by Gia Dawn
Isabella shivered as she thought of hearing their delicate sound while Zayne spread her legs and drove himself deep into her body.
A mirror took up most of another wall, framed with mosaic tiles that echoed the colors of the rest of the room, while a pair of velvet-covered chairs held court in the center of the carpet.
Zayne smiled as he plucked the drink from her hand and placed it on a side table with his own. Then he removed his coat and hung it by the door, rolling up his sleeves as he moved toward her, the scent of his sandalwood soap a warm and heady fragrance. “So,” he said, circling around her, “here I am a sultan and you are my slave.”
Although Isabella’s first instinct was to giggle the notion aside, the look on his face was so deadly serious the smile froze on her mouth as he stood before her, legs planted wide with his hands fisted on his hips as if, indeed, he was a ruling king.
He reached out and took her shoulders and turned her to face the mirror while he remained standing behind her. She shuddered as he wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands lifting to cup her breasts, thumbs unerringly finding their tips, rubbing them into aching sensitivity.
“You tremble already with need for me. This is good.” He pressed his body to hers. She could feel the growing mass of his cock, a thick and rigid line against the lower part of her back.
For a moment she forgot to breathe as his fingers found the buttons on her shirt, undoing them one by one with agonizing slowness, savoring the moment as if he never wanted it to end.
“In my country we have some of the most beautiful women in the world.” He finished his task and slid the shirt from her shoulders, where it fell unheeded to the floor. “But we fear it, crush it, hide it far away.” A bitter tone laced his words, as if he had seen things he would never share. Terrible things. Evil things.
A part of her wanted to flee, to run from the room and never look back as she realized she stood half-naked with a stranger, one who came from a cruel and alien world.
It excited her. To think of him covered in sweat and sand, barking orders to his men, racing across the forbidding dunes to rescue an innocent captive. She wanted him rough. She wanted him raw. She wanted him exotic and foreign and strange.
“Am I beautiful enough for you to hide away?” The question tumbled shyly from her lips but she was so entranced by their images in the mirror, she felt bold enough to ask.
His mouth was soft as it grazed against her neck, in marked contrast to the pressure of his fingers where they clamped around her nipples. He pinched them into aching life, his bottomless eyes watching her in the mirror, catching every play of pleasure and pain that crossed her face.
“You I would parade before enemy and friend alike so that they might see what a treasure I possessed and drive themselves mad with envy.”
She bit back a whimper when he pulled his hands away, only to let it out with a rush when he slid her skirt up and thrust one hand between her thighs. To her chagrin she moved her hand to capture his, whether to push him away or draw him closer she couldn’t tell. Zayne growled with displeasure and held her wrists behind her back, rendering her immobile as he unfastened the zipper of her skirt and pushed it down her legs.
“Disobedience so early in our evening,” he whispered with a sad shake of his head. “Such a shame to displease me.”
“N-no, I want to please you.” Her voice was so meek she wondered if it was really hers. “Tell me how to please you,” she added, as if her earlier admission wasn’t nearly submissive enough.
“Good. Then you will do exactly as I say.” When he moved away she felt cold, as if he’d taken the desert with him, leaving her shivering at her pale and solitary reflection in the mirror.
“Turn to face me and take off everything.” He sat in one of the velvet chairs, grabbing a mass of gold chain in his fingers. “Slowly, so I can enjoy the view.”
This was something Isabella knew she could do. Despite her nerves, her years of dance training stood her in good stead and she let her body take over, hearing music in her head, the heavy beat of drums, the sharp staccato of zills on her fingers.
Reaching back, she undid her bra and let it slip over her shoulders, holding it with one hand until the very last moment before she tossed it on Zayne’s lap. Then she spun around to give him a view of her ample hips, shimmying out of the thong and tossing it to him as well.
He didn’t take his eyes from her figure, the intense scrutiny setting her nerves on edge again as he crooked a finger and motioned her to him.
“Do you know the origins of your dance?” He toyed with the chain in his hands and Isabella was delighted by the delicate tinkling of bells. “It was said that in the olden days, when the sultans grew too fat to take their concubines as men usually do, the women were forced to find ways to curry their master’s favor.”
When Isabella was within reach he grabbed her hand and pulled her off balance, sending her tumbling to his lap. Before she could recover he put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to kneel between his legs, the bulge of his erection straining against his pants, just waiting for her to reach out and set free.
“Touch me,” he ordered, lacing his fingers in her hair.
She complied willingly, eager to see what prize waited between his legs, her hands itching to feel his naked flesh. “Yes, my sultan.” She unbuckled his belt and undid the button on his pants, sliding the zipper down slowly, admiring the flat plain of his stomach and the way his muscles rippled in anticipation.
He had gone commando and when he lifted his hips so she could reach behind and pull his pants away, his cock unfolded hard and willing, a thick length of caramel flesh that took her breath away. He had a foreskin, something she was familiar with through her medical texts but had never experienced in real life. She was fascinated by the way the skin flowed along his shaft, like a cloak of silk that hid the rigid gland beneath.
