I watched the water dripping in a
silvery curtain off the edge of the leafy verandah. The air smelled of wet
earth and the unique perfume that came with the disturbance of sticky pollen on
a thousand flowers.

Navin stood against the doorframe, dressed in a fresh
mundu
once more. His arms were folded across his bare chest, his eyes staring to some
point in the far distance. We made no attempt to talk, for the thunder was
deafening, encompassing what I imagined was the whole country in frightful
trembles. I recalled the first time I had experienced a tropical thunderstorm
and how I had been certain the world was coming to an end around me. The
darkening of the skies, the flashes of electric white lightning, the thunder,
all together were truly apocalyptic.

As the rain began to lighten, Navin’s reverie was seemingly
broken.

“Would you like me to go now?” I asked, sitting upright,
pulling the light sheet against my bare breasts. He turned, regarding me with
an easiness I was not expecting. There was a total absence of awkwardness.

“You can stay,” he said with a single-shouldered shrug.
“Would you like some tea?”

I smiled at him. “Yes, please.”

With the same efficiency as before, Navin prepared the
infusion while I sat on his bed, watching. After a moment, when the little
kettle was beginning to boil, he turned to me again.

“I have not…” He paused, looking beyond me as he sought the
words. “Done sex with a stranger before.” His eyes met mine, holding my gaze.
“Only my wife. She died five years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, finding my voice was quiet. He nodded
once. “I have not had sex with a stranger before, either.” I wasn’t sure why it
mattered, but I wanted him to know I was not promiscuous.

Navin smiled and nodded. “
Athe
, I know.” His lips
were beautiful and I felt a tremble of pleasure in knowing they had intimately
explored my body.

The kettle boiled and he poured the water, filling the room
with the now familiar scent. I breathed it in, gratefully accepting the cup he
offered me.

“Are you lonely, living here by yourself?” I turned my head
to the doorway, gesturing to the expanse of rice fields outside. The rain was a
drizzle, but continued nonetheless. “You live far away from anyone else.”

Navin contemplated this, tapping his fingers along the rim
of his own teacup. “Not usually,” he said at last. I froze beneath the weight
of his gaze. “Today I was.”

I understood, then, why he had invited me into the privacy
of his life. He had felt, for a moment, the same desperation I had as I watched
him on the beach. I thought of him stretching, twisting his body by the ocean
as the sun broke over the horizon.

“What were you doing? On the beach.” He had moved with
unimaginable grace, as flexible as a gymnast and as strong as a sensei.

“That is
kulari
,” Navin said, his eyes igniting with
enthusiasm. “Kerala martial arts,” he added in explanation.

“You seem to be very good at it,” I told him, wondering if
the suppleness the art afforded him had impacted how he had made love to me. I
believed it did.

Sipping our tea, we lapsed into silence that wasn’t
uncomfortable. As I drank the unusual concoction, I thought of how I had ended
up here. It was still difficult to fathom that in just two months I had
traversed the length and breadth of this vast country and had, somehow, found
myself in the company of Navin. It was truly remarkable how things turned out,
sometimes.

“You said you came to Kerala to find yourself.” Navin’s
voice brought me back from my musings. “What does this mean? I do not
understand.” For all his strength, his size and his considerable abilities not
only in
kulari
but in lovemaking, there was something so endearing about
how he failed to grasp the intricacies of the English language.

“I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life,” I
explained. In the far distance, another rumble of thunder rolled through the
skies. “I was trapped in London. I was tired of everyone talking about my life,
about Jerald.” I met Navin’s curious gaze. “I almost married Jerald. He…was not
faithful to me.” The man before me nodded, assuring me he understood what I was
trying to explain. “I suppose I came to India because I was running away.”

Navin sat next to me, perching at the edge of the narrow
bed. I should have found his proximity suffocating but instead, I was comforted
by the warmth radiating from his body.

“Is that a…” Navin sighed, clearly irritated by his
inability to find the word. He tapped long, elegant fingers on the fabric of
his
mundu
. “Solution. Is this correct?”

“Yes, it’s correct,” I told him. “No. It’s not a solution.”
I shook my head, sending a cascade of wild curls tumbling over my shoulders.
For a moment, Navin seemed distracted by the vivid russet strands against my
pale skin. He reached out, twisting a spiral around his finger.

“When will you go back?” he asked.

I didn’t know how to answer. Taking a sip of tea, I
shrugged. “I like Kerala.” I really liked him. I was under no illusion that our
union was more than a fleeting moment. One I would never forget, but fleeting
nonetheless. But for now, I didn’t want to think about it ending. In a short
time I would get dressed and depart Navin’s ramshackle home in the middle of
Kannur. For now, I was happy to forget.

“We can travel the whole world,” Navin said, “and never run
away from problems.”

I smiled at his wisdom. “Have you ever left India?” I asked,
noticing my cup was empty.

Navin was somber as he shook his head. “I have never been
outside of Kannur,” he told me.

