“Trust me,” he says.
I can do nothing else. I feel him move down the bed. I feel the cool air on my inner lips as I’m exposed and displayed for his pleasure. He’s looking at me there! Surely he’s not going to do that? As he leans forwards and places a kiss on my mound I realise that he probably is.
“You can’t! It’s gross!” The thought of him putting his mouth on me makes me gasp with embarrassment. I bring my hands down to push him away.
“Gross? I don’t think so, sweetheart.” He catches my hands and moves them back where he wants them. He is only inches away from my skin as he speaks, his warm breath sending a flush of arousal through me. I try to pull my legs together but he holds them apart.
“Relax; you’ll like it, I promise you.”
I can’t escape his grip. I try to wriggle away, but he won’t release me. I realise he’s waiting for me to give in to him, to let him do this. Gradually, I force my muscles to loosen. For the life of me, I can’t see what pleasure he’ll get from this act. It’s always sounded so sordid, but I know he won’t do anything to hurt me. As my tension eases he slackens his grasp, and then, with a soft touch, his hands begin to stroke my inner thighs with gentle touches that again make my muscles contract. I try to close my legs, this time to get some relief as my body cries out for just that bit of extra stimulation to send me, once more, over the top. I stop thinking rationally as my body tightens under his expert touch. I’m totally unprepared for the overwhelming sensations as he moves his head down and places his mouth directly on me, sucking gently. The touch I’d been crying out for now seems overwhelming, too much to bear. But as he works his lips and tongue, sucking and licking, using his hands as well, the pressure begins to build inside me, stronger than last time. I start to moan; it seems too much. I’m reaching for it, climbing higher and higher. I move, pushing myself towards him, struggling as if to attain the summit of some extreme peak while fearing how powerful it will be.
As his busy tongue circles, the feeling gathers strength and every muscle I have goes rigid. I start to shake; my body no longer belongs to me as he murmurs against me, his stubble scratching me; his breath and the tremor in his voice have me hovering at the very height. “Let go. I’ve got you. Come for me.”
His reassurance and his teeth giving a nip to that tender place make me soar uncontrollably and I’m reaching, reaching up and suddenly bursting over the top. I inhale a gasp of welcome air and scream aloud. Spasms wrack my body as he continues to use his tongue and lips, gently nursing me through the aftershocks and bringing me back down. I feel shattered, unable to move, my chest rises and falls rapidly as I try to get air into my tortured lungs.
He moves back up my body, leaving my legs splayed open. Taking advantage of my open mouth his tongue dives in, kissing me deeply, and letting me taste myself on him, something I thought I’d detest, but instead it feeds the fire inside me, making me want to gorge myself like a starving man at a banquet. When he pulls back his face is dark, with the look of a warrior victorious in battle. He knows exactly what he is doing.
As he leans in for another deep kiss, I hear the drums beating loudly outside again. Their rhythm, coupled with the dark looks, full of promise, from this knowing man leaning over me, makes me come alive again. More, yes, please. More!
Distracting my thoughts with his talented tongue he reaches his hand down, his thumb circling and stroking while his finger probes my entrance. Then he pushes in another finger, and it burns. I tense.
“Relax,” he commands quietly into my ear. I try my hardest to obey. Without breaking the kiss, he puts two fingers inside me and curls them around, reaching a spot I’d read about but never thought really existed. His thumb presses outside while his fingers massage inside. I tense, the feeling almost too much to bear, and then I’m soaring again, the orgasm that, this time, seems to come from somewhere deep inside me, even more intense even than the last. I feel like I’ve wet the bed, and squirm in mortification, trying to move away from the damp spot, attempting to hide it.
“I …”
His fingers over my mouth, he stops me speaking. I can smell myself on him; it smells of sex and passion. “Good girl.” His voice caresses me. “You respond to me so beautifully, sweetheart.” He replaces his fingers with his mouth, and kisses me thoroughly, his tongue dancing with mine, his actions showing I’ve pleased him and I find my discomfiture drifting away. And then he’s gone.
