NO WORDS ALONE

by Autumn Dawn

  Ryven was standing in the observation area when she came off the floor. His arms were crossed and he was watching her intently, his head slightly lowered. “Interesting,” he commented.

  She raised an eyebrow. Everyone else was filing out toward the showers and locker room. “That’s one word for it. I’ll say this for dancing—it’s very relaxing. I don’t think I’ve ever been refreshed after a workout before.”

  His eyes scanned her sarong skirt, cropped top and formfitting tights. “You’ve made me curious. I’d like to see your fighting art.”

  “What? Now?” She glanced around the empty studio. It seemed kind of a girly setting for an impromptu dojang.

  “You’re not intimidated, are you?” he asked lazily.

  “Oooh…” She mock glowered at him. “Play dirty do, you? I hadn’t intended to show you any of my skills. I’ve already seen your men practice, and I don’t measure up.” There was also a part of her that didn’t want him to know what she could do…just in case.

  “Tell that to your captain.” He circled her, his body relaxed yet menacing.

  She turned to face him, her hands up, prepared. “I’m human. You’re not. You’re going to be faster.”

  “I’ll try not to fall asleep.” He chopped at her head, but slowly, softly enough that no damage would have been done even if he had connected. A baby could have blocked him.

  She returned the favor with a controlled kick.

  He shifted and her foot slid past him. His eyes took on a hot gleam as he aimed for her throat.

  Slowly the dance got faster, more complex. She didn’t fool herself that she had seen a tenth of what he could do, but this session didn’t seem to be about fighting. The more they moved together, the higher their pulse, the hotter his eyes blazed. Soon they were fever bright, burning with an excitement she shared. When his hand lashed like lightning and seized the back of her head, the other her waist, she was not shocked. The way he looked at her, the slow way he brought her mouth to his as if about to devour her whole, that shocked her. That self-control of his was devastating.

  Sparks started in her brain. Soon a white-hot fire obscured her vision, spurred by the heat of his tongue, the fire of his touch. Dizzy, hungry, she clung to him as the heat ate her marrow, her strength. Ah, if this was what it was like, if this was how he made love, she had nothing to worry about in his bed.

  The thought triggered a sudden panic. She jerked away as if bitten by ice water. “We’re not married.”

  “Not my fault,” he murmured, making for her lips.

  She wrenched away, aware that he allowed her to go. He didn’t look pleased, though. “We are not married,” she repeated, stronger this time.

  He crossed his arms and regarded her.

  Discovering her hands were shaking wasn’t pleasant. She hugged herself to disguise it. “Look, I don’t know what your morals are here, but we don’t do certain things before we’re married on my world. A woman can be ruined if anyone even thinks she has. I’ve no interest in becoming a whore.” Ah, but it had not always been true. She’d been tempted as a youth, had nearly brought her family to disaster, all for the price of a few kisses. If it had been anyone other than her sister who had discovered her, she would have disgraced them all. The memory burned. She cared about her family. It wasn’t all about her.

  “You haven’t been with a man before?”

  His blunt question made her cheeks burn. “No. I choose to wait.”

  He blinked slowly as his eyes swept her. “How inexperienced must you remain to satisfy this honor of yours?”

  Her neck got hot. She hadn’t been deaf, dumb and blind while she’d been offworld. She knew what he was talking about. “No, Ryven.”

  He ignored her, took a step closer. “I assume kissing is innocent enough.”

  She didn’t trust herself, didn’t trust the fresh sweat that broke out on her skin. “It’s not innocent when you do it.”

  He grinned. “Thank you, sweetheart. You haven’t answered my question, though. Perhaps you could trust me to stop before that line is crossed.” The last was murmured against her lips. He brushed them softly and withdrew enough to look in her eyes. “I hold honor as strongly as you do. Though I have no qualms about taking you now, I will respect your sense of honor. I can wait for the final moment.” He curled a finger in her hair, gently pulled her closer. “There is so much more we can do.”

