The Challenge (45 page)

She loved him.

The emotion had sneaked under, over, and around her heart until she’d caved. But love didn’t feel like defeat. It felt wondrous, glorious, and fun.

She loved him.

And the prospect of living together for nine hundred years didn’t seem like enough time. Not with a man like him. Not with a man who had more honor in his pinky than others had in their entire bodies.

She loved him, but the notion was so startlingly new that she could barely bend her mind around the concept.

Should she tell him before she left? After what had happened with Mike she didn’t want to put off living life, didn’t want to keep secrets, and yet, she had to consider how Kahn would feel if she told him that she loved him—and then never returned. He’d already gone through that once when he’d lost Lael. She couldn’t do that to him again. And with the Challenge such an unknown, she had no idea how long they would be apart or what he planned to do while she did whatever she was supposed to do. But she knew he’d prepared her to the best of her ability and that he’d be there with her in spirit.

No, now was not the time to tell him her new-found feelings. That could wait until she returned. Although she wasn’t ready to say the words, she was more than willing to show him.

She put the emotions into the dance, and when she noted his gaze lingering on her legs, she shortened the lacy slip to mini-skirt proportions. The hem skimmed her thighs, and as she performed a turn, the lace flared, taunting him with a glimpse of a pink scrap of silk between her legs. The Brazilian-cut panties allowed him a glance of her bottom, then she spun again, the bodice lower, clinging to her breasts. She gave him the merest hint of her areolas, then dipped, sashayed in her own variation of the
Ramala Ki
. And when she stopped before him in the ritual pose, she did so with her head high, her shoulders back, her spine arching.

The lacy slip stayed up, only by the grace of her protruding nipples, or at least that’s how precarious she intended her suit to look. With his eyes flashing an I-can-hardly-wait-to-have-you look, she half hoped he would simply lose control and kiss her, half hoped he’d let her continue the dance and whip both of them into a frenzy of desire.

Instead, as she held the provocative pose, he placed his hands on his hips. “Tell me about this Earthling foreplay you always say you need to teach me.”

Her heart thumped. “It’s a slow tease, a warming up. We don’t need to—”

“Where do Earth men start?” He touched the inside of her knee. “Here.”

“Higher,” she encouraged, hoping he’d slide his hand right up her leg to check out her panties and the dampness already pooling there.

“Here?” He touched the sensitive juncture of where her neck met her shoulder, making her all too conscious of how easily he could trace a path to her breasts.

“Lower.”

He walked around her. Not being able to see him spiked her anticipation. Would he dip his hands to explore her panties? Plant a kiss by her ear? The wait seemed interminable but lasted mere seconds.

He placed his palms on her bottom, leaned in to nip her neck. “Here?”

She shivered, ached to turn around, throw her hands around his neck, and plant a kiss on his mouth, but she didn’t want to spoil his fun. “You’re getting warmer.”

She quivered in anticipation as he walked around to face her again. “I’m not sure I understand this foreplay business.” A natural born tease, he understood it very well and appeared to be enjoying her hope that he would move on to the next step. “While I think about this foreplay some more, dance for me again, please.”

The music began, releasing her from the pose. The steps became faster, pumping her blood, inciting her to bump and grind her hips. At Kahn’s bristling and intriguing take of her dance, at his outright fascination with her moves as she mimicked love making with her hips, he dropped his lower jaw.

Lifting her hair off her neck, she arched her back, let her hips do their thing, teasing them both. And when she posed for him, she made the lace transparent. Left herself standing in just the scrap of panties, her hands interlocked behind her head, her breasts pouting for attention.

He laughed, a most wicked glint in his eyes. “You’ve added some new moves to the Ramala Ki.”

“You approve?”

“Stars, yes.” He bent over to peer at her panties, and his warm breath fanned her mons. “Is there some significance to that scrap of material?”

“You’re supposed to peel it down.”

“Hmm.”

He fingered the material, driving her wild with the need to move. And then ever-so-slowly, ever-so gently, he tucked the material between her cheeks, then tugged the tiny side straps up over her hips, creating pressure, the tiniest of pinches, making her all-too aware of the throbbing heat between her legs.

When he straightened with the most satisfied of grins, she realized that his idea of foreplay was making her crazy. And yet, as his eyes lingered on her breasts, as he contemplated his next move, she loved the heat bubbling inside her, the clenching of every atom of her being, the expectation he incited.

There was something utterly powerful in waiting for this man, in knowing that he wanted her, of being able to give him whatever he wanted to take.

“Would you like me to kiss you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Here.” He cupped her breasts, flicked his thumbs over her nipples, and shot a bolt of heat straight to her center.

“Yes.”

“Here?” He moved his hands from her breasts to her bottom, but he’d adjusted her suit so to her it felt as if his hands remained on her breasts, his thumbs still teasing her nipples. But now she also had the warmth of his hands caressing her bottom and holding still became almost impossible.

“Kiss my mouth, Kahn,” she demanded.

He slanted his mouth over hers, teasing, nipping, taunting. He tasted like fresh rain during a summer storm, and she strained toward him. Oh my, could he kiss. And when she forgot to hold her pose and just before she lowered her arms to draw him closer, he locked her there.

