“Even those within your own household.”
A snarl rumbled through the tightly packed room as dozens of samurai nodded and shifted their weight, as if ready to attack. Takeshi put up a hand, and the murmuring ceased.
“We understand the meaning of loyalty, of honor, of respect. It is you who have no concept of anything more than power and greed and petty lusts. And so it is you who will leave. I will no longer allow you to ravage this land and its people, taking what you want and leaving the peasants to starve. We will no longer permit such injustice,” he said, an arm sweeping toward his fellow soldiers. “Rather than bleed the peasants any further, these brave men can swear a fresh allegiance. One to honesty and justice and compassion. One to me as their new leader.”
“I thought you were just a peasant,” whined Orochi, who now lay in a quivering pile of robes at Takeshi’s feet. “You should be killed for this treasonous act.”
“I am no peasant,” said Takeshi, “and my actions are not treasonous to the villagers who truly deserve my protection.”
“I should not have permitted you to leave my niece’s room alive,” said Miku’s uncle, ignoring the look of confusion that pinched Orochi’s face. “Yet as for my niece…”
Takeshi took another threatening step toward his former Master, raising his sword to the man’s quivering jowls. “To hear you speak of Miku boils my blood,” he bit out, then paused. “But, nonetheless, she must choose her own destiny.”
“So you will permit her to leave with me, her beloved uncle?” he simpered. “I need someone to care for me in my aging years, after all.”
“I will go nowhere,” said Miku, rising from the cushion on which she knelt and moving quickly to Takeshi, her head high and resolve firm. “I belong here, with the man I love.”
She stopped before him, looking deeply into his eyes. His desire for her had always been clear, but in his face, she also saw strength tempered with gentleness, passion made complete with love. She now knew he was a man who loved her with all of his being, and whom she loved in return.
“Your niece stays,” said Takeshi, putting a protective arm around Miku. “But you will leave at once. My men will escort you on your journey to the capital, where perhaps your would-be nephew-in-law will see fit to put you up in his home and fund your extravagances. For the people of this land no longer will.”
Miku’s uncle and Orochi, along with the cowardly soldiers who had arrested Takeshi, were dragged from the room by several samurai. Miku turned in Takeshi’s arms to face him. “Will the Emperor send troops once word of your insurrection reaches the capital?”
“Perhaps, but I believe the Emperor will be happy as long as adequate taxes continue to flow to his coffers. And that can be done without bleeding the peasants, so long as we samurai and nobility are willing to live more modestly henceforth. My warrior brethren will be in agreement that this shall be so.”
“As am I,” she said eagerly, her facing shining with adoration and respect. Then, looking deep into his eyes, she whispered, “You have saved the people of this village, and you have saved me.”
“If that snake Orochi had laid a finger on you…” His voice trailed off, full of barely controlled rage.
Miku reached up and turned his face toward hers again. “No hands have touched me but yours. And I desire for no other hands but yours again.”
Takeshi lifted her into his arms then, and moving through the crowd of milling samurai like a sword parting the mist, he carried her toward her quarters.
“Can it be true that you love me, a mere soldier?” he asked, his voice husky and low as he made his way down the sun-kissed open corridor between the houses.
“You may not come from noble blood,” she said, her head resting against his strong chest as he entered her chambers, “but you have nobleness of spirit. How could I not love a man of such conviction and courage?”
“But I cannot read the poetry you write,” he said, looking past her to the writing desk, “and poetry is who you are. It is your soul.”
She ran a soft finger across his beard, and he looked into her eyes again, an expectant hope softening the hard planes of his face and making her heart ache with tenderness for him. “I will teach you to read,” she whispered, “and until then, we will create a different poetry together.”
They gazed into each other’s eyes for a long moment before he kissed her forehead tenderly and murmured the words she had just read so perfectly in his clear gaze: “I love you, my poetess.”
“And I love you.”
Takeshi moved through Miku’s bedchamber, its silken walls a glowing cocoon in the midmorning sun. Gently seating her upright on the sleeping couch, he knelt before the woman he adored. This free-spirited poetess with a gentle heart and fierce courage. The one person who had finally broken through the hardened defenses of his heart. The woman who had already inspired him to acts of greater goodness and bravery that he could have done before knowing her.
Cupping her face tenderly in his bow-calloused hands, Takeshi pressed his lips to Miku’s eager mouth. As her tongue traced the curve of his lips, she ran her fingers through his hair, loosening the formal samurai knot and allowing it to fall to his shoulders in a thick black mane. The warrior who knelt before her was all hard muscle and barely restrained strength, yet his touch remained tender, the gentle embrace of a lover.
Coaxed by his tantalizing kiss and the memory of his more intimate caresses, Miku’s body responded with the first throbs of a deeper need. She arched her back and, wrapping her legs around his chiseled waist, pressed herself to his kneeling form. His grip around her waist tightened and his kiss deepened, his tongue piercing her mouth and tasting her fully.
She writhed against his hard, muscled abdomen as sparks of pleasure began to ignite between her open legs. With each roll of her hips, she recognized with growing delight her own ability to control that incomparable pleasure Takeshi had earlier released with his fingertips…and mouth.
