Star Crossed Seduction (18 page)

“And that you will believe me when I tell you my truth.”

“Yes. Only that.”

His desperate need for her showed in his eyes. His body pulsed with his effort to restrain it. But could she be the wife he needed? Could she give up her dreams to become the wife of an officer pledged to their despot king?

Her heart sank. The choice was so difficult. She knew she should refuse him, but she could not. She wanted him too much. He was her other half.

She took his ring and slipped the golden circlet over her finger. “I will try,” she said. “I will give it all I’ve got.”

H
e had thought it a foolish myth that a ring might stimulate the action of the heart, yet as she slipped onto her finger the ring that symbolized his hopes, a burst of love spread upward from his own hand to where his heart swelled with an emotion completely new to him.

Pure joy.

Her face shone with something he’d never seen in her before, an innocence that belied the veneer of sophistication she had hidden behind. But he saw something else there, too. Her fear. And he knew what she feared, for he shared that fear with her.

They had been drawn together by the pain they shared, born of the betrayals they had suffered at others’ hands. They’d battled each other, using their cleverness and insight to seize control. He’d taken her in anger while their conflict raged, and she’d met him in combat, as fierce as he was, and as wounded. They had gloried in warfare. Was he wrong to think they could become companions? Could he trust the certainty that possessed him and told him that they could?

The fear he felt was no phantasm born of weakness but very real. To brush it aside would only give it more power. He must do what he’d learned to do with worthy fears—honor it but push past it and not give in. He had learned courage in the midst of battle, and he would battle now against the darkness of his nature.

He would make love to her now as she deserved to be loved, with his heart, not just his loins. He would meet her where passion would lead them and prove to her that there was more to him than the bestial warrior who had conquered her. He would turn his skill to healing. He would find love with her and make her truly his.

He took her by the hand that bore his ring, and said, “Come with me,
Priya.
”

“What does that mean?”

“It is Hindustani for beloved.”

“It is a beautiful word.”

“Not half so beautiful as you. Would you take off your gown, so I might see you in all of your beauty? That’s all I ask. I won’t force myself upon you again.”

“You never forced yourself on me. I always wanted you. I want you now.”

Her long-lashed eyelids fluttered shut, and, like a child who believes herself hidden when she cannot see others, she began to unbutton her gown.

She was so beautiful. She let her gown fall away and unlaced the fastenings of her stays, discarded them, and slowly removed her shift. She paused before shyly revealing her body to him by the light of the candle. Had he really crushed those superb half-rounded breasts last night without noticing their perfection? Had he really taken her in her shift, not even bothering to see what it concealed, intent only on expressing the rage he had let consume him?

It was not rage that consumed him now but wonder.

She paused. “I watched you last time. Now you are watching me. Is it arousing?”

“It is. Your body is so beautiful it takes my breath away. But I won’t let my arousal overwhelm me. This time is for you. For your pleasure.”

“I want you to feel pleasure, too,” she said. “Your pleasure excites me. I can’t help it. It must be the devil within me, but it does.”

Before he could reply, she sat up and reached for the fastenings of his breeches, unbuttoning them quickly. He couldn’t help but quiver with excitement as her hands began their work. She needn’t worry about giving him pleasure. She dropped to her knees before him, placing herself between his legs, so he was looking down at the firm small mounds of her breasts and the hard dark nipples that stood out in sharp points against her pale white skin.

Before he realized what she intended, she opened her lips and guided his swelling cock toward her mouth. In another moment, she would engulf him, and he would be unable to stop her, but this was not what he wanted, as exquisite as the sensation might be.

This time must be for her.

With great care, he stopped her, removing her hand from his cock. “Not yet,” he said. He lifted her up from where she knelt, until she stood once again face-to-face with him. He enfolded her in his embrace, enjoying the way her height matched his, her long, slim form so perfect for his. He wouldn’t use her like a slave girl. There had been enough of that already. He motioned her toward the bed. “Lie down,” he commanded.

She winced, and he cursed himself for how brusque his voice had sounded. He couldn’t give up the habit of command, even at a moment like this. He tried again. “I only wanted to make you more comfortable.”

She obeyed him, stretching herself out on the bed. She was willing to do what he wanted, but her gaze was still wary. He settled himself beside her on the coverlet, reached toward her face, and stroked the feather-soft skin of her forehead with the kindness he would have offered a little child.

“I never allowed myself to hope I might find a wife I could love,” he said, letting his fingers glide so lightly he barely disturbed the waves of her honey gold curls. Her eyes had turned the color of damask steel or smoke. He leaned over her and fluttered kisses on her cheek, as soft as the petals of the roses whose color it had stolen. “By God, your skin is soft. I could be happy doing nothing more than letting my fingers touch you.”

“But I wouldn’t be. You’ve made me too greedy.” She let her eyes drift closed as he trailed his fingers along her cheek, savoring the feel of the down he found there.

“Have no fear,” he said. “I won’t stop until you beg me to.”

“Then I must remain silent.”

He bent over her and traced the long line of her neck with the lightest of kisses. When he got to the delicious hollow at the base, he sucked in the flesh he found there and flicked his tongue against it. She arched her neck backward, opening herself to more. He teased with his tongue.

“What are you doing?” But this time it was not fear in her voice but wonder.

“Loving you as you should be loved, Tem. As you should have always been loved.”

S
he allowed herself to sink into the dreamlike state his words led her into, feeling like a child hearing a bedtime story and at the same time, not like a child—not with the life that flowed through her woman’s body at his masculine touch. And he was so very much a man. Even as he spoke the words he intended to soothe her, his voice couldn’t entirely lose its roughness. He was a soldier tested in battle, accustomed to command. But that knowledge made his clumsy gentleness all the more precious. She treasured the discipline he imposed upon himself, rough warrior though he was, in order to give her this peace and to calm her. She gave herself up to it.

