by Maisey Yates
“Somehow I didn’t imagine you meant you had cast off everything.”
“Is it so unusual?”
Something in her expression softened. “In my experience, that would be the last thing a man chose to discard.”
“I can see that. My brother was consumed by his lusts. For power. For women. I thought it best not to taint myself with those needs.”
“And now?”
“My responsibilities have changed. They now include you.”
A crease formed between her brows. “I’m not sure if I like the idea of this being a responsibility.”
He reached out and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, drawing her palm back to his arousal. “Does this feel like a responsibility?”
“No. It certainly doesn’t.”
“I want this,” he said, barely able to force the words through his throat. “But I know very little about what I’m supposed to do to ensure your pleasure. I read a book.”
“You read a book?”
“Yes. To better learn how to please you.”
Color heightened in her cheeks. “Well, you’ve done a good job so far.”
He took hold of her chin with his thumb and forefinger and tilted her face upward. “Have I? Have I pleased you?”
“Yes. You couldn’t tell?”
“I felt you. I felt you climax around my fingers.”
She blushed. Somehow he had made her blush. He found that near as heady a rush as making her climax had been. “You’re a good study.”
“I am a thorough man. In all things.” He swallowed, looking down at her body. “And you are far too precious for me to approach this with no skill. With no control.”
“I had no complaints about your skill.”
“Perhaps I have been too honest.”
“No.” She pressed her hands against his chest, bracing herself against him. “I’m glad you were honest.”
She looked up at him, then focused in on his torso, pressing a kiss there. He closed his eyes, doing his best to maintain his hold on his control. What control he had. Dimly, he thought back to his earlier realization that allowing her to have his control here, in this place, might make him stronger outside of it.
She angled her head, kissing him lower, and he reached back and grabbed hold of her hair, working his fingers through the soft blond strands. She wrapped her fingers tightly around the base of his shaft, squeezing him as she curved her lips around the head.
He tightened his grip on her, flexing his hips toward her. She widened her mouth, taking him in deeper. White light exploded behind his eyes and he gritted his teeth hard to keep himself from reaching his release then and there. He had never conceived of such pleasure. Never imagined the intensity that might come from wrapping something other than his own fist around his body. Certainly, there had been times when he hadn’t been able to transcend the ache, that knot deep in his gut late at night. Then he had dealt with it quickly, as efficiently as possible. But this wasn’t about efficiency. This wasn’t about simply satisfying the ache. This was about relishing it. Enjoying every pass of her tongue along his length, every sweet jolt of pleasure wrapped up in pain.
He recalled then the pain he had experienced at the hand of his brother. Pain designed to break him.
He looked down at the soft, beautiful woman pleasuring him with her mouth, subjecting him to a new kind of torture. He was as out of control now as he had been then. At the mercy of his captor. But he had never had such a beautiful captor.
Her gentle hands on the most male part of him were more powerful than any whip brought across his skin had ever been. He had a feeling she could turn the tide inside him with a flick of her wrist. Or rather, a skilled turn of her tongue.
She took him in deeper, and he could think no more. There was nothing, nothing but a blessed blankness, carrying him through the darkness on a wave of sensation. He had, at points in his life, been filled so full of pain he had been afraid it would burst forth from him in an endless torrent. That it was too much for his physical being to contain. A knife plunging into his skin, deeper and deeper, until he was certain it would hit something vital and end him forever.
Now it felt as if the blade had turned. And it was still too much. Still too deep. But it was pleasure he was drowning in rather than pain.
He gritted his teeth, so near the edge he wasn’t certain how long he could hold himself back from going over. But the idea of finishing like this horrified him. He couldn’t subject her to that. Her lips were on him. Surely that was not acceptable. Even he with his limited experience knew that.
He tightened his hold on her hair, tugging her backward. “Enough,” he said, “I cannot endure any more.”
“Good,” she said. “I want you inside me.”
Her words made his stomach pitch. “I’m not sure I can withstand it.” His voice was rough, his words honest.
“We can only try,” she said. Smooth, perfect Olivia. As always. She never seemed ruffled. Never seemed at sea.
He felt certain that he must make it a goal to see her as lost and desperate as he was.
He growled, pressing her back into the mattress, gripping her wrists and holding them above her head. Much like the voluntary position she had assumed earlier. He parted her legs roughly with his own, settling between her thighs. “I will do more than try,” he said.
He might be a virgin, but he was also a warrior. Was a man who led troops into battle. Toward death, and yet ensuring they never in fact met that darkest of demons.
Surely if he could march into a line of enemy soldiers, he could breach a woman’s body.
He kissed her neck, because she looked delicious and he wanted to, and she arched against him, her breasts pressing firmly into his chest, her hips tilting upward. The head of his arousal met against her slick entrance. Yet again it was as though a blade had twisted inside him, a new brand of pleasure and pain bursting through him.