Opening my eyes, I see him standing by the bed, undoing the tie holding up his trousers. He removes them carefully, slowly. I’m unable to tear my gaze away as he reveals himself. Shit! He’s huge, bigger than I had expected. Long and thick and oh-so stiff, springing upwards when free, reaching almost to his navel. Christ! I’ve read about erect cocks, of course I have, but the reality in front of me is far more than I’d ever imagined. How the hell is that going to fit inside me? I swallow rapidly, scared. Surely he is too big for me to accommodate? If his fingers hurt me, what damage is he going to do with that monster? My eyes meet his and I know I haven’t hidden my fear.
“You’re too big!” I tell him, my nervousness returning in spades.
Chapter 11
Nijad
The panic in her eyes is plain to see and I don’t need to see it to know she was telling me the truth, she is a virgin. Every way she’s responded to me spells it out. But she won’t be much longer. Fuck, I’ve never taken anyone so innocent before, I’m relying purely on instinct here. The way she’s reacted to my touch, the way she orgasmed almost had me exploding in my shalwar kameez like an uncontrolled schoolboy, even the loose cotton trousers seeming to constrict my cock. It’s all I can do not to launch myself on her and bury my cock to the hilt in one long thrust. I want to fuck her until she screams, but if I don’t slow things down, her cries won’t be ones of pleasure, but of pain.
My size has been a matter of pride up to now, but I can see how it would worry her. As I wonder how I can calm her, I’m idly stroking my cock, slowly moving my hand up and down. She’s watching me, and unconsciously licks her lips, causing me to swallow down a groan. That luscious mouth will be around my cock very soon but, now, I need to be inside her. I watch her watching me. She’s alarmed, but she’s getting aroused at my slow masturbation.
“We’ll fit. Don’t worry.”
While I’m reassuring her I know I’m a bastard, my fingers already having told me how snug her channel will be and that there’s no way I can avoid causing her pain. And even while the civilised part of me is offering comfort, I’m being driven by the blood of my ancestors, with our long history of stealing virgins from their homes and taking them as our own. Driven by the desperate need and desire to make her mine. The thought that no man has ever touched her before is pumping blood through my veins, making me rock-hard. This is no regular fuck; I need to wear no condom tonight. For the first time in my life, I can go unsheathed. The thought makes my blood even hotter, my cock even harder. I can’t delay any more.
Gently pushing her back on the bed, her legs still open wide, I position myself at her entrance, forcing myself to pause as I process the significance of this for her, wanting, needing, to make it the best possible experience, forcing myself to take it slowly. I move my cock around to collect her natural lubrication, smoothing it up and down my shaft with my hand, making myself as slick as possible. I rub her, to raise her level of arousal so that it overtakes her fear. She starts to tense, and when I see her eyes dilate and feel her release commencing I begin to push myself in. Inch by inch, I push into her tight channel, resisting the strong urge to take her all at once.
Fuck, she’s even tighter than I thought she’d be! I knew she’s been telling the truth, her inexperience so obvious, but it still surprises me to feel a physical barrier. My blood boils as the primitive instinct to possess her, to mark her as mine, makes me impatient. I pause, leaning over to take her mouth savagely while pushing through at the same time. I swallow her gasp but lose her lips as she thrashes her head. I
know I’ve hurt her, but there’s no way I can stop now. I continue pushing in until I’m right up against her cervix. She’s taken all of me. I hold still, feeling the contractions of her vaginal muscles as her body accustoms itself to my invasion. With my hands, I hold her head still, my mouth brushing over hers until she realises I am no longer moving. Gradually, I feel her start to relax as her walls stretch to accommodate my width and length. Her eyes, which had been squeezed tight against the pain, flick open again. I smile down at her, and when her features start to relax, I begin to move gently. She grasps me with her hands, her nails digging into my skin with a grip that’s almost painful. She takes a deep breath, and then her muscles press on me again and, this time, I know her actions are voluntary. I pull out, almost all the way, and then slide in again slowly, burying myself in her. I feel her go rigid, as though expecting pain, but as I repeat the action, the look in her eyes changes, as her discomfort gradually transmutes into pleasure. I continue moving inside her, starting to thrust, picking up the pace.
