Delectably Undone! (17 page)

“That choice is not yours to make,” he replied.

Twisting at her waist toward the writing table, she swept up her long-handled brush in one hand. Eyes locked defiantly on her captor, she swirled it languidly in the ink bowl, letting dark paint drip slowly down the bristles of her brush.

Rising to her knees, she turned back to face Takeshi fully. His countenance remained a rigid mask of authority, but she could see his breathing had deepened. Smiling with delighted defiance, she slowly brushed the silky black ink up his bare leg. With a flick of her wrist, she left an elaborately curled symbol on the hardened muscle of his thigh, just below the bottom edge of his armored tunic.

“You see?” she asked, laughter tingeing her voice. “I will continue to create poetry as it pleases me, even if I must replace my scrolls with your bare skin.”

His gaze dark and molten, Takeshi flung aside the weighty breastplate covering his torso. His armor gone, the samurai pulled away the light robe that skimmed his muscled body. Unlike the painted shells, the new game Miku had naively instigated was one Takeshi wanted to play—and win.

Miku’s brush wavered as she took in his lean form—all of it…battle-sculpted, sun-bronzed and as tense as his war bow. The powerful samurai was obviously not a man to be toyed with. Even without his weapons and armor, Miku knew he was strong—perhaps dangerously so. Yet earlier, his tender kiss and deep-searching eyes had hinted at something much more than just another sword-for-hire. And now he stood before her, waiting.

As Takeshi gazed down at Miku, her brush poised above his naked body, he reminded himself that the embrace of this rare woman could only come at a great price. If he were not careful, he realized, he could risk losing his heart to this willful, poetic beauty—and his life to her uncle, the Master.

But the thought of being touched by that delicate hand, now gracefully wrapped around her calligraphy brush, made his blood surge. The hand that had earlier caressed his face, tentatively at first, then with greater passion as she had returned his kiss. The same hand that, trembling, had traced the pattern of the armor plating his chest…and shielding his heart.

And the look of defiance now smoldering in her eyes stirred his heart even more deeply. A woman of her strength and spirit, one willing to defy the world’s standards to suit her own inclinations, excited him, body and soul.

Seeing her breathlessly watch him, Takeshi no longer wished to hinder her poetry. To kneel close to her, yes. To take her fully in his arms, yes. And to allow the stroke of her paintbrush to mingle with the soft caress of her fingertips on his skin, assuredly yes. To touch and be touched by this perfect woman; to embrace and love her; to subdue her willful spirit just enough to fulfill her deepest desires…this is what he now desired.

Yet doing so would violate his warrior’s oath to the Master, who had quite different plans for his niece than involvement with a samurai. Yet did such a petty and tyrannical man really deserve his loyalty? He had never truly felt a sense of duty toward the despicable old man, and perhaps now was the time to cast aside any pretense of obligation.

Takeshi suddenly realized that this maiden’s own rebelliousness had already pierced the stoic wall around his heart, the fortress he had thought to be impenetrable. If Miku, a gentle poet, could demand that her will be honored and her desires fully met, then surely so could a worldly warrior like himself.

At once, the thought of even just one night with this alluring poet made the risk of death seem trivial. And one night might be all he could hope to enjoy—for her uncle would surely attempt to demand his life in payment for Miku’s chastity.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and thick with desire. “I will not return your scrolls.”

As the sun finished its slow descent beyond the distant mountains and dusk cast a purple glow through the thin walls of her parlor, Miku gazed steadily into the samurai’s face. What had started as a game, a way to prove she was in control, had quickly become something far more serious. And far more intriguing. Was this soldier really offering his body—all of it—for her pleasure alone?

With trembling hand, Miku dipped her brush once more into the ink bowl before again tracing it gently up his muscular leg. No longer attempting to write actual characters on his bare flesh, Miku’s poetry was now the primal, wordless yearning she felt blossoming within her heart toward this brazen soldier. Though they had just met, she no longer questioned her true desires.

She looked at him fully, her eyes taking in the length of his body above her, savoring the tremulous thrill that tingled through her when she saw him stiffen under her gaze.

