Bound to Seduction

by Elisabeth Naughton

  “Mira…” He threaded his fingers in her long hair, rubbed her skull as she continued to push him closer to the edge. Her free hand slid down his hip and brushed his inner thigh, then gently squeezed his balls.

  “Mira—”

  He tried to pull free of her mouth, but she clamped on tighter with her lips, sucked harder. And then it was too late. He couldn’t do anything except shudder and groan as pleasure slammed into him and stole his breath.

  The pressure eased around his cock. She continued to stroke him slowly as he came down the other side of the best orgasm of his life, her teasing tongue flicking the head, making him shudder all over again. When she finally let go, he blinked several times, looked up, and watched as she swallowed, then grinned with the wickedest of smiles.

  “Did I do a good job? Did you like that?”

  He answered by levering up off the bed, closing his arms around her, taking her down to the mattress, and kissing her flushed, swollen, insanely erotic lips.

  She groaned as she opened to him, as she wrapped her arms around his back and eased her legs apart so he could sink against her body. He tasted himself and the wine she’d sipped earlier. And a hunger like nothing he’d tasted before.

  Thought fled. Need consumed him. He pushed her shirt up, palmed her breast. Loved that she wasn’t wearing a bra under the thin cotton T-shirt. She arched her back, kissed him harder. But she was wearing too many clothes. There wasn’t nearly enough skin.

  “Mira.” He pulled back, dragged her torso off the bed, and stripped the shirt over her head, then threw it on the floor. “Need you naked.”

  She giggled, reached for him as soon as her shirt was gone, and brought her mouth back to his. “Yes,” she whispered against his lips, lifting her hips as he pushed his hand into the waistband of her jeans and slid it around to cup her ass. “Naked.”

  He kissed her again and again, squeezed her ass, pressed his renewed erection against her mound. He wanted to draw out the foreplay, to make her writhe as she’d made him writhe, but all he could focus on was getting inside her. Finding out if she was as tight and wet as he knew she’d be.

  He dragged his mouth from hers, kissed her ear, her throat, breathed hot against her breasts as he flipped the button on her jeans and dragged the denim from her legs.

  She was as beautiful as he remembered. Pale, soft, her hips flared just right, her waist trim, her breasts the perfect size for his hands. For his mouth.

  He closed his lips around her right breast, suckled the tip. Shuddered when her fingernails scraped his skull and she dropped her head back, arching toward him and groaning all over again.

  “Have to be inside you, hayaati.” He moved to her other breast.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Want to feel you come around me.”

  “Oh yes.” She lifted her hips.

  “I want you on your hands and knees, offering yourself to me.”

  She trembled, groaned, squeezed her knees against his sides. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  He was too far gone to think. To stop. To wonder why she was willing to do anything he wanted. He eased away, flipped her to her stomach. Brushed her hair to one side and pressed his lips to the nape of her neck.

  She shuddered, moaned. Pulled her knees up under her and pushed up to her hands. And when she looked back over her shoulder with nothing but lust in her eyes, the last of his resistance broke.

  He knelt on the bed behind her. Trailed his hand down her spine. She closed her eyes, pushed back against him. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her upper body back flush with his. His cock pressed against the cleft of her ass as she gripped the wrist at her waist to balance herself. He kissed her ear, nipped at the lobe. Whispered, “Spread your knees.”

  She did as he asked, and he skimmed his free hand down her stomach, into her curls, then finally brushed his fingers across her sex.

  He’d given lots of pleasure during his years in prison, but this was the first time giving pleasure brought pleasure to him. He felt every wicked burn of desire as he slid his fingers along her wetness, circled her clit, then dipped lower to press inside.

  “You are so tight, hayaati,” he whispered in her ear as he pushed in with one finger, felt her clamp on tight, then slid out again. She dropped her head back against his shoulder, moaned, and rocked her hips against his hand. “Do you like that? Do you like me fucking you like this?”

  “Yes, yes. God, yes.”

  “Do you want more?”

