Lucien's Khamsin

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  “I would rather walk into an inferno of flames than cause you one moment’s pain, Beloved,” he said softly. “We’ll wait until you are more at ease with my touch.”

  Khamsin blinked. Not only had he again used a term of endearment instead of his customary wench, he was making it clear he held her feelings above his own and she was touched. Smoothing his hair from his high forehead, she sighed deeply before speaking.

  “I am ready, Lucien,” she said quietly. “There is no need to wait.”

  His hands were beneath her, his fingers caressing the smooth cheeks of her rump. His warm breath tickled her belly button to send ripples of goose bumps over the skin of her abdomen.

  “Are you sure?” he asked her again.

  “I am.”

  He pressed a kiss to her belly then lifted his head. He looked up into her eyes and when he seemed satisfied with her answer, flicked his tongue into the hollow of her navel, and then licked his way to the spiky curls at the juncture of her thighs.

  Reveling in the feelings that were rocketing through her, Khamsin grabbed handfuls of the sheet beneath and twisted them. She was squirming, writhing beneath the quest of his tongue as he trailed it along first the right then the left crease of her thigh. When his mouth moved over the thick curls, she sucked in her breath and held it.

  Though she had touched herself there many times, nothing could have prepared her for the assault of Lucien’s lips and tongue. She was not a novice at pleasuring herself for she was, after all, of an age to need the stimulation of sexual release. But the sensations that were washing over her as his mouth closed upon her mound told her there was more to the sexual act than just the bursting of a quick climax.

  His tongue was stabbing at the little bud that was so sensitive. His teeth were grazing the folds along each side—first the left, then the right. When he eased his hands from beneath her, she snaked out her own hands and grabbed his upper arms.

  “Lucien!” she protested, wanting his hands on her.

  “Shush, Beloved,” he calmed her and put his hands on her upper thighs. “Relax.”

  It was the hardest thing she had done lately, but she forced her arms down to the bed and once more grabbed handfuls of the sheets. His fingers were inching toward her sex and she was panting with anticipation of his touch. When it came, she moaned, for those long tapered fingers were parting her nether lips so his tongue could scrape along the tender folds, licking her as though she was a piece of tasty candy.

  Swirling around. Dragging downward. Licking upward. Flicking over—his tongue danced around her velvety vulva. He suckled her labia, nibbled the little lips and kissed the larger. He brushed the tip of his tongue over the clitoral hood then put two fingers there to lift it, exposing the swelling glans with its slick gloss of oily secretion.

  Shock lifted Khamsin’s hips when Lucien laved his tongue across that erect little nub. The feeling was so stimulating, so intense, she could feel her vaginal juices oozing. She barely had time to thrust her hands into his hair to pull his mouth from the responsive area before he plunged his tongue into her slit, his teeth grazing her clit, his lips latching onto her as though he was a sexual leech.

  “Lucien!” she cried out. Wave after wave of pure joy rippled through her lower body and she could feel the clenching and unclenching of her vaginal muscles as his tongue moved in and out of her like a miniature piston. The sounds his mouth made—slurping, lapping—nearly drove her mad.

  Her hands were buried in his thick curls, tugging a bit too tight for comfort, but he reveled in the volcanic explosion of her climax as it rippled around his questing tongue. Her reaction was strong as her hips thrust up to his mouth and he had to force her body back to the bed, holding her down with strong, powerful hands that were splayed out along her hips to anchor her. His face was buried in her, his senses enflamed by the smell, the heat, the trip hammering of her pulse as it beat through the vaginal walls.

  The last tremor of passion undulated through her lower body and Khamsin lay limp, exhausted, totally satiated. Her breath came in shallow little pants that made her feel lightheaded and she realized she was shivering, her legs quivering of their own accord.

  Licking away the moisture, which had seeped from her, Lucien sighed and moved up in the bed until he could pillow his head between her breasts. He smiled as her arms came up to cradle him, her hands smoothing over his bare back.