  She ducked his kiss, nearly moaned at the feel of his lips on her temple instead. “No, Ryven.”

  He withdrew, laughter in his eyes. “I’m going to enjoy changing your mind.” He slapped her butt on the way past. “I’ll wait while you shower. Don’t be overlong or I may be tempted to come looking for you.” He cast her a look over his shoulder as he walked out.

  Xera shuddered. She closed her eyes. The man was going to kill her.

  He didn’t say anything when she came out of the showers. He took her to a restaurant and ordered something he thought she might like, since she wasn’t familiar with the food. In public he was aloof, in command, but there was something in his eyes, his touch, that had her uncharacteristically flushed. Chills would strike her, and she actually felt faint. Her condition made her clumsy, and she nearly spilled her wine. His hand settled over hers as she struggled to right the glass.

  “Easy,” he murmured. “The cause is also the cure, hiri’ami. I could ease you.” He let go slowly, a certain look in his eyes.

  She glared at him. “Your aunt is right. You are a rake.”

  He raised a brow. “And?”

  “We don’t respect them much where I come from.”

  “You are not on your world.”

  “I don’t want to marry someone who won’t keep the vows.”

  He regarded her steadily. “You know I am a man who keeps his vows. I even keep yours…when it can be done.”

  Direct hit! She drew a breath. “I apologize. You have done much for me.”

  He looked unsatisfied. “It has not all been honor.”

  Did he want her to ask? “Which part?”

  Their food arrived then, and he chose not to answer. Perhaps he’d already revealed more than he was comfortable with, but he’d left her curious. She waited until the waiter left, then looked at him with troubled eyes. “Do you like me, Ryven? I’ve known you for such a short time, and I don’t understand you very well. I don’t…” She shook her head, unable to organize her thoughts.

  His mouth turned up in the faintest of smiles. “You’ll find asking Scorpio men about their feelings a lost cause, hiri’ami. I will admit I like you. I would not marry you if I did not. That is not being done to cause you pain.”

  His answer bewildered her, but she wasn’t sure why. She finished her meal in silence.

  He waited until they had both eaten, then leaned back in his chair. “There will be a small ceremony to night to introduce you to our society and to incorporate you into our family. It is not difficult. Namae will instruct you.”

  “What exactly is the meaning of the ceremony? Not that I would accuse you of leaving out any details,” she said wryly. Better to ask than to be condemned for her ignorance later.

  He looked amused. “It’s a public show of approval by my father, telling those of rank that he approves of my choice of bride. Believe that he has no intention of refuting you.”

  “And it’s not a marriage ceremony?”

  He shrugged. “We do not celebrate the actual ‘wedding’ of the couple in any public ceremony. My father will give his public approval and we will celebrate with a feast after we have had our private consummation.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “That sounds like a wedding.”

  He shook his head. “Only the preparation. The bedding completes the act, but we will wait until you have spoken with your sister.”

  She felt uncomfortably like squirming. “Is there any chance of that happening soon?”

  “Eager?” he teased her.

  She rolled her eyes. “Just getting informati
on.”

  “You’ll speak to your sister soon,” he assured her. He rose and offered her his hand before he pulled out her chair. “Come. You must practice.”

  Practice, she found, did nothing for one’s nerves when one was expected to walk down an aisle in front of hundreds of spectators. The only consolation was that she was not expected to give a speech. As gracefully as she could, she walked down the sage green, tiled aisle, careful not to step on the hem of her coral silk gown. The empire waist dress had short tulip sleeves and parted down the center to reveal a gorgeously embroidered underslip of pale pink. A golden clasp was centered just below her breasts, at the point where the underskirt parted. Matching slippers with a ridiculously dainty heel adorned her feet, making the walk that much more challenging.

  The room was huge, and although she knew she was indoors, a blue sky chased with clouds arched overhead, enlivened by the occasional bird. Trees grew out of the floor and collections of potted plants lined the walls, giving the room the feel of a hot house.