“I guess you have never wanted to run away before.” I
watched as he turned his head, peering through the doorway. Following his gaze,
I saw two glorious lime-green parakeets perched on the edge of a palm tree.
With a playful squawk, the birds spread their bright wings and took flight,
disappearing into the brightening sky.

Navin did not reply.

“I suppose I will have to go home eventually,” I said. “I’ll
have to face the music.” Navin frowned, his dark brows drawing together. I
wished I could communicate in his language, wished I could speak those lovely,
flowing words. “I mean I must go home and deal with the choices I have made.”

It surprised me when he leaned closer, taking my chin
between his thumb and forefinger. The scent of him was one I knew I would never
forget. Licorice eyes dropped to my lips, searching the smallest movement of my
mouth, reading me in ways I could not explain. “I have wanted to run away many
times,” he said. “Today I was able to run away with you, without leaving my
home.”

I wasn’t sure why, but his words made my eyes fill with a
wash of tears I had not expected. I realized then that Navin was as lost as I
was, searching for some meaning in his life. If only for today, we had found
kindred spirits in each other.

He kissed me then, a tentative kiss that was so unlike the
fiery, passionate man he had been earlier.

“I must tend to the field,” Navin told me. I knew our brief
encounter was drawing to a close. He had a job to do, a duty to complete and I
had monopolized all his time today. As much as I wanted to lie upon his bed for
the remainder of the day, luxuriating in the feel of his skin and the closeness
of his body, I knew it was going to end.

Navin stood, his
mundu
falling down over his long
legs.

“I can walk you back,” he said, kneeling to retrieve my
strewn clothes.

“No, it’s all right,” I insisted, setting aside the empty
teacup to redress. “I can find my way.”

I was clothed in a matter of moments, preparing to leave the
comforting haven of Navin’s home. I swept my eyes across the single room, and
all his belongings. I noticed the “Om” medallion on the wall again.

I reached for my satchel and crossed the room to the door.
Navin took my wrist in his hand, his grasp firm. I paused, turning to face him.
His gaze was imploring, searching my face as he sought for the words. He seemed
to give up on articulating himself in English and instead spoke in rapid,
lyrical Malayalam. The words became garbled, flowing in incomprehensible
syllables. I wished desperately that I could understand him, for even in this
foreign language, Navin’s words sounded like poetry. He stopped, bending his
head to peer meaningfully into my eyes, urging me to understand. “
Nanni
,”
he said at last.

I frowned. “You’re welcome,” I replied, not sure what he was
thanking me for.

Navin kissed me again, hard and with an air of finality. Our
union had officially come to a close.

Taking my hand, he led me down the wooden steps and into the
paddy field. We crossed the strip of wet grass between the plantations, to the
edge of the fields where the road led back into town. He stopped, his bare feet
sinking into the marshy ground. I stood before him, thinking again that there was
something inexplicably sexy about him.

“Goodbye, Navin.” I stepped off the grassy strip onto the
road. The ground was wet, the potholes filled with muddy rainwater. The air was
alive with renewed freshness, reflecting my mood. Still, there was something melancholy
about the moment.

“Perhaps,” Navin replied. His smile was knowing, leaving me
with some sense of hope I might one day meet the mysterious man again. Until
then, I would have to rely upon my memories of the morning we spent in a
paddy-field shack.

“Perhaps,” I agreed, smiling back.

“You must not go with anyone else in India,” Navin told me,
his voice firm and admonishing. “It’s dangerous.” His kindness touched me. I
felt more loved by this absolute stranger than I ever had by Jerald or any man
before him.

“I won’t,” I promised.

Navin nodded and turned, retracing his steps across the
field. I watched his back, willing myself to move. As I moved along the road,
heading back toward the town I had left earlier, I longed to look back for a
last glimpse of the man who had given me a sense of renewed hope. I reached an
ancient, imposing banyan tree before giving in to my urge. Stopping beneath the
cool oasis of the leafy canopy, I turned and shaded my eyes against the
sunlight.

Navin was a silhouette in the field, tending to two brutish
oxen I had not noticed before. He patted the thick hide of one, a beautiful and
strong figure in the distance. I took a deep breath, counted to ten and forced
myself to turn away.

As I walked along the lonely lane, I did not look back.

Rea Thomas lives in Northern Ireland, and finds the myths
and legends of her home country often fuel her wild imagination. She loves
foreign film, travel, languages and cricket…and a really good cup of tea!

Rea welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website
and email addresses on her
author
bio page
at
www.ellorascave.com
.

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Pleasure
Express

Stolen
Nights

Ellora’s Cave Publishing

www.ellorascave.com

Claimed by the Native

ISBN 9781419946745

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Claimed by the Native Copyright © 2013 Rea Thomas

Edited by Grace Bradley

Cover design by Syneca

Cover photography by shutterstock.com

Electronic book publication November 2013

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