  “When you claim a woman, you claim a woman, don’t you, Lucien Korvina?” she asked sleepily.

  “You think I’ve claimed you, wench?” he asked and lifted his head to look up at her.

  Khamsin’s eyelids were half-closed, her expression dreamily. There was a soft smile on her lush lips and the image of a cat lying after having lapped a bowl of fresh cream shifted through Lucien’s mind.

  “You didn’t?” she asked, yawning around the words.

  “Do you want me to?” he asked.

  “Oh, you mean with your thing?” she asked, frowning a bit.

  “Aye, wench,” he said, humor evident in his tone. “With my thing, as you call it.”

  She opened her eyes fully. “Will it hurt like with…?”

  “No,” he stated firmly. “Any hurt you feel, you will welcome. This I promise.”

  They said nothing for a moment, and then he asked her what was troubling her.

  “Will you bite me?”

  Lucien sighed deeply. “Do you want me to?” he countered.

  She shook firmly her head. “No. I am not ready for that yet.”

  “Then it can wait,” he said.

  “For how long?” she asked in a nervous voice.

  “For as long as it takes you to be comfortable with the idea.”

  She looked at him, her forehead creased. “What if I never grow comfortable with it?”

  “You will,” he said gently.

  He was running his finger up and down her arm and the heat of it was doing strange things to her insides. Her lower belly was clenching deep inside and she felt entirely too warm.

  “Do you know what I wish, Sweeting?” he asked.

  She slowly shook her head, her lower lip tucked between her teeth.

  “I wish—” he said, reaching up to touch her cheek “—to show you what love between a man and woman really is, Beloved.”

  “Love,” she echoed for she already knew in her heart of hearts she had allowed Lucien into that lonely spot and it would be hell getting him out again.

  “I think that might well be what I am beginning to feel, wench,” he acknowledged.

  Too soon, her mind told her, but she kept silent. Perhaps love did come in the blink of an eye as someone had once told her it did. Perhaps you didn’t have to work at it or let it overcome you like a Mack truck—whatever that is or was—as someone else had declared. Or maybe—just maybe—there was a middle point and that was where Lucien now stood.

  “It could be,” Lucien agreed, easily reading her thoughts. “Let me make love to you and then we might know for sure.”

  “In for a Bennie, in for a bound,” Khamsin said again and yawned.

  “I believe that’s in for a penny, in for a pound,” Lucien corrected.

  “What’s a penny?” she asked.

  Lucien laughed as he gathered her in his arms. There was so much he wanted to teach her. So many things he wanted to tell her about, to share with her. For the first time in long centuries, he had someone who was a vessel ready to be filled, and he wanted to pour all his knowledge into that waiting receptacle.

  But first, he wanted to stake his claim upon her and take her to heights she could never have imagined existed.

  With infinite care, he traced a wavering pattern from her chin to the middle of her chest, circled each breast before moving on to her belly. He lightly touched her navel then rose up to straddle her.

  “I have only made love with one woman in my lifetime,” he said quietly. “Sibylline was something different. There was no love there, only lust—a moment’s respite
from the pain of my existence and when it was over, I felt shame and a great sense of guilt for having lain with her.”

  Khamsin looked up into green eyes that were filled with deep sorrow and she felt her heart twist in her chest.

  “With you, it will be love,” he said then grinned. “With a whole lot of lust thrown in for good measure.”

  She laughed and watched the sadness fading from his gaze. There was hesitation on her lovely face, but then she swallowed calmly and told him to do what he wished.

  His cock was rock-hard as it pressed against her loins. She could feel the slight moisture that had beaded upon its tip. As he eased down so that he was wedged between her thighs, the wonderful weight of his warrior’s body cushioned upon her womanly curves, she sighed with contentment.

  “I don’t know how it happened,” she heard him say. “Or why, but in the space of a few days, I have developed a growing love for you, Khamsin.”