His strong hands made their way down the muscles of her upper arms, kneading them with a sinuous motion that removed tension she hadn’t known lay trapped within them. He took his time, working his way down, pressing against secret points that sent waves of pleasure through her entire frame. He massaged her palms and each finger, one by one. This was for her. He had told the truth. She breathed in deeply, savoring the peacefulness created by his masterful touch.

“If a genie could offer you three wishes,
Priya,
what would they be?” he asked.

She made herself swim up from the luxurious place his gentle touch had sent her. “When you touch me like this, I have no wishes at all, except that you never stop.”

“You are a flatterer.” He laughed.

“It is only the truth. I can’t lie to you, Trev. Not anymore, and you swore you would believe me.”

His hand stopped abruptly. “I must believe you. Our love depends on it.”

“And I must tell you the truth, as hard as it might be.”

“Is it so hard?”

“Sometimes.”

“Why?” His tone was suddenly harsh.

“Because I fear I will lose you if you know the whole truth about me.”

His hand stopped moving, “Are you my lover, Temperance—or my enemy.” His eyes were hard again.

“I’ve never been your enemy. Only my own.”

He drew a deep breath, as if in relief, and knelt beside her again. He leaned over her, bringing his lips down on hers and sucking hungrily at them, as if he could suck the truth from her. She shivered with the yearning his kiss awoke, feeling not only his body calling out to her, but his soul.

She threw her arms around him and clasped him more tightly to her. He stretched out on the cushions beside her, his organ of pleasure jutting between them, and drew her to him, pressing it against the softness of her abdomen. But he made no move to enter her. Instead, they lay, skin to skin, thigh to thigh, belly to belly as he drew her deeper and deeper into the kiss.

Time seemed to stop as the two of them spun into one. Waves of desire rose from the base of her spine and surged upward, through her belly to her heart. She gave herself up to them, exulting as his arms tightened around her. Their breathing quickened as their hearts pounded with the same fervid rhythm.

When at last he released her lips, she felt a sense of loss, but she had no time to give in to it, for he rose and positioned himself so that he knelt between her legs. His strong hands kneaded her thighs deeply, digging into the muscles and freeing them of all but the hunger for his touch. He took his time. He was all hers now. He had nowhere to be but here, nothing to do but to bring out the joy that had lain hidden in these muscles, these nerves, this pounding blood.

Then, before she realized what he was doing, he plunged his face into the cleft between her legs and ran his probing tongue over the swollen center of her yearning, gliding against the place where all sensation blossomed. She’d never experienced such a thing. Had barely heard it whispered about.

For a moment, the shock of it forced her back into herself, and she looked down at his dark curls, wondering that he could want to do it. Wasn’t she dirty there? She tensed.

He paused and looked up. His azure eyes met hers, peering from beneath the black curls that had fallen forward over his brow, filled with a look of mischievous delight. He was taking pleasure in this, too. She lay back and gave in to the wonder of it, and it was a wonder.

For his tongue had its own magic, subtle and exquisite. It flicked against her most intimate part, slick and hot, making her want even more, no matter how much he gave her. A low hum of pleasure vibrated in his throat, and as it did, she was filled with multicolored light that flowed out from the tip of her nub into every fiber of her body. She opened herself to him, wanting she knew not what.

But he knew.

He slid one strong finger deep into her hungry passage, massaging her there, too, pressing against a spot deep within her that drove her wild, even as the flickering smoothness of his tongue continued on, dancing her desire into flame.

He became her yearning. He became her hunger. He was no longer a separate being but knew better than she did what her body needed, teasing her with the promise of it, driving her wild as her need for him mounted higher and higher, until she was close to madness.

And still he would not stop. His tongue pressed harder against the center of her desire, stroking and flickering, hard as the prick he made her long for, but more delicate, more relentless, and more skilled, until she cried out, gasping and moaning, calling his name out as the searing colored chords of release rolled through her body, until she was empty, hollow with it, and could bear no more delight. She went limp as she let herself drift, swept away, on the last waves of the miracle he had made within her.

When at last she came back to herself, he was resting on his calves, gazing down at her with a look of pure delight. She’d never seen such a look on a man’s face before, and she couldn’t understand it. Everything he’d done had been for her and her alone. He hadn’t taken his own pleasure of her. He hadn’t even taken off his clothes.

“How can you be so happy when I gave you nothing?” she whispered.

“You gave me everything.”

“Not everything,” she said. “You gave me your kindness, but I need your fierceness, too.” She took his hand and guided it to her quim, still slick with the juices of her desire that he had so utterly fulfilled. “I can’t help my sinful nature, but I must have all of what you are capable of, not just your gentleness, but your fierceness, too. All. Don’t hold back. I need more, I can’t help it, I need all of what you are.”

A look of amazement filled his face. He drew off his clothing, quickly this time, not at all like that long painful disrobing of the night before, and flung them on the floor. She drank in the sight of him. The dark circles around the nipples, the luxuriant fur. The hardness of a body that had seen hard use. And that other hardness. He wanted her.

She lay back, ready at last for the assault that must come, but even now he surprised her. For he did not thrust into her. Not this time. Instead, he sat himself beside her, his erect manhood proudly displayed, and let his thumb drift against her awakening nub, rubbing it gently at first, then harder. Desire stirred again—desire she hadn’t thought she could ever feel after such blissful fulfillment. She lifted herself on one elbow and grasped his rod, feeling the thickness of it, sliding her hand up its shaft, while with her other hand she cupped his ballocks and kneaded them, savoring the feeling of power it gave her to hear him gasp as she intensified his hunger for her.