For long moments she stroked him with her fingers, sliding up and down his length until he groaned and shifted in his seat, pushing her hands away at last.
“Well done, my slave.” Isabella reveled in the need that trembled off his tongue. “But it is much too early for me to come…if, of course, you want me to return the favor.”
The picture of him burying his head between her legs—his tongue and fingers exploring her aching sex—sent a new sting of need spiraling through her core. She was wet, so wet, so ready to let him mount her, she barely heard when he commanded her to stand, bending instead to take him into her mouth.
A sharp smack on her thigh brought a rush of embarrassment to her cheeks and Isabella was glad the mask concealed her emotions. “I will not ask again.” His brows were drawn into a single unpleasant line. He was a study in contrasts, she thought, his voice soft but his domination absolute. As she bent her head to hide the shame he tucked a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to face him.
“I will be obeyed in everything here, no matter your desire.” Then he smiled, the expression so tender she thought she must surely be mistaken. “But in return I promise to give you pleasure such as you have never known before. My reward for your submission. Your choice. You have the freedom to leave…if that is your wish.”
If she did? What then? She would never have the chance to be with him again and she wanted him so badly she couldn’t think of walking out the door.
“I will stay.”
“Excellent.”
He stood, giving her another view of his magnificent erection and his strong, brown legs. When he looked down at her she felt small, fragile, a delicate flower waiting to blossom at his command. At his nod she came gracefully to her feet and the admiration in his eyes was enough to make her tremble. Then he held out the length of golden chain she had seen before.
“Do you know what I will do with this?”
Isabella shook her head as she watched him manipulate the metal, her shudders growing anew as she saw the tiny clamps glittering in the light.
“Spread your legs and ar
ch your back.” He reached out to take one nipple between his fingers when she obeyed. “If you want me to stop you must say crimson. Do you understand?”
They were face-to-face, breath-to-breath and despite her own desperate need she could hear the strain that laced his words. He was struggling with his own control and the knowledge gave her a power she never would have expected.
She nodded. “I understand.” Yes. She would beg, she would scream, she would tell him to stop a thousand times, safe in the knowledge he would pay no heed to her pleas until she said the one word he would obey. Crimson. It was her safety net, her shelter, her single way out if she felt the need.
He plucked the knot of her nipple so tight she bit her lip to keep from crying out, but already the pain was giving way to a dark and heady pleasure. As that pleasure shot between her legs she tried to press them together once more but Zayne noticed the movement and tucked a leg between hers, rubbing it hard against the swollen ridge of her clit as he fastened the clamp to her nipple.
Struggling to keep from begging him to stop or begging him to do it harder, Isabella did scream when he attached a second gold clamp to her other nipple, his look of satisfaction telling her he was pleased she had learned the rules of his game.
Now he manipulated the delicate chains, each flip of his wrist causing the clamps to pull against her nipples, their tips so swollen she thought they would surely not stand the torture.
“Oh my m-master,” she whimpered. “P-p-please—” She bit off the words in a cry of want as Zayne reached between her legs, his elegant fingers finding her clit, giving it the same rough treatment as he had done her nipples. He held a third clamp in his opposite hand for her inspection.
“Oh no, no, no.” She gasped and shook her head as he fell to his knees, sliding one of her legs over his shoulder. She struggled against him as he spread her flesh apart, exposing her to his inspection as he continued to strum the sensitive knot of tissue before spearing a finger deep into her cunt. Now her cries took on a different tone, begging him not to stop, to take her now and let her come over and over again. She was building toward release, ready to explode, the orgasm coming on much too fast, her entire body shaking with the effort to—
Her shriek echoed off the walls as he placed the final clamp upon her clit, the sensation enough to bring her down from the ledge, her eyes awash with the sting of tears. But already he was soothing the pain away, his tongue darting across her tormented flesh while he slid two fingers high into her sex.
It had been so long since she’d had a man that her body rebelled at his intrusion, clamping hard around him, unwilling to give him open passage. But he was patient, tapping the clamp around her nub as he worked his fingers in and out, higher and faster with each successive thrust until Isabella shook so hard she clawed his shoulders in an effort to keep from falling to the floor.
She heard his sharp intake of breath as her nails pierced his skin but he did not utter another sound of protest as he shifted position, sliding his tongue along her flesh until she grabbed handfuls of his hair and forced his mouth closer. “I swear I cannot wait.” Her voice cracked with her effort to maintain control.
Zayne released her and stood, his erection a length of dusky marble curling high against his stomach. Now it was his turn to tremble as he stood and led her toward the bed. “You will not come until I give you permission.” His jaw was clenched so tight she thought it might shatter from the pressure. “And I will not give you permission until I have buried myself so far inside you I can feel every ripple of your pleasure around me.”
The clamps drove her to darker depths of desire as he took her to the bed. They tightened around her flesh with every move she made and it took every bit of discipline she had not to let herself fall over the edge, knowing it would spoil his pleasure if she came without him.