  She swallowed. Nodded. Gripped his wrist tighter at her waist.

  “Tell me.”

  “I want all of you, Tariq. I want you inside me.”

  He closed his mouth over hers, kissed her deep, then let go. She fell to her hands on the mattress. He moved in closer, palmed her ass with one hand while he stroked her sex with the other. When she moaned and pressed back against him, he wrapped his hand around his cock and guided it toward her sex, stroking her with the tip until she shuddered.

  Heaven. It was the only thought he had as he sank into her wetness. As he pulled out, then pushed in again. Her whole body tightened. She shifted back to meet his thrusts. Groaned again and again as their coupling picked up speed.

  He felt himself slipping. Felt his control loosening. And knew—for the first time ever—what it was like to be on the other side. To be the one who was tempted, influenced, driven to do things he wouldn’t otherwise do. A blinding desire to take her harder, to use her in any way he wanted overwhelmed him. To disregard her wants and needs in favor of his own. This was what he did to the humans he granted wishes. This was the way he corrupted. By giving them a taste of something erotic, then twisting it until that desire consumed them.

  The realization slammed into him, stole the air from his lungs. He gasped, pushed away from Mira, tried to slow his racing pulse as he dropped back to sit on the side of her bed.

  Mira turned, looked at him with half lust, half surprise. “Tariq? Is everything okay?”

  No, everything was most definitely not okay. His chest was strung tight as a drum, his ears were ringing, and he was pretty sure those were spots firing off behind his eyes. Not to mention, every soul he’d ever corrupted was flashing in his brain. “I…I’ll be fine. In a minute.”

  Mira scooted closer. Soft fingers brushed his bare thigh. “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No, you didn’t do anything. It was me. I—”

  His words cut off when he looked at her—really looked at her—and saw her for the first time. So honest. So real. So unlike any other person he’d ever met. It was as if he could see her soul for what it was. And it wasn’t tainted. It wasn’t black. It was…pure.

  “You what?”

  “I…” His brow dropped low. “Who are you, Mira Dawson?”

  A slow, winsome smile spread up her face. “I’m just a woman.”

  But she wasn’t. She was more than that. For whatever reason, she was special.

  He kissed her. Slowly. Gently. Unable to do anything but touch his mouth to hers. She groaned against his lips, slid onto his lap, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

  He opened to her, didn’t try to stop her when she pushed him to his back, when she levered herself over him. When her hand stroked his cock and she positioned it back at the entrance to her body.

  “Mira,” he whispered.

  Slowly, she sank down, and they both groaned as he filled her. Arousal flushed her cheeks a warm pink. She rocked against him, pressed her hands to his chest. Never once looked away as she rode. And as his orgasm barreled close, he brushed the hair back from her face and knew, wherever he went, no matter how long he was chained to Zoraida, he would always remember this moment. Of finally being wanted. Not for what he could do but for who he was. Of finally doing the right thing in the sea of all the bad he’d ever done.

  “Tariq…” Her rocking picked up speed. She grew tighter, hotter, wetter.

  He sat up so he could taste the pleasure from her lips when it h
it. “Yes, hayaati. Ride me. Take me. Come for me.”

  Her mouth dropped open. A long groan echoed from her chest. He captured it with his mouth, kissed her deep again and again as he lifted his hips, as he thrust deeper, as he tried to milk every inch of desire from her before it was over.

  Electricity raced through each cell in his body while she rode the wave. And before he realized it was coming, his own orgasm slammed into him. Stole his breath. Made those stars he’d seen earlier explode in a mountain of fireworks. Everywhere. Until want and need and dreams and wishes all condensed into a hot, burning point of light that sucked up everything in one giant vortex of pleasure.

  * * *

  Mira collapsed against Tariq and tried to drag air into her lungs. His chest rose and fell with his own rapid breaths, and both their bodies were coated in a sheen of sweat. Sweat that felt way too good.

  Pleasure still radiated everywhere—even in her fingers and toes—and she smiled as she remembered how easily she’d made him come with her mouth. How easily he’d made her come with his body.

