by Maisey Yates
CHAPTER NINE
THE REST OF the reception passed in a fog for Tarek. He had not intended to speak to Olivia with such honesty. He saw no point in infecting her with the darkness that lingered in his past. He scarcely saw the point of infecting himself with it. However, the longer he stayed here in the palace, the more he remembered. The more often he woke, naked and reaching for his sword, his entire body burning with memories of what it had been like to be subjected to the physical and emotional torture visited upon him by his own brother after the death of their parents. It had all been under the guise of strengthening him, but he saw it now for what it was.
The only thing that had gotten him through had been the vision of his people swimming before him. The idea that he might be the perfect weapon raised up to protect them. To prevent what had happened to his parents from ever happening again. It had not then occurred to him that the threat had come from within the palace. That it had been his own brother who had orchestrated their demise. He had only the scribbles of a prince in a private journal, and shattered pieces of memory that sometimes pushed to the fore, piercing his brain with painful, vivid replays of conversations he’d heard. As a boy? During his torture, he couldn’t be sure. They were too broken.
And they were not what he intended to focus on now. But Olivia had shared pieces of herself with him, and he had felt obliged to do the same. Now, though, it was time for them to return to their chamber. It was time for them to become husband and wife in every sense of the word.
A sense he feared he still did not fully understand.
I am what I was made to be. I doubt I will ever be anything else.
His own words, the truth in them, reverberated through him as he and Olivia left the hall to raucous applause and cheers from the guests in attendance.
His body did not know how to feel pleasure. His hands did not know how to give it.
He thought back to the fantasy he’d had a week before, looking down at the book that had held so many secrets to sexual gratification. The fantasy of placing his hands on Olivia’s breasts. Her skin was so soft, perfection, unmarred by the things of the world. His were scarred. His entire body was scarred. Rough. More weapon than man. How could he begin to touch her in a way that would bring her pleasure?
He would have to trust the mechanics. What he had learned in his study. Just as he had learned to trust that drills would suffice when wartime came. That some part of him, instinct, would rise up and take over, join in with what he had learned.
And yet, it seemed rather a large chance to take on such a delicate, easily crushed creature.
They walked on in silence, heading toward his chamber. Neither of them said anything; neither of them touched as they walked inside. Tarek closed the doors firmly behind them, and when he turned it was to see Olivia, slowly removing the bangles from her wrists. She placed the first one on the vanity with a decisive click, followed by a second, and a third. Until she had removed each ring of gold and silver from her arms.
Then she reached up, working small combs from her hair, detaching the veil that had hung over her shoulders. She placed the beautifully adorned fabric across the top of the bangles, her eyes never leaving his.
“I have been thinking,” she said, “about what you told me.”
His stomach turned over. “I am sorry. It is nothing good to think about.”
“Maybe it isn’t. But it happened. I was thinking also about the vows you made to me during the ceremony.”
“I know it was not what was written. But all of those things spoke of love, of clinging to one another. And I do not understand those things. But I understand protection. Possession. Perhaps neither are very romantic concepts, but they are real in my heart.”
She nodded slowly. “I know. It made them meaningful. I understood. But it made me feel that I owed you something of the same. Not just words that were written for me by someone else. Not a traditional sentiment about marriage when nothing about this is traditional. When nothing about the two of us is traditional.”
“And have you decided what they are?”
“I haven’t rehearsed them. But... Yes. I have never been tortured, Tarek. I have never been alone the way that you have. I haven’t known loss as you have done. I promise that when we touch my hands will bring you nothing but pleasure. I promise that I will never send you away. I promise that no matter how long it takes, I will make you see that you are not what he made you. You are a man. And I will do everything I can do to ensure you feel like one.”
As she spoke the final words, her hands went to the belt on her dress, nimble fingers unhooking the tiny catches there, letting it fall free. Then she moved to the tiny buttons at the front of the gown, undoing each one with a kind of purpose that carried great weight.
She parted the fabric, opening the dress at the front and letting it slide from her shoulders, a silken river at her feet.
She was bare beneath the gown. And he couldn’t breathe.
He had never in his life seen a naked woman in the flesh. Drawings, statues, paintings were useless renderings. They did not and could not capture the majesty of what he saw before him. He had to grit his teeth to try to maintain a grip on his control.
She was bathed in golden light, the soft halo provided by the candles in the room conforming to each curve and contour of her figure. He was transfixed by every part of her. The shadow of her collarbone, her round, full breasts, tipped with dusky, pale nipples. The slope of her waist that narrowed then widened again for lush hips and thighs. The dark shadow at the center holding his focus above all else.
She was, now and forever, the epitome of a woman to him. And for all of his days, this was the image he would see when the word was spoken.