  Khamsin drew in a breath and held it, looking up at him with surprise. Lust for her was evident in the way he acted. Desire was there in the hot gaze that made her melt each time he cast it upon her. Need, longing, yearning? Aye, those emotions were there, but love?

  “Are you sure?” she asked on a whisper of a sound.

  “As surely as my heart beats and my lungs draw breath,” he said. “I love you, wench.” And knew it was true…

  She threw her arms about him and pulled him as close as their bodies would allow. If she could, she would have crawled inside him, taken up residence. All her life she had longed to belong to someone, to know the pleasures she saw other couples enjoying but her violent rape, her years of running and hiding, pretending she was something she wasn’t, had taken its toll on her emotions. She had never thought to find a mate to love and care for her.

  “Make me yours, Lucien,” she whispered against his ear. “Now. Please!”

  His hand moved between their bodies to grip his steel-hard shaft. With just as much care as though she was a fragile piece of crystal, he slowly inserted the thick, rigid muscle until he was well seated deep within her moist cavern.

  Khamsin felt a moment’s pain at his entry, but she was wet, ready for him, and that moment of discomfort was rapidly replaced with a growing itch that made her begin to squirm beneath him.

  Lucien wanted to be gentle with her, to take his time, but she shocked him by throwing her legs around his waist and arching up for deeper penetration. He had no choice but to begin pumping into her as furiously as she was slamming against him.

  In the space of a clock’s hand around the dial, they were straining against one another. His hands were under her ass, lifting her up for the long strokes. Her nails were arched into his back, holding onto him for all she was worth as he filled her with his massive tool.

  Grunting, Lucien drove into her as sweat beaded his brow and gathered amongst the hair in the center of his chest. Their bodies were soon slick as they slid against one another.

  When he came, it was with a roar that startled them both. His juices spurted deep within her—branding her, claiming her, making her entirely his. He dug his fingers into the soft cushion of her ass and held her to him as he pushed his cock as far as it would go inside her and held it there as the last spasm drained the cum from him.

  Khamsin cried out as her own orgasm broke over her like a tidal wave. Her legs tightened around his waist, her heel digging into the crack of his rump as she strained to keep them together.

  Exhausted, he collapsed atop her, breathing hard, his heart pounding. He shuddered from the sheer reaction of the emotions he had just experienced.

  Satiated, her arms fell to her sides as though the bones had been extracted. She lay there completely spent, totally satisfied.

  Chapter Nine

  “You look like the wolf that ate the rabbit,” Christina commented. “Was she a tasty little treat, my Prince?”

  Lucien was sitting quietly beside the window in the library, his chin in his palm as he stared out at the night. Khamsin lay exhausted in their bed, her long hair spread out like a cape over the pillows. He didn’t turn to look at Christina as she came to sit on the edge of the table beside him.

  “She is more than a tasty treat, Tina. She is a veritable feast,” Lucien said softly.

  Christina slipped easily into her prince’s mind, surprised he allowed the intrusion then quickly withdrew, for there was such heat in his thoughts they seared her. She whistled, fanning herself. “Did you set the sheets aflame, Korvina?”

  He snorted then leaned back in the chair, thrusting his long legs out in front of him. Bracing the back of his head in the cup of his interlocked fingers, he closed his eyes.

  “I haven’t worn myself out like that in so long I thought I’d wear my thing to a stub,” he pronounced.

  “Your thing?” Christina questioned, her lips twitching. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call it that before.” She shook her head. “Somehow it sounds dirty, you know?”

  “Have you ever heard the term tally-whacker?” Petros asked as he joined them. “Now that is a dirty one if one was ever invented to label a man’s prick.”

  Lucien looked over at him. “Where did you hear that one?”

  Petros shrugged. “I don’t recall but here’s another little cutie—whang-bone. Ain’t that a lovely term?”

  “And I thought tickle-gizzard was bad,” Christina giggled.

  “So, your thing got a workout last night, did it?” Petros inquired.