At the memory of his hungry tongue against her wet core, she shuddered with anticipation and leaned back to open herself fully to her willing warrior. Unable to contain his own desire as he witnessed the unfettered abandon with which Miku used his body for her pleasure, Takeshi slid his hands down her back and lifted her buttocks to his mouth. As her shoulders pressed into the soft cushions of the couch, Miku moaned with expectancy.
With an unconstrained hunger, he licked at her wetness, his tongue sliding across her soft flesh to probe deep within her before emerging again to flick repeatedly cross her point of greatest pleasure. She cried out in ecstasy, overcome by the complete control with which Takeshi mastered her desire. Though her lover, he was still a samurai, and she couldn’t deny the intensely arousing realization that, although he cherished her deeply, he could still do with her what he wished.
He gripped her more tightly in response to her sighs of pleasure, his tongue relentlessly flicking across her heated flesh as she writhed against his mouth. She was his completely now, with no one waiting to force her into the arms of another. The certainty that he could enjoy her for the rest of his life filled him with a fiercer desire than he had ever known. Not even on the battlefield, when he had parried an opponent’s sword and faced down an enemy’s bow, had his blood rushed so hot and his vision seemed so sharply focused. All he could see now was Miku, and all he wanted was to please her—and possess her—forever.
With a deliberate motion, he lowered her waist back onto the couch, her legs still lifted in his grasp. Without waiting, Takeshi thrust into her, taking her fully in one swift motion. She gasped as he filled her, then cried out as he pressed into her again and again, every hard thrust penetrating deeper than she had yet imagined possible. He was possessing her, overwhelming her…yet making her pleasure his supreme focus.
Though initially overcome by her samurai’s unbridled passion, Miku quickly responded with an equally fiery desire of her own. Her cries of surprise turned to moans of utter abandon as she gave hersel
f fully to his carnal onslaught, each thrust penetrating deep within the slick wetness of her aching arousal. She gripped the sides of the sleeping couch with trembling hands and arched up toward Takeshi, seeking to take his full length with each pounding stroke.
Yet in giving herself over to him completely, Miku realized she was in fact achieving her greatest power. Choosing to accept his undying love, and to give hers in return, strengthened her in a way she could never achieve alone. To love and be loved was stronger than his sword and more beautiful than her poetry.
In that moment of comprehension, Miku’s body shuddered over the edge of control. Undulating waves of pleasure exploded from between her legs as she tightened around Takeshi’s shaft. He answered her cries of pleasure with his own deep moan, stiffening within her as liquid heat filled her inner core and spilled down her still-lifted buttocks. Then he collapsed onto her, all his furious need replaced in an instant with tender kisses and gentle words of love.
They lay in each others arms, their bodies and hearts entwined, the frantic ecstasy of their shared passion ebbing as a sated joy washed over them. Sighing with contentment, Miku traced a finger languidly across the bronze skin of Takeshi’s taut chest, no longer hidden from her by plated armor.
“That tickles,” he grinned, capturing her hand in his and kissing her fingertips.
She paused, then smiled. “It is calligraphy.”
“What were you writing?” he asked.
Her heart fluttered as she gazed into the inky darkness of his eyes, so full of love for her. “Your name,” she admitted. “Takeshi. It means warrior.”
“Yes,” he said. “And yet, in finding you, I have begun to discover that there is more to who I am.”
“You are a leader, and a poet, and my lover, too,” Miku said proudly. “Yet you will always be a warrior. And I love you for that strength.”
Takeshi looked into Miku’s face, radiating confidence in him. “And I love you,” he said, kissing her again.
After a moment he paused to speak once more, his voice low and full of emotion. “Your uncle expected there to be a wedding here today. We will send news to him in Heian-kyo that the nuptials have been consummated after all.”
“If that is your will, so be it,” Miku said, tenderness coloring her cheeks as she gazed into the dark eyes of the man who would henceforth be her husband. “For you are now Master of this manor.”
Nuzzling her long, dark hair, he whispered, “And you will be mistress of my heart forever.”
Born on the Mississippi delta in the heart of Dixie, Ashley Radcliff grew up steeped in the rich story-telling traditions of the South, where personalities (and hair!) are bigger than life and setting is a character unto itself.
A journalist father encouraged her early proclivity for creative writing, and a mother whose job required extensive international travel helped pave the way for Ashley's appreciation for flavorful, exotic locales.
After graduating college with a Bachelor's degree in English and history and a Master's degree in literature, Ashley taught high school English before stepping into the fast-paced world of corporate communications.
Still involved in the fields of marketing, advertising, and public relations, Ashley has also finally found time to pursue her first love: writing fiction. Now settled in a small Appalachian town, she draws creative inspiration from the untamed landscape of the Smoky Mountain foothills.
When not writing, Ashley enjoys hiking and kayaking, and she's often found in the kitchen cooking for family and friends.
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ISBN: 978-1-4268-5295-4
The Samurai’s Forbidden Touch
Copyright © 2010 by Ashley Radcliff
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