He wanted nothing more than to sink into her. The promise of all that heat, so sweet and slick, sheathing his body, pushed him to the brink.
“Say you want this,” he ground out, his lips still pressed against her neck.
“Yes. Tarek. I want this. Please.” She lifted her hips off the bed, pressing herself more firmly against him.
And he couldn’t hold back any longer.
He pressed against the opening to her body and entered her slowly, gritting his teeth as she surrounded him. Inch by excruciating inch.
He trembled, burying his face in her neck as he tried to hold back the orgasm that was threatening to end this before it even began.
He thought back to his long years in the desert. Barren, dry years that stretched before him as far as he could see. Blank, pale sand meeting a washed-out sky.
He thought of all the years he’d been without touch. Without anyone to speak to. Anyone to hold him.
He was here now. And so was she. And he would be damned to hell if he let it end now.
This was his due. For every slash in his skin made by a blade. For every lash of the whip. Every moment he’d gone without food or water. So much deprivation. And here he was submerged in sensation. In her.
Now, for the first time, he would maintain control, not for the sake of anyone else. But for himself. Only for himself.
He lifted his head, looked down at her. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, cheeks flushed. He lifted his hand, traced her lower lip with his thumb. Could feel his body respond, pulsing deep inside hers.
He kissed her mouth, relishing her flavor, relishing the moment.
And then his control slipped its leash. He couldn’t stay still any longer. He withdrew, before thrusting back in deep. Repeating the motion when she moaned, the sound spurring him on.
She wrapped her legs around his hips, arching agains
t him, urging him on. She whispered in his ear. Pleas, cries. All in English. His brain lost the ability to translate, her words losing their meaning as he moved with her.
She met his every thrust, pressing hard against him when he was sheathed fully within her. She shook in his arms, coming apart completely, her internal muscles tightening down hard on him as she gave herself over to her release.
And then he let go. And he was falling over the edge.
Blood roared through his ears, howling like a beast as he lost himself in his climax. In her. Olivia.
He opened his eyes, cupped her face, met her gaze. Her eyes were wide, shocked. Until she closed them. Looked away.
“Olivia,” he said, his voice rough. Unrecognizable.
She shifted beneath him, a small squeak escaping her lips. “Could I just...?”
“Sorry.” He rolled to the side, allowing her space. She sat up, drawing her knees to her chest, and he stayed where he was. On his side, his head propped up by his hand.
He gazed at the lines, the curves of her body. He couldn’t stop staring. She was beautiful. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Just looking at her was like water on parched earth. Healing. Reaching deep, untouched places inside him. Bringing them life.
She placed her hands on his arm, slowly letting her fingertips drift along his bare skin. “Tarek...you are so beautiful.” She touched a scar on his arm. “So fierce. So caring. That was... I have no words for it. Why have you never been with anyone? Why do you deny yourself?” She took a shuddering breath. “Tarek, what did he do to you?”
CHAPTER TEN
HE SHOOK HIS HEAD. “We don’t need to speak of it. Not now.”
She nodded slowly, keeping her hand on his arm. She didn’t speak for a moment, her eyes downcast. Then she looked back up at him. “You’ve really never been with a woman before?”
“No.”
“Have you... What...what have you done with...other people...?”
“No one. Nothing. I cannot remember the last time I was touched at all before you.” And suddenly the weight of her fingertips on his arm was like a brick. So heavy it was nearly unbearable.
“You were very good,” she said. “You should know that.”
Never in his memory had anyone said something to him out of interest of sparing his feelings. But he wondered now if that was the case. “There is no need for you to lie. In fact, it is best if you don’t. I need to learn how to please you.”
“You did. I’m not lying to you. Trust me, I wouldn’t. I was not a... You know I was with my husband. He was the only one. But...I say that to tell you I understand how important communication is. Especially in the bedroom.”
“I imagine he did not need instruction.”
“No,” she said, looking down. “He didn’t. Though, in some ways, he did. Anytime you’re with someone new you must learn them. All bodies are not the same. Being with you is different.”
“And does it please you?”
“Yes,” she said, meeting his eyes, leaving off any sarcastic asides.
“If I had known...if I had known what it would be like, I never could have resisted you the day that you touched me.”
A smile curved her lips. “Really?”
“Yes, really. I am a terrible liar. If I suffer from anything, it might be too much honesty.”
“I’ve noticed that. I find it quite refreshing.”
“Why is that?”
The smile inverted, a slight crease appearing between her brows. “I’m not sure. Maybe because I have spent very much of my life around careful people. I’ve spent much of my life being careful and suffering consequences when I wasn’t. I quite like that you aren’t.”
“I suppose carefulness might be a valuable skill to cultivate.”
“If I teach you, you have to promise never to use it on me.”
“An odd request.”
“Maybe I’m odd.” She tilted her head to the side, something about the motion making his heart feel slightly overlarge for his chest.
