Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (40 page)

He came to her, stroked her creamy shoulders, then held
her at arm's length. 'Being with you is repayment enough,' he
said softly.

She did not reply, and he reached into his jacket pocket.

'I want you to wear this while I make love to you,' he said
softly.

She looked down at his hand and gasped. He was holding a
necklace of tiny bronze freshwater pearls with a huge chalced
ony clasp. She moved her surprised gaze up to his eyes.

'Wear them while we make love at least,' he urged softly.
'It would please me.'

For a moment she just stood there; then she turned around and held her head high, exposing her neck. She could feel him
draping the pearls around her throat, then clasping them shut.

'Ouch!' she exclaimed. 'They're so tight I can scarcely
breathe!'

His breath was a whisper against her ear. 'Just the way I
like it,' he said, giving the clasp a slight tug.

The pearls dug into her throat and her hand flew up to tug
the necklace forward. She gasped for breath.

'You are very beautiful,' he said. 'Pearls suit you.' Then she
felt his hand under her chin, gently turning her around and
lifting her face to his. She stared deep into his eyes as his lips
descended to hers.

She felt rooted to the carpet, afraid to encourage him, afraid
to flee. Her heart was pounding. She had never gone to bed
with a man behind Schmarya's back, and never been to bed
with any other man. Not even with her lawful husband, his brother. But now I must, she thought. I must please Vaslav.
He's used his power for Schmarya to escape the clutches of
the Okhrana.

She forced her lips to part, forced her mouth to his, accept
ing his long soft kiss.

'Senda, how I want you,' he breathed softly, his words muf
fled by her lips.

She closed her eyes against the lull of his voice, letting it lap
at the edges of her consciousness.

'I have waited so long for this moment. At last you are
mine.' He kissed her deeper, more urgently, his mouth clamp
ing down on hers in a fury of possessive passion, his tongue
probing hers, tasting her mouth, her smooth pearly teeth.

For a moment she let herself succumb. Then her eyes flew
open.

No!
something inside her screamed suddenly as he pressed
his hips against hers. Even through the restricting fabric of his
trousers and multitudinous folds of her silk gown she could
feel his swelling hardness pressing against her. The hardness
which for Schmarya would be forever futile
...
at least for its
biological purpose, she couldn't help thinking.

'I need you so much,' he murmured, 'so very much . . .'

I don't want to be needed! she wanted to shout. I need to
be loved!

His hips continued to grind against hers, and suddenly her
heart slowed. A wave of stifling nausea surged through her. It
was as if her blood was fired with bile. Her head swirled with
a peculiar lightness, much like it had at the hospital after
Schmarya had exposed his wounds to her.

I mustn't get sick, now, she pleaded with herself, clutching
Vaslav's arms for support. Oh, God, if I do that
...

But he misinterpreted her desperately clawing grasp as a
sign of her passion, and he kissed her with renewed fury.

Her ears pounded while her blood surged madly. This is
wrong! she wanted to cry out. I can't go through with it! Not
after what they've done to Schmarya! I can't go to bed with a
man, feel him in me . . . not after Schmarya's suffering. Not
after they've made him a eunuch.

She tensed, feeling his hands tugging savagely at the bodice
of her gown. Every muscle of her body drew taut, the marrow
in her bones chilling. A sudden flash of heat boiled in her
stomach, caused beads of sweat to stand out on her forehead.
Then she heard the fabric tearing. Her breasts leapt free, the
strawberry nipples erect and surrounded by gooseflesh. The
night air rippled cool against her bare back.

A terrible voice inside her kept raging:
You whore! Making
love to this man after your lover's been castrated! Whore!

She struggled to twist out of his grasp, but his hands dug
deeper into her flesh, made red depressions in her arms that hurt to her very bones. He jerked her closer to him, crushing
her to his chest as he buried his tongue deep in her throat.

She made little whining noises, trying to pull away. 'Please,'
she cried, trying to wrench herself out of his grasp, but the
word was garbled, smothered by his intense lips. And all the while his fingers roamed, clutching her even more fiercely against the unyielding muscular flesh of his chest.

She could feel her body going faint.