  Ahead of her, the lord governor waited on a raised dais with a single throne, though there was room enough for three others. If this had been a normal Scorpio wedding and her family had been here, her sister Gem would have sat on a chair next to him, and Ryven would have had his turn climbing the steps to receive her approval. As it was, he and his family watched in a circle below the dais. She chose not to look at them, afraid she would lose her concentration.

  Carefully she climbed the black crystal stairs, raising her hem just high enough to assure her safe ascension. She raised her eyes to meet the lord governor’s, then carefully knelt at the left side of his throne. She raised her hand and let it rest on the arm of his chair, careful not to touch him.

  This was the place where he could reject her, could refuse to touch her. She swallowed down a sudden qualm, but the five-second pause that came before he touched her hand and bade her rise was nerve-racking. She made her bow and then met his eyes. He wasn’t quite grinning—too undignified! The LG would never grin—but a fierce light shown in his eyes, a mixture of glee and pleasure.

  “Rise, daughter, and be welcome in our family,” he told her in firm, ringing tones. He looked at Ryven, who climbed the stairs as soon as his father had spoken. The LG then put Xera’s hand in his son’s. “All joy to Lord and Lady Ryven Atarus!”

  A great cheer rang out. In spite of herself, Xera colored. She glanced at Ryven, who looked pleased. He winked.

  The reception was a dizzying round of introductions and congratulations. As proud and fierce as the Scorpio were, they still threw themselves into a party with great enthusiasm. Xera was a little shocked at the sensuality of the dances displayed on the dance floor. She was reminded of salsa and various Middle Eastern dance, and these Scorpio varieties were both similar and altogether different. She prayed Ryven would keep her away from the dance floor—he knew she was helpless out there.

  Her wish was not granted. “I can’t dance!” she hissed at him as he led her out with the other dancers.

  “I can make it seem otherwise,” he assured her, a gleam in his eye. “You will be my reluctant bride. I want you to resist me. Show me that, cross your arms and glower at me, and I will show you.”

  She’d never seen him like this—so wild, so completely uninhibited. He made her his centerpiece, danced around her as if showing her off. Wow, but the man could move his hips. He did a hip thrust that actually made her shake her head to clear it. Enjoying herself despite the attention, she fanned herself. He grinned and moved closer, teasing her, sculpting the air around her without actually touching her. She found herself following the movement of his head, tracking his lips until, as the song ended, he bent her backward with a flourish and and kissed her.

  Wild cheers broke out around them. Drunk with kisses, Xera laughed and tried not to stagger as he stood her upright. Dangerous man.

  She had wine as well: bubbly, intoxicating stuff that fizzed in her blood and messed with her judgment. She was giggly and subtly leaning on Ryven by the time he took pity on her and made their excuses.

  She was a little fuzzy about how they got to her front door. On closer inspection, the room wasn’t hers. “Is this your place?” she asked, confused. She was going to have to watch that wine. She’d had hard whiskey that hadn’t knocked her on her tail so fast.

  “Hm. Since I didn’t want to fight to night, I thought I would settle for giving you a massage…and kisses. I demand kisses.”

  She laughed. “Kisses are innocent enough, I guess.”

  His expression was angelic. “Perfectly innocent, wife.” The room was lit with candles.

  She let him undress her. In her current state it didn’t seem alarming. He even had a massage table covered with soft saffron linen, and he drew a sheet up to her shoulders. Nothing alarming there, but it made her wonder. “Have you done this before?”

  He took his time replying as he poured a subtly scented oil over his hands. “I’ve had many massages and have learned something of them. You’ll enjoy this.”

  “This isn’t your table, though.”

  “I could purchase one,” he murmured as his hands began to work their magic. “You’d like that.”