Everything else, everyone else, was a pale shade in comparison with her.
“I think now we’re past time for discussion,” she said, luminous eyes meeting his. “Perhaps it’s time we do something other than talk.”
The book had not mentioned this. That he would scarcely be able to breathe. That he would be so hard it would be a physical pain. That his hands would shake. That he would be nearly immobilized with his desire, while also fighting the urge to pull her hard against his body, to lay her down and push deep inside her with no preliminaries whatsoever while he chased a release that was sure to surpass anything he had ever known before.
He thought that he had learned more than the mechanics. But he saw now that there was more still. And that theory would scarce be helpful here.
Because he had not taken into account what she might do. And what it might make him feel. He had made it all about her. Her pleasure. Meeting her expectations of the husband so that he would not be remiss in his responsibilities.
He had fancied his own control so iron that he needn’t consider it.
He had been a fool. And now he was a fool standing before a naked woman.
She began to walk toward him, each step creating a slight wave through her soft body, her breasts keeping rhythm with each movement. She looked down, her eyes clearly following his own line of sight, then looked up at him, a slight smile curving her lips. “I’m glad you’re pleased.”
“Go to the bed,” he said, his voice barely recognizable to his own ears. Though that wasn’t unusual. Sometimes, out in the desert, he had gone long enough without speaking that when he did so again, it was a surprise.
Her shoulders stiffened, one pale brow arching. “I didn’t realize you were one to give commands.”
“Neither did I. Go to the bed.”
He had to seize control here. There was no other option.
She turned away from him slowly, and he allowed himself a long moment to admire the view of her from behind. The enticing dimples low on her back just above the rounded curve of her bottom. The gentle sway of her hips as she walked away from him, complying
with his demands.
Fire shot through his veins with a crack. This beautiful, fierce creature was obeying his commands. Soft, naked, lovelier than anything. Following his instruction. She had been the aggressor when it came to physical interaction between the two of them in the past. Tonight, the control would be his.
It was how it must be.
She sat on the edge of the mattress, her eyes watchful.
“Lie back.”
Her expression held many unspoken questions, but she complied. She breathed in deep, her breasts rising and falling. She was the picture of supplication, and yet he knew better. Because he knew Olivia.
“Raise your arms above your head,” he said.
She complied with that, as well. He admired her ease with her body. Her lack of nerves. She had confidence in him. Of course, she didn’t know the truth.
If things went well, she never would. It would be unnecessary.
He moved to the end of the bed, to a vantage point that provided him with an optimum view. Her legs hung over the edge of the bed, her knees pressed together, her eyes still on his. He took a step toward her, each step increasing the tightness in his chest, his difficulty in breathing. He paused at the edge of the mattress, leaning forward, pressing his hand into the soft bedding. Then he raised his other hand, tracing her cheekbone, the lovely curve of her upper lip, down to her chin. Her lids fluttered closed, her mouth relaxing, a sweet sigh escaping.
So his touch hadn’t harmed her. Wasn’t too rough.
He moved his fingertips across her throat and down lower between the valley of her perfect breasts. He watched as her nipples grew tighter, watched until the temptation to touch became too great. He let his fingers drift over her, brushing his fingertips over her sensitized skin. Satisfaction rocked him as she shivered, as he fulfilled that fantasy of his. She was softer than he had dared imagine. Softer than he had believed anything could be.
He let his exploration continue downward, stopping at the patch of curls between her thighs. He was shaking. From the inside out. Faced now with the full brunt of the desire he had spent fifteen years suppressing.
He was not stone. He was a man. A man who greatly desired the woman before him. Desire such as this had been stripped from him, a necessity for his survival he had told himself. A necessity for his mission.
Protection. Against corruption, against distraction.
But now, with Olivia before him, all he could think was that he had been missing a part of himself, and it had been returned to him.
He almost feared touching her. Fear that he could not meet the need within her. That the need within her did not match his own. That he lacked the skill to bring her to satisfaction.
He knew he lacked skill. All he had was desire.
So he would give her that. All of it. Everything within him.
He pushed his fingers lower, and she gasped as he met with slick flesh. Her knees fell open, allowing him greater access. Heat rose in his face, his breath coming in hard, short bursts, his heart beating so hard he feared it might burst from his chest. He fought to maintain his control, to ignore the ache building between his own thighs.
He stroked her gently, closing his eyes and letting the pages of the book fill the space in his mind. He did exactly as those pages had instructed him to, touching her just where they had said. Using the evidence of her desire to ease the motions. She made sharp, soft noises, her stomach pitching with each breath. She raised her hips off the bed, pressing herself more firmly into his touch.
“Please,” she whispered, “Tarek, please.”
