GW10 Samurai Game

by Christine Feehan

  She sighed softly and when he reached his arms around in front of her, she obediently leaned against his chest. He made certain the water didn’t spray her in the face as he let the water spray over her breasts. He took his time soaping her breasts, lifting each one carefully to thoroughly soap underneath before rinsing her off. Her nipples fit perfectly into the center of his palms. He couldn’t resist leaning down and biting her neck gently, while he cupped her breasts and teased those taut nipples into hard peaks. He felt her breath leave her body, her breasts rise and fall with the same heated need coursing through her veins.

  He understood the slow, sensual dance now, the worshiping of each other’s body, that slow tender care that showed the other that not only were they desired, but they were loved, appreciated, and thoroughly cared for. He wanted to serve her in just the way she’d served him. He’d always known he’d never be happy with anything less than a full partnership from a woman. He was intelligent and he was a warrior. Who would have thought he would find the perfect woman? How had he come to be so lucky?

  His hands followed the gossamer lines of her spiderweb. He could feel the ridges of the scars beneath his fingertips. He turned his head so that his mouth was against her ear. “I’m going to take my time eating you like candy.”

  Her breath hitched again as his fingers danced over the spider and rolled her nipples, tugging and teasing as he briefly indulged himself in the body she’d so generously offered him. Reluctantly he left her enticing breasts to slip his hands over her flat belly. She had a washboard stomach beneath her soft woman’s skin. He soaped the tiny little curls guarding her treasures before he urged her thighs apart.

  His hands were big and her thighs small. A surge of male pride shook him. She had given herself to him, put herself into his hands and willingly cast her fate with his. She was an extraordinary woman and yet she had chosen to trust her heart, mind, and body to him. His hand cupped the vee between her legs, a deliberate sensual touch, a brand of ownership in his own way. He didn’t dare linger too long. Small pearly drops beaded the head of his cock, and with every breath he drew, he wanted her more.

  She was definitely as aroused as he was, her breasts rising and falling and her inner thighs slick with her welcoming cream. He soaped her slender legs carefully, memorizing the shape and feel of her. He wasn’t surprised that under all that soft, glorious skin were muscles of steel. Yeah, that was his woman, beautiful, sensual, and as lethal as hell.

  He took his time just as she had done, careful with her small feet, noting every single scar on her body and inwardly cursing Dr. Whitney for treating her like a lab rat. She’d been less than human to him, and yet, to Sam, she was everything. He turned off the shower and carefully set aside the sponge and wand.

  “Now we must cleanse our spirits, Sammy,” she said softly, again almost shyly. She took his hand and tugged him toward the steaming water in the deep, two-person tub.

  He had bought the large bathtub to accommodate his size, but now he was very grateful it would hold both of them. She climbed in, giving him an excellent view of the perfection of her butt. He didn’t try to stop himself from cupping her buttocks, his thumb sliding possessively over one smooth cheek. She didn’t protest, but instead, smiled at him over her shoulder as she stepped into the very hot water and scooted to the far side to give him room. She drew up her knees and waited, her dark gaze on his body.

  Sam settled into the hot water with a soft sigh. His body instantly surrendered to the heat, steam, and soothing aroma. He stretched out his legs and rested his head against the high end of the back, allowing peace and tranquillity to settle over him. He lay quietly, her legs over his, small feet resting on his thighs. He watched her through narrowed eyes. She allowed her head to loll back as well, her eyes closed, peace surrounding her.

  “Open your mind to mine,” he ordered softly.

  Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t open her eyes, merely complied, pouring into him to fill him up with sweet serenity. They drifted together in a slow tangle of heat, sensuality, and tranquillity. The sensation sent him to a place he’d never been, melded together with her, entwined in spirit rather than in body. The water lapped softly at his skin and he felt every knot unravel until he was boneless. Neither spoke; they didn’t need to, not with their minds so tightly welded together in peaceful oblivion.

  Her mind moved in his and he opened his eyes to find her looking at him with slumberous, sexy eyes.