  “I’m so sore I feel like I ran my cock over a cheese grater,” Lucien replied.

  “Poor baby,” Christina said, her lips puckered. “The first time he uses that love tool of his in years and he overdoes it. Do we feel sorry for him or what, Pet?”

  “Not in the least,” Petros declared, taking a chair across from Lucien. “It’s nice to see him with a grin on that ugly puss.”

  “Where is the lovely lady, anyway?” Christina asked.

  “I bid her sleep,” Lucien said. “She was up most of the day, reading in the library.”

  “Too much energy after sapping yours last eve?” Petros asked with a grin.

  “Lucien’s cum must have energized her,” Christina put in.

  Lucien crossed his booted feet, completely relaxed with his friends. “Keep it up, you two. That cat-o’-nine is just itching to scratch your backs.”

  Petros winked at Christina then sucked in a quick breath through his nose. “I think we found our mole in Pavli,” he said. “But he may have had an accomplice here.”

  Lucien frowned. “Why do you think so?”

  “I sent Briton over to Pavli’s room to gather up his belongings. Buried amidst his things was a Constantine medallion. He must have used it to communicate with Stavros. From other stuff we found, it’s pretty obvious he was in thrall to Stavros.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Christina blazed. “I knew I didn’t like that bastard!”

  “After his execution, Nestor came to me to confess he and Peleus put rancid meat atop the good stuff we sent out to the plague victims,” Petros said.

  A dangerous look darkened Lucien’s face. “Why?” he barked, the one word lethal in its voice and tone.

  “Because Pavli ordered them to put nothing but rancid meat on the wagon that night. Both men reasoned it was wrong and didn’t want to get in trouble, but then neither did they want to make an enemy of Pavli. They put just enough rancid stuff on top for Pavli to smell it. The rest was good.”

  “Will you punish them?” Christina asked.

  “They did what I wanted,” Lucien replied for Petros. “They should have come to you, but I can understand why they didn’t. There’s no need to discipline them.”

  “But you still think there’s a Stavros spy here?” Christina queried. “Do you have any idea who it is?”

  “And why you believe he wasn’t working alone,” Lucien amended.

  “The fool kept a diary,” Petros said with a sneer. “Nothing that would incriminate him, per se, but th
ere were a couple of entries suggesting he had turned more sensitive information over to someone he called Bilitis’ daughter but did not identify her any further.”

  Christina flinched. “The spy is a woman?”

  “Apparently so.”

  Lucien turned his gaze to Christina but she was staring at the floor, her lips pursed tightly together, her eyes shifting back and forth, as though she could find the name of the traitor written on the carpet.

  “I’ll question each of the women and see whose father is named Bilitis,” Christina said as she raised her head. “What do you want me to do when or if I find her?”

  “Nothing,” Lucien said quietly and both Christina and Petros turned to stare at him.

  “Nothing?” Christina asked. “Why not?”

  Lucien shrugged. “It isn’t important. It wasn’t important about Pavli.” He looked at Petros. “Perhaps one of these days we should slip a spy into Stavros’ camp.”

  Petros nodded slowly, his eyes narrowed. “Perhaps we should.” It would not do for Lucien to find out there was already a spy in place in the enemy’s camp.

  “You don’t think this woman poses a threat to you, Lucien?” Christina asked. “To any of us?”

  Lucien unclasped his hands, and put his fingers to his right temple and rubbed. “Look for her if you want, Tina. If you find her, bring her to me. I’ll question her then send her back to Stavros. For now, I’d appreciate it if the two of you would find somewhere else to congregate.”

  “Another headache?” Petros asked.

  “Too much sex is more like it,” Christina laughed. She slid off the table. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  Lucien nodded but didn’t answer. When she was out of the room, he glanced up at Petros. “You’re sure about that name?” he asked. “Bilitis’ daughter?”

  “Aye, I’m positive.” He turned to look at the doorway through which Christina had just exited. “Her father’s name was Telly, wasn’t it?”