  “I…I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

  Tariq’s voice vibrated from his chest into her ear, and she pushed back, smiled down at him. Her heart turned over as she stared into his eyes. A reaction that both surprised and confused her. “No, you didn’t hurt me. In fact, I think you might have fixed me.”

  He darted a look around the room, and the way his eyes changed from lazy to on guard brought a rush of worry that chilled her skin. Were those Ghuls back? Had he seen something?

  He rolled her to her back, pushed up on his hand. A wave of disappointment washed over her as he slid from her body. “Don’t say that. Not yet, hayaati.”

  She still didn’t know what “hayaati” meant. She’d have to look that up. And she wasn’t sure why he didn’t want her to say he’d fixed her. But as he climbed off the bed and pulled on his jeans, the fear in his voice registered. Followed by an understanding that dawned bright in her mind.

  If her wish was complete, their time together was over. He didn’t want it to be over.

  Warmth replaced the chill. She slid to the end of the bed, reached for his T-shirt from the floor before he could pull it on. “I didn’t say I was done with you, Tariq.” She tugged the shirt over her head, let it drop to her thighs. Loved how it smelled like him. “I said you might have fixed me. Not that you did.”

  He stopped. Looked back at her. Then a relieved smile spread across his face, just before he eased down and kissed her, pushing her to the mattress once more and driving her wild with his mouth. When he eased back, she saw approval in his dark eyes. “You are unlike any woman I have ever met.”

  She liked that. Liked it a lot, actually. She fingered his bicep. He was so muscular. Cut. Hot. “I think there’s still lots more I need to learn. This was great and all, but I don’t think I’ll be done with you until I know I can pleasure you without you having to tell me what to do.”

  “That could take a while,” he teased.

  “Could take a long while.” She smiled. “I’m thinking we might need another session right now.”

  One dark brow lifted. “Right now? Are you ready for that so soon?”

  She brushed her hand down his spine and gripped his ass through his jeans. “I’m definitely ready for it. The question is, are you? You’ve already had two orgasms. You might need to gather your strength.”

  He chuckled. “I am djinn, hayaati. Can’t you feel that I am ready?”

  She did feel it. He was hard against her thigh already. Arousal tingled between her legs once more.

  She lifted her head. Pressed her mouth to his. Mumbled, “You dressed way too quickly.”

  He chuckled again. Slanted his mouth over hers and kissed her deeper. She opened to him, drew his tongue into her mouth. Groaned at the slick, dark taste of him all over again. “I want you to stay with me tonight, Tariq. All night.”

  His eyes flashed in approval, and he pushed his hips against hers in a wicked way that made her downright crazy. “I’m yours. Anything you want. Everything. You only have to ask.”

  She smiled. Lifted to kiss him again. But as her lips met his, something changed. She felt it in the way he pulled back. Saw it in the surprise in his eyes. Smoke spiraled in the room. He looked down as it whipped in a tornado around his body.

  “Tariq?” She pushed up from the mattress as he was lifted off her.

  “It’s all right, hayaati,” he said in a calm voice. A too calm voice. “I’m being called back.”

  Called back? No, that wasn’t part of her wish. “Tariq—”

  “I will return, hayaati.”

  She reached out to him, but the smoke rose over his head, covering him from view before her fingers could reach his. And then it spun so fast, the force of the wind blew her hair back from her face.

  In seconds, he was gone. Nothing to show he’d ever been there except for the thin blue T-shirt she was now wearing.

  That and the ache between her legs. The one that only left her wanting more.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Several. Since being back in his cell, Tariq had finally managed to relax. Hours had passed with no visit, no explanation as to why he’d been called back. But he could guess.

  He lifted his head just as the cell door swung open and Zoraida swept into the room, her royal blue gown swishing in the air behind her. Fury coated her features, her eyes blazing with a rage he’d never seen before. No sooner had he climbed to his feet than her arm connected with his jawbone in a blow that sent him staggering into the wall.