Although she had tasted none that evening, Miku felt as if pure saki coursed through her veins. Her skin seemed heated from within, flushed with a growing flame of desire, and her mind swam with a dizzying intoxication more potent than sweet rice wine.

Takeshi looked at her steadily, waiting for her command. Yet who really controlled this moment, Miku wondered? Their eyes remained locked for a long minute before she lowered her brush from where it hovered above his bare leg.

“Lie next to me,” she said, her heart tingling with excitement though her voice remained calm.

She held her breath, wondering if the tough samurai would accept a maiden’s directive. But wordlessly, Takeshi knelt, pausing with his handsome face inches from her own. Her breath caught, and she wondered if he were about to kiss her again. She desired his insolence—hoped for a bold and inappropriate act. Yet as she leaned her face toward his, lips soft to receive his embrace, he moved away to recline beneath her.

Disappointment instantly pricked Miku. After boldly stripping away all his clothes, Takeshi would now pretend to be merely an obedient soldier…rather than a man beholden to no one, with untamed desires and dangerous passions? Her disappointment quickly flashed to frustration. How dare this samurai play such games with her?

“I have obeyed,” said Takeshi, a knowing smile softening one corner of his mouth, though his eyes remained dark and impenetrable.

“And yet you have not given me what I want,” said Miku as she tossed her brush away and glared at Takeshi.

Instantly, his smile hardened into a look of unmitigated hunger. “That is because I am not done obeying,” he said, his voice a low with desire. “And neither are you. Remove your
kosode
.”

Shocked into capitulation by the abruptness of his command, Miku loosened the silk belt of her gown, allowing the front panels to fall open and reveal her bare flesh beneath. The cool night air from the open veranda skimmed her skin like a dancing koi brushing against a water lily.

“Now show me what you desire,” he said, his authoritative tone tempered by longing. The tautness of his muscles as he lay at her knees revealed the depth of Takeshi’s inner struggle. Though capable of taking what he wanted at will, he had instead chosen to remain still and wait for her.

Miku leaned down, and, like a butterfly lighting on an upturned flower, her lips gently explored his mouth. Her heart fluttered wildly as she tasted him, the warmth of his mouth a tantalizing invitation to deepen the kiss. And when she did, seeking out his tongue with her own, his mouth responded with a shared passion. Surely, she thought, there could be no greater bliss than the sweet connection of their intoxicating kiss.

He lifted his hands, sweeping them slowly up to her shoulders and pushing back the open robe. Lost in the new delight she had found at his mouth, Miku did not think to modestly resist as her clothing fluttered to the floor, or when his hands moved to cup her full breasts.

No longer was she a noblewoman to give commands. With the sweep of his hands, Takeshi once again captivated his prisoner.

His calloused fingertips began to circle lightly, their touch tracing the outer edge of her breasts. She sighed with delighted pleasure, mesmerized by the gentle brush of his hands across her tingling flesh. And then without warning his thumb flicked across the peak of one breast, releasing sparks of pleasure that shocked her out of her sensual reverie. She felt her nipples tighten and became acutely aware of her position, naked on her hands and knees above him. She realized she could not move her hands to cover her bare breasts without losing her balance.

Suddenly shy, Miku tried to shift away, but Takeshi’s grasp tightened around a handful of ebony hair at the base of her neck. He pressed her lips back to his while once more his other hand tickled across the hardened peaks of her breasts. She squirmed with renewed pleasure as he held her in his kiss, unwilling to release his captive. She was his to possess, with no possibility—and no desire—of resistance or escape.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw in his gaze a molten hunger. With his unyielding hold on the back of her head, she could not look down at the hand on her breasts but was forced to wait in blind anticipation for the next achingly delicate stroke. She saw heated delight flicker in his eyes each time his fingertips caused a surprised moan to escape her lips.

His fingers continued to tease her breasts, sometimes lightly pinching their peaks until she thought her legs would go weak with ecstasy and sometimes waiting so long between caresses that she would grow impatient and angry, longing for the excitement of his touch. And with each brush of his war-hardened hands, a tingling ache deepened between her legs.