Her lips were free at last, and they felt swollen and puck
ered. He bowed his head into her elongated neck now, his lips
making little sucking noises. Her back arched and a million minuscule tremors crawled up and down her spine, tingled
along her arms, danced ghostlike along her legs. Both his
hands cupped her breasts, massaging them in circles, and then
he massaged downward, rolling the gown to her hips.

It occurred to her that this was her last opportunity to draw
back, to call an end to this travesty of lovemaking.

But I need him. Schmarya needs him desperately. When
Schmarya is well enough to stand trial. . . well, it mustn't
happen. That's why I'm doing this, Schmarya. For you.

And then, curiously, the nausea she had felt was replaced by a surge of lusty warmth. But she stood there resolutely, trembling, afraid to give in to it. It had been so long since she had slept with a man. She had almost forgotten what it was
like to be held. The last time had been with Schmarya, just
before he had left.

Vaslav slid a hand down to her groin. She could feel his
smooth fingers gliding over her mound, seeking her woman
hood.

She sucked in her breath and shivered in sweet agony,
powerless to stifle the need rising within her. She could already
feel the long-forgotten moistness welling up between her
thighs.

Her hands moved, as though of their own volition, slipping
inside Vaslav's open shirt, her fingertips crawling on the crisp,
curly hairs of his chest, kneading his nipples.

Suddenly his arms blurred, and he tore the gown completely
from her body. She let out a sharp cry as the fabric bit into her
flesh before sliding to a useless heap at her feet. Effortlessly he
ripped at her underwear, shredding it with a few concise tugs.
She felt herself beginning to tremble all over, her mouth dry,
the moistness between her legs increasing, running blatantly
down her thighs. She felt naked, vulnerable, yet strangely
excited in a way she could never remember ever having been
before.

Without warning, he bent over, scooped her off the floor,
and carried her to the bed like some sort of medieval conqu
eror bringing her to his altar. She felt herself bounce lightly
on the mattress as he put her down, and she quickly slid around
on the quilted blue-and-gold silk to face him, her breasts
brushing against the sleek rich covers, her round, contoured
buttocks feeling the slight chill in the air.

She felt herself go weak as he stripped himself to the waist in front of her, staring at her all the while, moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue. She was unable to tear her eyes off his body. His chest was tantalizingly wide and taut, swathed
with curly hair, and his muscles, burnished bronze from the
dim bedside lamp, seemed moulded to his very bones. For
such a large and strong man he was surprisingly lithe and
slender and agile.

Her heartbeat was now an endless, quickening triphammer.
Schmarya had always radiated a strong sexuality, an animal
attraction, but suddenly Vaslav Danilov was the most irresist
ible man she could imagine. It was not only his body, but
the power he wielded in everyday life, his self-confidence, his
aloofness, his riches, his title.

He stepped casually out of his trousers, the sculptured
planes of his face gleaming like bronze, his phallus huge and
red and angry. She could only stare openmouthed at it. The size of his organ was fascinatingly shocking, all the more so
because of the way he seemed to display it with such indiffer
ence, as though it were a casual threat. She could imagine it deep inside her, disappearing into the bush of her coppery
hair, causing her insides to bubble and burst with shards of pleasure. Gone now was all memory of her earlier revulsion.
Her face glowed lustily.

Totally naked now, he straightened his back and stared at
her, and she felt herself drawn into his hypnotic, glittering
gaze. She caught her breath. Promises of a thousand pleasures
glowed back at her.

Greedily her eyes swept him from head to toe. He was hairy.
Besides his moustache and trimmed beard, short black hair swirled dark vortices on his chest and started again below his
navel, spreading into a thick hairy scrotum. Shorter, curly
hairs traced the curving furrow of his buttocks. He was like
Schmarya in that way, although Schmarya was blond and his
phallus was very curved. The Prince's, she could see, was
ruler-straight, thicker, and came to a blunt end. When he
entered her, it would be head-on and deep.

Tentatively she reached out to touch his phallus, but he
slapped her hand away. She drew back, looking up at him with
an expression of hurt, her eyes wide and frightened.

Without taking his eyes off her, he reached into the nightstand drawer and produced two long white silk scarves.

Her breathing grew quick and shallow as she wondered what
they were for.