A spicy, pleasant odor wafted into Bridget’s nostrils, rousing her. Still groggy, she urged her eyes open, then squeaked in alarm. The strange man knelt next to her, close enough that she could see his amber irises flecked with gold. His mouth was set in a line, his brow slightly furrowed.
Bridget looked around, uncertain, at first, about where she was. Then she remembered. She had slid down against the sandy wall, sitting with her legs stretched out in front of her. Clutching the knife handle, she jerked it up so the sharp blade tip was a few inches from the man’s neck. “Get back.”
He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. Then he smiled.
“You’re afraid.” His voice had a deep bass timbre that seemed to rise directly from his chest.
Bridget’s stomach flipped. The cadence of his voice was slow and confident, as though he sensed no threat from her. “You’re damn right. Now get back.”
“I’m not going to hurt you. I cannot. But I must help you.” He lifted a hand, and before Bridget could protest, laid it over the wound on her thigh. Bridget gasped. His fingers, cool and smooth, kneaded over the congealed blood, rhythmically tracking back and forth against the sensitive skin of her thigh, reaching under the hem of her cargo shorts and beyond the top of the laceration.
Bridget’s head buzzed. Her mind told her to fight back, flee, resist, do something, but she couldn’t. Paralyzed, as though in a dream, Bridget’s body resisted her urge to move. A heated tingling surged from the stranger’s fingers. He rubbed her leg in a spiral motion, moving upward into the tissue paper skin at the crease of her leg. The tip of his long middle finger skimmed against the cotton crotch of her panties. She drew a sharp intake of breath.
The stranger looked at her, his gaze steady on her face. His eyes creased slightly at the corners. He continued to massage Bridget’s thigh. The burning from the gash was replaced by a vibrating quiver that spread up from her leg, through the muscles of her vagina and into her belly.
“Unh.” Bridget heard the sound from her own mouth as though from far away. Her head fell back against the wall as the stranger reached up further through the loose cuff of her shorts. The heel of his hand rubbed against the wound, but his fingers slipped under the elastic of her panties and teased at her lips.
Bridget’s leg twitched. She realized she could move now, the hypnotic trance lifting. But pleasure overcame common sense. A deep relaxation took hold of Bridget, numbing her reactions. She closed her eyes, still not convinced the episode was occurring anywhere but inside her mind.
I’ll just rest for a minute.
The stranger’s ministrations were gentle and reassuring as though he knew what he was doing. Bridget’s leg no longer throbbed with pain. Tingling shot along her nerve endings with each pulse of his touch.
The stranger moved his fingers deeper and encountered Bridget’s glossy slickness. Bridget’s head snapped forward at the realization that her body was ready to succumb to this strange man. She stared into his strange golden eyes. He said nothing, but kept his hand on her.
A flush of alarm and desire washed over her. I can’t do this. Bridget pushed on his shoulders with all the energy she could muster. He was immovable. She threw herself sideways, away from him, and clambered to her feet. He remained crouched where he was, between Bridget and the only exit.
An electric prickling flowed along Bridget’s injured leg, and she held out her hand in signal for the stranger to stay back. She bent her head over her leg, running her hand up and down the spot where the laceration had been. The skin was completely smooth, the trail of blood down her leg hardening to a crust. It couldn’t be! The only remnant of his touch was satiny warmth deep inside her belly and radiating down both legs.
Bridget cursed under her breath. I let my guard down. She wasn’t dealing with some unexpected, albeit passionate, encounter. This guy was some sort of supernatural presence. Bridget’s guard went into overdrive. She whipped her head up and stared directly at the golden-eyed stranger. He hadn’t moved. “What the hell? What kind of man are you?”
He rose to his full height in one fluid movement.
Bridget straightened and fisted her hands in front of her. She took two more steps back so she was about two yards away from him. “Stay where you are.”
“To answer your question, I am not a man.” His voice held no inflection of emotion, and there was a slight clip to his words. “I am jinni.”