When she had bent to kiss the samurai, Miku had imagined the moment to be hers to dictate. She was the poet, after all, and he a compliant canvas at her feet. Yet Takeshi’s firm grip on her hair as he relentlessly consumed her mouth and caressed her hardened nipples told her she no longer controlled this man or what he would do with her. But rather than scaring her, that realization seemed to fuel an even deeper passion. His fingers on her body and his lips against her mouth had unleashed a raw hunger she had never before known.

The ache between her legs was an overwhelming throb now, and, letting her eyes close, she began to slowly roll her hips. Her conscious mind could not fathom what she needed, but her body told her there was a release from the delighted agony she was enduring if only she could open her legs and press her hips against something, against
him
. She stretched her back as her hips continued to sway, giving herself over to carnal instinct as she sought to satisfy her growing arousal. And yet her undulations seemed to only intensify her excitement without bringing any release.

Finally she moaned, her primal sound of delight and frustration a wordless plea to Takeshi. Instantly, he moved his hand from her tingling breasts, wrapped both arms tightly around her and pressed her supple body down to his muscle-hardened form.

Caught in Takeshi’s powerful embrace, Miku didn’t resist when the samurai rolled her gently onto a nest of silken floor cushions, their kiss never breaking. He was next to her now, his flesh radiating heat as he pressed his torso against her soft skin and slid his hands up the length of her arms, pinning her hands above her head. His grip around her wrists was firm and sure, the touch of a man who knew power and expected submission. It was a warrior’s touch, and she had no choice but to surrender to it. Yet the tenderness revealed as his fingertips traced the curves of her palms assured Miku that her lover could release her the instant she requested.

But she did not want him to let her go. She wanted him to possess her, to consume her, to be joined with her forever.

Takeshi’s iron grasp on her wrists lightened, and he whispered a gentle warning into her ear: “You will not move. You are my prisoner, and mine to command.” Her breath caught as he released her hands, but she obeyed and left them stretched above her, delighting in the intensity of his desire for her.

Takeshi, his black mane of hair falling loose across his chiseled face, slowly slid down her body, his kiss lingering first on her neck, then her throat, and finally taking in the achingly sensitive tip of one breast. She arched into his mouth as his lips closed around her nipple, his tongue flicking back and forth as she writhed slowly next to him in agonized bliss.

As he continued to tease her breasts with his mouth, Miku watched as if in a dream while Takeshi slid one hand slowly around the curve of her hip, down her buttock and underneath her leg, lifting it at the knee and pressing it outward. She was open to him now, and, uncertain of his intentions, she watched as his hand moved to stroke the heated flesh of her inner thigh. Not thinking to be shy, she only trembled with anticipation, awaiting the unfathomable pleasure his next touch would surely bring.

Slowly he released her breast with a lingering kiss and raised his eyes to meet hers. With moonlight reflecting in his dark gaze, he traced the delicate curve of her mouth with his fingertips, their roughness softened by the gentleness of his touch. In instinctive answer to the deep hunger of his stare, she opened her mouth to his caress, her tongue moving playfully across his fingertips as his had just done with her breasts.

His low moan of pleasure told her she had guessed his desires correctly, and she eagerly took his fingers into her mouth, sucking them with a hunger of her own. Finally, with a reluctant groan, he slid his hand away from her lips and down the soft curves of her body. Wet with her kisses, his fingertips lightly caressed a tiny point between her legs. Miku cried out in surprise at the overwhelming sensation that instantly enveloped her.

She pushed up on her elbows, panting with surprised delight, but before she could speak Takeshi once more ran his fingertips across her core. She arched against his hand as sparks of pleasure coursed through her body, then pushed against the silken pillows beneath her as she sought, if only temporarily, to regain control of the explosive desire now unleashed within her.

But Takeshi reached a firm hand around her waist, pulling her back to him. “You are not to move,” he reminded her as she struggled beneath him. And despite the gentleness in his eyes, Miku realized he had no intention of allowing her to resist his touch.