My face is taut with tension as I struggle to maintain control. I can feel her responding to me, can feel her muscles clenching around my cock, her untutored actions and innate response almost sending me over the top. I sense that she has another orgasm building and I need her to come, conscious I’m not going to last long. To help, I reach down my hand, strumming my fingers against her engorged clit. The explosion comes quickly. As she screams and screams I lose it, pumping rapidly as my release comes over me. The drums outside grow even more furious and reach a crescendo as I growl loudly in satisfaction. I swear I feel my cum shooting deep from my balls as I empty myself into her, wave after fucking wave, feeling like it’s never going to stop until I’ve given her all the three years’ frustration that’s built up inside.
Breathing as though I’ve run a marathon I collapse on top of her, my body still pulsating with pleasure. I can’t remember vanilla sex ever being so good, or ever feeling so sated after. Remembering where I am I quickly roll on to my side so my weight doesn’t crush her. Resting my arm on her chest, I feel it rise and fall, as rapidly as my own. Like mine, her breathing still has to return to normal. Her eyes are closed, but there is a satisfied smile on her face. I pull her into my arms, and nuzzle her face, and say the only thing I can.
“Mine,” I tell her, possessively. “Mine.”
At that moment, I know I’m going to be the first, last, and only man to take her like this. Exhausted, from our exertions and the stress of the day, she drifts off to sleep in my arms. The music outside ceases, and in the sudden silence I rest my arm over my eyes and lie back, replaying the events of the evening in my mind and wondering what the fuck just happened. I suddenly freeze.
My feelings blindside me. It shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t feel so right lying here with Cara in my arms. I have no compulsion to move. No sense of being crowded or stifled when I normally prefer distance after sex. As I feel her relax in my arms and her sleep deepens, I remember this wasn’t what I’d planned. I should be waking her and sending her away. But the intensity of my orgasm is still with me, so fulfilling I don’t want to move. Is it three years’ abstinence that made it so satisfyingly mind-blowing? Or the fact she was a virgin? The first time I’ve not used a condom? Could going bareback make that much of a difference?
I hadn’t planned on her falling asleep in my bed tonight. After we had consummated our union, Cara should have gone to the tent I had ordered to be prepared for her. Alone. After that, I’d have made sure that the terms of the marriage contract were fulfilled by visiting her at night, on a regular basis, until she was pregnant. And then I’d have kept away. Our nuptials are only part of an arrangement, the sole purpose to provide the heir my father decreed I should have. The marriage has a time limit; it isn’t a life sentence. My heart stills. She’s not mine; she’s mine for five years only. Get a grip on yourself!
She’s not the person for me, not the wife I want or need. This shy, nervous bride isn’t someone I would have chosen as a sexual partner, let alone a partner for life. I’m a Dominant. Although she shows visible signs of submissive tendencies, she would never be able to cope with my kinky needs. And knowing myself, I wouldn’t, couldn’t, be satisfied with vanilla sex for the rest of my life. Even five years is pushing it.
Lying here with her like this is fucking crazy. Letting her stay with me in my bed will only raise her expectations. I should be setting the ground rules now, waking her and escorting her to her accommodation. So why the fuck am I holding her close, unwilling to let her go?
As my wife sleeps on, I stay wide awake, unable to summon up any resolve to distance myself from her.
The last person I’d let stay in my bed all night had been Chantelle. That turned out to be a fucking disaster. She’d conned me with her sob story of having nowhere else to go, and she fed my needs so that I let her stay. She hadn’t known that many nights I’d got up, annoyed with her restlessness, spending the remainder of the night on the couch. But Cara’s gentle breathing, that delightful little snuffling sound she’s making as she slips deeper into the realms of sleep, are calming me. I’m berating myself for being weak, for putting her at risk by not keeping my distance. But my troubled thoughts can’t keep me awake, and gradually sleep overtakes me. And still she stays in my arms.