He pushed her down onto her back and spread her knees apart, exposing her fully to the intensity of his gaze as he took a condom from under a pillow and sheathed himself. She thought he would take her right away but he fucked her with his fingers once more.
And it felt so good to have him touch her, to feel his fingers burrowing high into her sex, the friction causing the clamp to rub her clit with every stroke until she was fighting against the pleasure, battling the need once more. “Take me now,” she begged, trying to push his hand away. “I can’t stop. I can’t—”
Before she could finish he slid up her body, his stomach hard and hot against hers, the engorged head of his cock wrestling to fit inside her. He was too big, too demanding, too much for her to take…but he wouldn’t stop, didn’t stop, forcing his way into her inch by hardened inch, holding her down as she tried to pull away, his mouth devouring hers as she struggled to withstand him.
But already she was lost to the pleasure, sucking his tongue into her mouth as he drove deep into her again and again, and despite his command she could not stop the pleasure as it rippled from inside her, taking her over completely as Zayne continued his masterful thrusts, the bells upon the canopy chiming with every arch of his hips.
Her body clamped around his, the muscles of her sex fisting him so strong, she heard him growl low in his throat as he scraped her across the bed, coming hard and fast to his own release.
“I am pleased,” he gritted out as he ground his hips against hers a final time. “Very well pleased.” He lifted his head to smile down at her.
“So am I.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
He chuckled and rolled away, sliding off the condom and leaving her to fumble uncertainly with the clamps still securing her nipples, which grew more uncomfortable by the second. To her relief he removed them gently, bending his head to lick each tip, the attention enough to make her squirm as the clamp upon her clit worked it back into arousal.
She thought he might order her to stop once more but this time he took pity on her muffled cries, moving to kneel between her legs. His mouth explored her more fully now, slipping like water across the beaded nub of her flesh before tunneling inside her body, only to withdraw and repeat the thrilling process.
He held her down as her body began to shake, his arms anchoring her legs into place as she thrashed upon the bed. His tongue never once wavered from its mission as it swirled round the knotted bundle of tissue. Then he took the clamp between his teeth and tugged, the shock of sensation sending her soaring as the second orgasm ripped up her stomach. Just when she thought she couldn’t fly any higher he pushed his fingers inside her again, spearing her with a single thrust as the wave of climax pulled her under.
All too soon he pushed away, running his fingers across her mouth as he went to the bathroom. Isabella nearly jumped out of her skin when someone knocked on the door. Scrambling to put on her discarded clothing, she wondered what time it was and when Zayne had eaten last. To her relief a tray of food had been left outside his room, which she brought in and sat on a table.
He would be checking his blood sugar and administering his insulin, she realized when he continued to remain in the bathroom.
Then she thought he might be waiting for her to take the hint and leave—that he didn’t want her hanging around after they were finished for the night. In a haze of indecision she paced across the floor, making certain she left nothing of her personal belongings behind before she longingly glanced once more at the bathroom door, willing him to return and ask her to stay.
He didn’t. That was all she needed to know as she stepped out of the realm of fantasy and back into her normal life.
But the scent of him lingered on her skin, and her body still tingled with the power of his touch. It was all she had left of their night together. It would have to be enough.
Chapter Three
Zayne arrived at her office precisely on the hour first thing Monday morning, but Isabella, in an irrational streak of self-consciousness, took an extra fifteen minutes to gather her courage enough to step into the examination room.
She’d toyed with the idea of changing her
hairstyle—leaving it out of its usual bun so it would partially cover her cheek—then cursed herself to seven different hells for acting like an adolescent.
When she’d first agreed to meet him at the club she knew this day would come and she owed it to him as a professional—and as a woman who had been satisfied in every way possible—to take his appointment seriously and give him the best in health care.
But the sight of him sitting on the edge of the table—shirt off, his skin glowing bronze and sleek in the stark white of the office—was enough to make her second-guess her decision.
She should never have met him at the club.
She should have referred him to another doctor.
She should not imagine him naked and erect, ready to take her should she give the sign.
“Good morning, Mr. Saladar,” she said in her best office demeanor. “I am very glad to meet you.”
“And you as well, Dr. Seda.” If he was taken aback by her appearance he didn’t show it as she took the stethoscope from around her neck, put in the earpieces and placed the chest piece against his skin, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
Then she moved to listen at his back, noting the jagged scar across one side. Her fingers traced the puckered line of tissue but she pulled her hand away when she realized her touch was verging on a caress. “Does it still give you any pain?”
He shrugged, turning to look at her over his shoulder. “Not physically,” he answered enigmatically.
“Good.” Isabella nodded. She refused to ask him to tell her exactly how it had happened, how he and his wife had ended up in such a deadly situation and did he still long to have her back by his side. Such thoughts would only make her crazy, jealousy and longing conspiring to drag her through a muck of harsh emotion.
“That should be all I need from you today.” She turned to add the information to his chart. “Your blood sugar levels are well within normal range, your cholesterol is practically nonexistent and your heart is as strong as that of a horse.”