  Maybe she would. Those deep strokes he was using on her back certainly felt good. He even found some knots in her left lattisimus dorsi that had her moaning with the release of a tension she didn’t know she’d carried. He stroked her arms all the way to her fingertips before moving down her back, eventually slipping aside the sheet and working his magic on her firm, round tush. It felt good, but not in a sexual way…not at first. Not until she began to think about whose hands were doing the work. It felt so good, though, especially when he worked out the tension in her thighs and bent her knee to relax her calves.

  Oh, yeah. More people should spend their wedding night like this! He set her legs down and reached for a bowl. She was surprised to feel a hot, wet washcloth moving over her skin. It felt heavenly, but—“You’re going to get the sheets wet.”

  “It evaporates,” he murmured. “It is already steamed off.” He drew a hand down her clean, dry back to demonstrate.

  “Oh.” She relaxed again.

  He washed all of her, allowing extra to stream down between her legs, she thought just to tease her. The feet were the most devastating, though. The nubby wet cloth made her feet tingle, and the hot wet tongue that followed made her squeak in surprise.

  “Kisses only,” he reminded her. “What harm can it bring if I kiss you here?”

  Reasonable harm, she thought as waves of pleas-ur able lassitude swept her. How had she never known that a sweep of a tongue between her toes could send a shiver right up her leg, or that having her toes suckled could make her moan? No one had ever tried it. If they had suggested such a thing, she would have laughed them away.

  Shivers wracked her. His tongue caressed her instep as his hands glided over her calf, and sudden sensation made her cry out. It felt like someone had poured champagne right between her legs. Her head came up and she shot a look over her shoulder. Ryven looked pleased. He also looked…well, she didn’t want to think about that too closely.

  “M-maybe we should…” She puffed out a breath as he switched to her other foot, and lowered her head. It just didn’t seem worth the effort. She’d stop him soon.

  He made her cry out again before he covered her with the sheet and told her to turn over. She did, and began to wonder if there had been more than wine in her cup.

  He started on her toes again. This time he massaged his way up her legs, inching the sheet higher as he did until it just barely covered what it ought. She moved restlessly, whimpering. A peek through her lashes showed his mischievous grin as he lowered the sheet over her legs and took one of her hands.

  His mouth felt every bit as dangerous on her hands as it had on her toes. It swirled and suckled, then made its wicked way down her arm, dragged across her chest above the sheet and licked its way back up to the opposite hand. Shivers wracked he
r and she occasionally cried out with the hot pressure between her legs. Sometimes it would culminate in a burst of light that raced through her body and exploded behind her eyes. She didn’t know what it was.

  He lowered his head and took a nipple in his mouth. She cried out and grabbed his shoulders, her nails digging deep. Instinctively turning away from the intense pressure, she pushed at him, prompting him to snag her wrists and hold them over her head. He made a leisurely feast of her breasts, then raised his head and kissed her until heat burst like rifle shells between her legs. She cried out, desperate for some relief.

  He slid down her body. Down and down. Kissed, nipped, until his head settled between her legs and his tongue thrust deep.

  She screamed. Frantic to dislodge the source of torture, of pleasure, she grabbed his hair and yanked. That got her hands flattened to the bed, his hands on top. All the while she cried out as her thighs grew damp and heat drizzled between her legs.

  He loved her until she was weak, until the pleasure stripped any resistance from her body. She didn’t remember “no,” didn’t care what her sister would say. He could’ve taken her with impunity.…

  But he didn’t.

  She slept naked with him that night, curled with her back to his front. She slept through the night undisturbed and woke to the feel of his mouth on all the places he’d taught her to love, but he did not take her. They even bathed together at his insistence and she got an eyeful of unabashed, aroused male, but he didn’t take her virginity. His hands didn’t even stray past her thighs.

  She felt…resentful.

  It was crazy. He’d made her climax—that’s what those bursts of light were—so many times she was exhausted. She ought to have been satisfied, even grateful that he’d kept his promise, but she could only watch him with hungry eyes and dream.

  He noticed. That he said nothing, only watched her with those brimstone eyes, made it worse.