Page 35 of Under the Arabian Sky

“I am, but I need to mend her before the sedative wears off. You can help me if you like.”

“Sure,” I replied.

Despite the fact that I would have loved to crawl straight into bed after our meal, I would have felt bad leaving Tariq up to do his work while I snuggled up on my pull-out sofa. Besides, I was beginning to find myself yearning for his company more and more, no matter how exhausted I felt.

“I’d love to see you at work,” I added.

“Good. Then let’s finish here and scrub up.”

* * *

There was no doubting that the falcon was an impressive creature. But looking at her up closely, laying there on the operating table, motionless in her sedated condition, the falcon was nothing short of magnificent.

Her beak was noble like the nose on a Roman statue.

Her talons were long and sharp like the fangs on a sabretooth tiger.

And her wings, now slightly outstretched, gave an indication of her wingspan and true power.

I imagined this was indeed a creature who, in the natural order of things, demanded respect; a queen of her domain who flew high over the sandy deserts, watching her own shadow sail over the yellow dunes, surveying the land that was hers for as far as her keen eyes could see.

But it wasn’t the sight of the bird that had set my heart racing moments earlier.

It was the way that Tariq had helped me scrub in preparation for the simple medical procedure he was about to perform.

At a sink in his operating room, he had turned on the tap and squirted liquid soap into my palm and then his own from a dispenser bottle. “May I show you how to do this properly?”

I nodded, the drumbeat in my chest already picking up tempo.

With a confidence that I was learning to expect from him, Tariq moved in behind me… close. He pressed his torso against my back, then reaching around me with both arms he took my hands in his.

Trying not to tremble, I let my arms go limp, my hands turning to putty in his.

“First you wet your hands and work up a nice, thick lather. Then you start by scrubbing each individual finger. You scrub the side of the finger, then between each finger.”

As he spoke I felt the warmth of his breath against the back of my neck.

I felt his biceps, now pressed against mine, flex and flinch as he worked up an even thicker lather.

I tried to stem the shudder of my own breathing, but it was impossible. I knew he felt me quivering.

“Wash the back and the front of each hand, then use your fingertips to scrub the palms. When you think you’re almost finished, you’re only halfway there.”

He pressed himself harder against me and I could feel the stiffness of his cock push against my arse.

Momentarily he took one hand away from mine and reached for a small box above the sink. From it he retrieved a small nail pick.

“Use the pick to clean under each nail…”

With the utmost care, he gently inserted the pick under my nails, one at a time, ever so slowly removing the sands of the desert from between the skin and my nail and causing my breathing to tremor even more.

I closed my eyes, and for a moment the sound of his voice and the running water faded away… replaced by the song of his prayer, drifting across the dunes.

I felt my weary knees begin to weaken, and Tariq’s arms held me up.

I felt my head roll backward, and before I knew it the back of my head was resting on his shoulder.

I felt him press his lips against my neck… and heard the sweet sound of a kiss, small and soft.

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