Chapter 12
Cara
I awake, and it’s dark; the lights are extinguished, and I’m disorientated. Slowly I become conscious of warm arms around me, startling me until my mind catches up and memories of the evening before come back. My wedding night. The man who’s holding me is a sheikh, a prince. My husband. Different emotions chase themselves through my head as I remember: embarrassment, shame, but mostly the pleasure. I stretch, and wince slightly, as underused muscles protest. My movements stir him and I feel, as well as hear, his voice rumble beside me.
“Are you OK?”
I’m not sure how to answer. He’s given me the most incredible experience of my life, but what had I been to him? Was I enough for him?
“Cara?” he prompts. When I still don’t answer his tone is full of concern. It’s dark, but when he moves, I sense that he’s leaning over me. “What is it? Did I hurt you?”
In truth I feel a little sore but, perversely, remembering how I got that way makes me relish the pain. I’m not a virgin any longer. And could I have lost my virginity in any better way? I shake my head and then realise that in the low light he can’t see me.
“No, I’m fine,” I reassure him, my voice soft and timid.
He picks up on it. “Tell me how you’re feeling.” He moves his arms slightly and I feel him give me a little squeeze of encouragement. “Talk to me.”
His touch makes me feel safe and comforted, but it doesn’t remove the uneasy feeling inside me. I decide to come straight out with it.
“I’m worried I’m a disappointment to you, Nijad. Everything has happened so fast. I know I’ve been forced on you and I’m not what you want in a wife.”
I feel him still. “You don’t know what I want in a wife.”
I give a quick, self-deprecating laugh. “I’m certain you wouldn’t have chosen me. Overweight, scarred …”
“Stop that! Why the fuck do you think you’re overweight?” His hands move down to my bum and squeeze gently. “There’s not an ounce of fat on you.” He tenses as a thought occurs to him. “You’re not anorexic, are you?”
“No, but …”
He’s not going to let me finish. “And you don’t know what attraction we’d have felt had we met under different circumstances. Maybe it’s fate that brought us together. Who knows?” He pauses. “And it works both ways. I very much doubt you’d have chosen me.”
Again I laugh, this time more loudly. “No, of course I wouldn’t have chosen a handsome sheikh to be my husband. Come off it.”
He chuckles. “Handsome?”
“You’ve seen me. All of me. You can’t pretend …”
“Stop! Stop it now!” His harsh
ness halts me in my tracks. “You were about to accuse me of being a liar, and I’ve already told you: I do not lie.” He rolls over. He’s so close I can feel the warmth of his breath on my face as he gently caresses it with one hand. “I need to know, Cara. You’re going to tell me why you have such low self-esteem.”
I go to pull away, but his other hand closes around my waist and holds me trapped in place. “Please, don’t …”
“Tell me.” It was that voice again.
I have the strong feeling he’s not going to let this go. Can I tell him? Here, in the darkness surrounding us? Can I expose that part of myself? That dreaded night? Maybe it’s time to tell someone. Hunter knows some of it, but not all. Nijad gives me a squeeze of reassurance and, strangely, I feel safe with him. He’s accepted my physical scars; maybe he’d accept my mental ones as well. I draw in a deep breath; it’s so hard for me to go back there, and my voice shakes as I start to explain. “It was Joseph Benting.”
His hand tightens around mine. “Your father?” When he feels me shrug rather than give a verbal response, he prompts me. “Continue.”
“I don’t, and didn’t, think of him as my father. I’d never met him. I knew his name; that was it.” I swallow, and his fingers press against me in encouragement. “It was my eighteenth birthday,” I tell him, closing my eyes, visualising the scene in my head. “Mum had moved us around all our lives so he couldn’t find us. I went to so many schools, never long enough to make friends.” I stop briefly, getting the strength to continue. “I didn’t understand why we had to travel so much. I was fifteen when Mum died. I stopped moving. The state found me a place in a community home, so there I stayed until I finished school.”
Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) Page 15