He didn’t know what she was asking for. His mind went blank, the instructions he had placed there dissolving like sand through an hourglass.
She lowered her hand, placing it over his, pushing his hand down farther, pressing his fingertip into the entrance of her body. He looked up, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were bright, the color in her cheeks high. She pressed her hips into his touch yet again, and he answered her silent request, pushing his finger deep inside her.
A harsh, raw sound was wrenched from her lips and he withdrew from her, afraid he had done something wrong.
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t stop.”
She put her hand back over his, guiding him back to where he’d been.
He reclaimed his position, continuing to stroke her gently with his thumb as he entered her again.
She let out a shivering breath, his name on her lips. It struck him in the chest like an arrow, warmth spreading outward like blood. Arousal such as this felt like an injury. So acute it was almost pain. But beneath that, a deep, unending pleasure unlike anything he’d ever known. He knew the ultimate goal of something like this was climax, and yet he found he wished to delay it for as long as possible. Wanted to extend the exploration of Olivia.
She continued to work her hips along with his motions, and he didn’t stop. Because she didn’t ask him to. He simply watched her, watched and tried to match his rhythm to her own, to learn her. Because she was teaching him, with each breath, each sound, each gentle roll of her hips.
He slid his thumb back and forth over the bundle of nerves he’d been teasing and a gasp shook her body, her internal muscles pulsing around him, her entire being trembling.
He knew what that was. He had read about it.
And he had helped her achieve it.
Satisfaction that surely rivaled any orgasm broke over him.
At the same time his pride roared around inside him like a beast, a sense of overwhelming humility overtook him. His hands, these hands that had endured so much pain and caused so much pain, had done that to her.
He was not worthy of the gift.
Her eyes opened again, a sleepy look in them now. “You didn’t even kiss me.”
He withdrew from her body, leaning over and pressing his mouth to hers. It was slow, exploratory, and he allowed her to lead now. She cupped his face, her soft hand resting on his cheek. She shifted, bringing her body into full contact with his.
She lifted her head, a half smile on her lips, and then she lowered her hand, pressing her palm to his hardened arousal. “I think it’s your turn.”
She curled her fingers around him through the fabric of his pants, heat cracking over him like a whip. And he couldn’t pretend this was all about her anymore. These appetites had always seemed a weakness to him. A part of his brother’s corruption; a part of man’s corruption. And yet, he could feel no corruption here in this.
Not here in this room that had become their sanctuary. No one else was invited; no one else and nothing else could gain a foothold here. A storm could be raging outside and the two of them would never know, shielded here, buffeted by the thick walls of the palace. This concerned only the two of them, and for the first time he understood that corruption crept in when the door was left open. But with it closed now, barred, in their own private refuge, he felt he was gathering strength rather than losing it.
That in fact, this might be the safest place for him to lose control, so that he might better rebuild it when he was outside these walls.
He would put up no argument to that conclusion at all. He was incapable.
He looked down at her, at the gleam in her blue eyes. Wicked, provocative. She squeezed him gently and a wave of desire moved through him.
He was a man after all. For surely stone could not feel these things. She sat up, getting onto her knees, leaning into him, increasing the pressure of her touch.
His throat tightened and he swallowed hard, his chest aching. Being stone, he imagined, was in many ways easier than being a man. But a stone could feel no excitement at the touch of Olivia’s hand. And that meant he had no desire for the ease that might come with life as a rock.
She surprised him then, not going to the closure of his trousers, but to the buttons on his shirt. H
e stayed motionless while she set about her task. Removing his tie, pushing his jacket to the floor, followed by his shirt. And then her hands went to the closure of his pants. Her movements were deft, certain, as she divested him of the rest of his clothing.
When he was naked before her, she pressed her palm against him again, her breath hissing through her teeth. He had no idea what expectation females might have of the male body. And he had never had a reason to cultivate modesty. So he found himself now standing before her, not nervous, but assessing.
A small sound escaped her lips that was akin to a whimper.
“Tell me your thoughts,” he commanded.
Perhaps this was not the best time to be talking, but he found that he needed to know what was on her mind. And he had no experience of reading people. Not like this.
“I’m impressed,” she said, her voice thick, husky. She traced the ridge of his erection with the tip of her finger, her eyes never leaving his. “You are most impressive.”
“Am I?”
She blinked. “Surely you know. I cannot be the only woman to praise your natural endowments.”
“You are.”
Her eyes widened. “Then, the other women you’ve been with have very bad manners.”
“I have never been with a woman before.” The admission broke past his lips and his best intentions to keep this a secret.
She jerked her hand back as though she’d been burned. “What?”
“I told you. I had taken a vow to cast off earthly pleasures. I had to keep my focus. I could not be allowed to be distracted, even for a moment.”