With muscle power no longer required to maintain the pose, she relaxed into his deliciously demanding kisses and seductive caresses. At the pure decadent pleasure of the silken licks of heat he’d ignited, both from the inside out and the outside in, she sighed a throaty moan of need.

When he pulled back from their kiss, she murmured into his ear, “Dance with me, Kahn.”

“Rystani men don’t dance.”

“Men from my planet do. It’s sexy,” she coaxed. “Let me show you.”

He did as she asked, the gleam in his eyes a tangle of hot interest and cool wariness. She immediately lifted her arms over her head, and snapping her fingers and clapping her hands to the heady beat, she slid up against him, wriggled her hips enticingly.

“Come on. Try it. You’ll like it.” Grabbing his hands, she fused her hips to his. “A friend of mine on Earth once had a t-shirt that said, ‘one should dance as if no one’s watching, play as if there’s no tomorrow, and make love as if it’s the last time.’”

Kahn had an innate sense of rhythm and fine control over his body from years of training. At first, he moved stiffly, uncertainly, but she encouraged him with the sway of her hips, the appreciation in her eyes. Soon he was moving as if he’d done this many times before. And as his confidence grew, as he loosened up, she shimmied up his leg, pressed her breasts against his chest and enjoyed the moment.

Her breath came in gasps and when the music sped up in preparation for the next pose, she flicked back her hair. “Your turn to pose.”

He hesitated. She lightly ran her hand up his leg, stopped just short of his sex. “It’s not fair if I have all the fun.”

The tempo sped to a crescendo, and she danced around him, mesmerized all over again by his powerful shoulders, his broad chest. She ached to dance flesh to flesh, hoped that if he agreed to the reversal of roles that he’d remove his shirt.

After seeing some of his effortless moves, she decided it was a good thing that Rystani men didn’t dance in public. She’d have to fight the women off him with a stick. Part of his appeal was all those muscles, his exotic amber eyes, the hard line of his jaw, and sleek black hair that reminded her of a panther, but what really made him special was how he let her see how much he wanted her.

When the music stopped, he posed for her. Standing warrior straight, legs spread, hands on his hips, he removed his vest, his pants. Totally nude, he could have posed for an ancient Greek statue—except for his
tavis
. She didn’t think the Greeks carved their men with erect phalluses.

Reaching up to him, staring straight into his eyes, she placed one fingertip on his chin, slid it down his neck, over his bronzed chest, dipped to his waist and threaded her fingers through curly dark hair. She skipped his sex, skimmed down the insides of his legs, then walked around to his back, lightly teasing his hip. He looked just as yummy from this side, and she slipped her hands around his waist, allowed her breasts to press against his warmth.

Staying close, her breasts soaking up his heat, she rested her hands on his shoulders, slowly kneaded the tight muscles. “Relax. This is supposed to feel good. We call it a massage.”

“That’s a very strange place you’ve chosen to rub.” His voice sounded rough, thick with desire.

“Is it?”

“Especially when other parts want you so badly.”

She moved one hand to his hard buttocks. “You mean here?”

He sucked in his breath. She giggled at his reaction to her touch and her tossing his own words back at him. Lightly she stroked the sensitive skin behind his balls. “You mean here?”

His
tavis
jerked so tight he let out a soft growl. She figured she’d pressed his patience far enough for now. “Let’s dance.”

And she turned her entire suit transparent, tipped her face up to him. “We can kiss and dance at the same time, can’t we?”

“I don’t see why not.” His mouth was alternately tender and demanding. She clung to him and he to her, their bodies swaying to the music in a dance they had made their own.

He cherished her mouth and her breasts, using his psi until she was nearly frantic.

When the music hit a note, warning her the next pose would be soon, she was a mass of quivering desires. Using her psi, she stroked his tavis
.
At the same time she floated herself into the air as if she was straddling a non-existent chair and his breath once again fanned her mons.

“Excellent choice. You’re so beautiful.” He gazed at her with wolfish hunger, then licked her right there.

She quaked with a passion. Let herself burn. “Ah . . . oh . . . oh . . . oh.”

Kahn locked her in place, all the while savaging her with his tongue, his hands, his lips and his psi until she trembled all over.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Ohhh . . . I can’t think . . . when you . . . ah.”

“Had enough foreplay, yet?”

“Oh . . . my . . . more than . . . enough. Yesssss.” Her muscles quivered, clenched. She clung to the intimate and delicious edge of sanity. Her thoughts spun and her simmering blood reached a scalding boil.

“Don’t come,” he ordered. “I want to be inside you for that.”

“Then you’d . . . ah . . . better . . . hurry.”

She tried to hold back. She really did. But his tongue between her legs created a wild, crazy, frenzied frothing that made her chest hitch. Out of breath, unable to wait, she exploded and screamed his name in a tidal wave of pleasure.

He kept his tongue and fingers and psi on her until she rode the wave and peaked again. And again. She’d never known this volcano of need boiling just below the surface. She’d never known she could swim so far, surf from crest to crest until the next swell broke and left her brutally breathless.

And when Kahn finally came inside her from behind, his pace fast, fantastic, frenetic, she savored his psi feeding off of her, ravishing her, in a pleasure loop so intense that she screamed in the ultimate surrender. He cradled her hips, his voice tender and raw, saying her name over and over as he emptied himself into her.

She exploded one more time. And recovered with him holding her tenderly against his thudding heart.