  Pain shot through the left side of his face. His hands hit the stones behind him. Her magic had grown these last few years—thanks to him—and with it her strength as well. Pushing away from the wall, Tariq refused to rub at the pain, instead leveled his narrowed gaze on her, then the three guards close at her back.

  He could take her, he didn’t doubt that. But they had swords, and without his magic, he’d never get by all three without losing his life.

  “You will not defy me,” Zoraida growled. “I am your sayyeda. You are my slave. And you will do my bidding. Guard?” she called over shoulder.

  A guard outside dragged a bloodied and beaten Nasir into the room. “Yes, mistress.”

  “Send him to Jahannam.”

  “No!” Tariq jerked forward. The Pits of Jahannam were fighting rings set up for the entertainment of Ghuls. Few condemned there survived its horrors, and those who did came out forever changed.

  Zoraida’s fist jammed into his jaw, sending him crashing into the rock wall again. “Stand down, djinni, or I will send your other brother there as well.”

  Blood ran across Tariq’s tongue, trickled down his chin. Frantic, he looked for Nasir behind Zoraida as guards rushed in and grasped Tariq’s arms so he couldn’t lurch at her. They’d beaten his brother severely. Nasir’s face was black and blue, and he was barely able to stand on his own two feet. “Nasir—!”

  “Don’t fight her,” Nasir said in a weak voice as the guard dragged him out. “I’ll be okay. Save Ashur. Find a way to save Ashur, Tariq. He won’t last much longer.”

  Nasir’s empty voice echoed from the passageway until he was gone. Rage whipped through Tariq as he turned his glare on Zoraida.

  “You will not defy me, djinni. I am your sayyeda,” she said again, as if saying it would make him submit.

  But he wouldn’t. Never willingly again. Fury and disbelief swirled through him, but he didn’t answer. He was too busy plotting all the ways he would turn his vengeance on her when the time was right.

  “The whip,” she called over her shoulder, her icy gaze never leaving Tariq’s face. As a guard handed her the weapon, she barked, “Secure him!”

  The guards shoved Tariq face-first toward the stones, chained his wrists to the hooks mounted high in the wall.

  He knew not to fight, knew it was useless. But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing him break.

  “
You will do my bidding,” Zoraida repeated as she snapped the whip back, then brought the tip forward to slice into his skin.

  Fire erupted across his back, pain so intense it stole his breath. His body jerked, and he slumped forward against the wall, gritting his teeth. To keep from crying out, he thought of Nasir. Of Ashur. Of his father and their kingdom. And of the retribution he would rain down on Zoraida and her Ghuls when he was free.

  “No one controls my will except me,” Zoraida said through clenched teeth, snapping the whip back again. “Do you understand?”

  The whip cracked. Leather bit into his flesh. A red burn exploded all along his spine. He sagged against the cuffs as she pulled the whip back again and again, as the leather sliced open his skin and darkness beckoned from the shadows.

  He lost track of the number of times he was hit. But as the leather bit into his skin, reality spread out before him like the river of blood pooling at his feet. She could make him feel pain as he’d never experienced, but she wouldn’t kill him. She still needed him to corrupt Mira’s soul. For whatever reason, her Ghuls couldn’t do it. Which meant Mira was safe. At least for now.

  His hazy mind drifted back to all the souls he’d corrupted for Zoraida. Most of the time, he’d succeeded in fulfilling his targets’ wishes, but there were a few times he hadn’t. When even he hadn’t been enough for the women who’d summoned him. Those souls hadn’t mattered to Zoraida. Yes, she’d punished him, but she’d just sent Tariq out on another mission when he’d failed. But something was different this time. Mira’s soul was vitally important to Zoraida. And he was the key to getting it.

  Who was she? Why was she so important? And was it possible she could somehow be instrumental to Zoraida’s downfall?

  His eyes drifted closed. He tried to push the pain to the back of his mind. Tried to think clearly. But the bite of leather, the burn of each lash was too much to ignore. And before long, darkness threatened.