“I think of the two of us, I am the strange one.”
“Possibly.” She lay back on the bed, temptation personified. He could easily get lost in her. Make love to her until they both fell asleep.
And what will happen when sleep comes?
Ice replaced the blood flowing through his veins.
“It is time, I think, for you to go back to your room,” he said.
“What? I just thought...”
“For many reasons, not the least of which being that I have yet to solve the sleepwalking-with-weapons issue, I think it would be best if we kept to our separate quarters.”
She nodded slowly. “I anticipated that we would have separate rooms in general, but I thought perhaps tonight...”
“There is the issue of the sword.”
“Perhaps chuck it out into the hall?” she asked, one brow raised.
“I could, but then what else might I get hold of? I’m very resourceful.”
She raised her other brow. “Are you? I feel as if I’ve just benefited from some of that resourcefulness.”
That cool top layer of hers was back in place. It was because he’d hurt her in some way, and he could sense that. But he couldn’t fathom what he might do to fix it. Not when her fingers on his arm were crushing him now. Not when he needed space. Not just from her, but beyond these walls. Out in the desert.
But failing that, he just needed to be alone. He needed time to process. Time to rebuild. He couldn’t do that with her here.
“Please do not take this personally,” he said. “Please don’t be hurt.”
She shook her head slowly, removing her touch from him. “It doesn’t work that way, Tarek.”
“Why not?” Not even he was that obtuse when it came to interacting with people. Still, it seemed unfair.
“You can’t call a bullet back after it’s been fired. I would think that’s something a warrior would understand.”
“But I didn’t mean to fire at you.”
She put her hand on his cheek. “You know that doesn’t matter, either.”
“It is for your safety.”
She tilted her head to the side. “I’m sure it is. Good night, Tarek.”
She slipped from his bed, taking her wedding gown from the floor and slipping it back on, holding the front closed, not bothering to collect anything else. Not her bangles, not her veil, not her belt.
She had entered the chamber a bride, and she was leaving a wife. An unhappy wife.
But he had to set limits, even now. It was best she learned. When it came to sharing his body, he had determined to give. Because he could do nothing else, in truth. But there were other things that must remain off-limits.
He had whittled the focus of his soul down to a sleek, streamlined arrow, with all of the excess shaved away. He could not go back. He would not.
Yes, his body he could afford to share. But never his soul. He could never, ever expose her to everything he’d been through. Never share the creation of his scars.
She was far too lovely for him to ever present her with something so ugly.
Difficult, when the ugliness was written all over his body.
And one more reason to stay out of her bed tonight.
* * *
Olivia was playing petulant games, and she knew they would come to nothing with Tarek. Removing herself from her first husband’s bed for a certain length of time when she’d found him irritating had typically resulted in the desired apology. Because Marcus didn’t want to be without sex, he would say whatever he needed to in order to restore harmony in that area. Tarek, of course, wouldn’t understand. She was attempting to manipulate a man who was impossible to manipulate. Not because he was so strong, but because he sim
ply didn’t understand subterfuge.
She felt wretched.
But he had torn her open on their wedding night, laid her bare in more ways than just the physical. The way he had looked at her... As though she was special, as though she was the only one. Her heart seized tight. It was because she was the only one. The only woman to ever touch him. The only woman to ever kiss him, to have him inside her body.
It forced more unfavorable comparisons between him and her first husband.
Marcus had been skilled. He had been with countless women before she’d come into his life. For him seduction had been about knowing exactly where to touch, exactly how.
He’d left her feeling as if she was floating on a cloud, left her feeling sated and satisfied.
Tarek had left her bruised. Aching. Desperate for more.
There was something so impolite about the way he had ravished her. Like the man himself. In contrast, Marcus had unfailing manners, always. But Olivia couldn’t escape the thought that it was a testament to how little it mattered which female was in his bed at any given time.
She had spoken to Tarek about how they would both have to learn. Of course she would have to take the time to watch his responses, to feel what made him shake. What made him moan. What made him hard. But then she’d realized that hadn’t been the case with Marcus. He had never learned her in that way. He knew women. That was different.
Not that she had cause for complaint; not that she never asked for more.
It was pointless to stand here and compare two men who were completely different. Particularly when one was dead, couldn’t give more even if she begged him to. And she hadn’t. When he’d been alive she’d asked him for nothing beyond what he gave.
Unlike Tarek, Marcus had never pledged fidelity.
She’d never asked him to.
You didn’t ask Tarek to, either.
And yet he had.
None of this made her wonder what was wrong with Marcus. Rather, she was beginning to wonder what was wrong with herself. Why she had never pushed for more. Because she and Marcus had professed love for each other, and still he had given her less than half. And she had accepted it. Not only had she accepted it, she’d been comfortable with it. Had he made eye contact with her as he thrust deep into her body the way that Tarek had, she probably would have curled in on herself and retreated.