  He smiled at her. “Is there more to this ritual of yours? I think this will be my favorite part of the day.” There was more, he could see it in her eyes. He didn’t think, he knew. She had given him the best evening of his life and he hadn’t even made love to her yet.

  She nodded her head in the unhurried way she had and drew up her knees to allow him out of the tub. She’d left two large bath towels lying folded neatly on the shelves beside the tub. He climbed out first, caught up a towel and then swung back to her, his gaze hot as he rubbed the towel over his wet skin.

  “If I forget to tell you later, thank you for this night. You’ve made me feel as if I truly have a home.” He wrapped the towel low on his hips.

  She looked around the spacious bathroom and then back to him. “I feel as if this is my home,” she admitted. “The moment I entered, I felt safe and secure. I felt as if I belonged. I’m glad you enjoy the things that are important to me. I wish to make my rituals yours and yours mine.”

  How could pleasing her not be important to him? He crooked his finger at her and she rose gracefully from the water, a beautiful mythical phoenix rising from the ashes of her past to embrace the future. She walked to him unafraid, unashamed of the small, fractured body tattooed to cover the scars. When she moved, the tattoos moved with her, rippling as if alive. Those fine gossamer threads shimmered in the soft candlelight, playing across her skin and accenting her small waist and small breasts. That little spider moved, as if challenging him to catch it.

  When she stood in front of him, he wrapped a thick towel around her body and dried her body gently. “Show me the next step, Azami,” he encouraged, nuzzling her slender neck.

  She took his hand and tugged him toward the bedroom. His heart tripped a little. He loved her confidence, the way her body moved sensuously beneath the towel, and he couldn’t wait to take those pins from her hair and let it fall around her face. She looked all woman, yet she walked without a whisper of movement, placing her feet automatically and lightly on the floor. He could tell it was a reflex with her to test her footing and memorize floor plans. He would bet his life that she could describe in detail everything in his house and exactly where it was placed. How many men had a woman like that?

  She turned to look at him over her shoulder, a small smile on her face. “No one but you wants a woman like me, Sam. Most men don’t like that a woman is dangerous.”

  “You’d be surprised,” he countered, “although let’s not try finding out.”

  Her eyes laughed at him for that possessive streak he hadn’t known he’d had until Azami had come along. He found himself laughing with her.

  His bedroom was spacious. He liked room—lots of room. And he enjoyed being surrounded by nature. He knew it wasn’t the best idea to have trees close to his house; they could always come down in a storm—or worse, an enemy could use them both for cover to creep up onto his house, or to gain the roof via one of the branches. He didn’t care. He loved fresh air and detested the city. He wanted as much forest around and as close to him as possible. A bank of windows overlooked the stream and surrounding trees, with a verandah just outside where he could sit and watch the deer come in close to drink.

  Only three candles spilled light around the room. One was much smaller than the other, and a small pot sat over it, warming whatever was inside. Azami lowered the pot so that the flame was close to the bottom and could heat the contents faster. She waved him to a mat on the floor, tugging on his towel. He obligingly handed it over to her and, following her silent direc
tion, lay facedown on the mat.

  She slipped out of her towel, folding both neatly and setting them aside before going to the obviously old pot and lifting it away from the candle. He inhaled her exotic fragrance as she straddled him, her warm body sending heat rushing through his veins. He closed his eyes and prayed for strength to endure—to allow her to finish whatever she felt needed to be done before he claimed her wholly for his own.

  “This is very ancient and sacred oil,” Azami explained as she lifted the lid on the old pot. The scent drifted to him, surrounded him, and seemed to enfold him, all before she ever laid her slick, oiled hands on his shoulders and began a slow, methodical massage. “Each generation has added to the formula. The oil is hand pressed and will absorb quickly into your body, invigorating you even as it soothes tired muscles.”

  Already he could feel the tingling heat invading and spreading like a wildfire even as, for the second time that night, he felt absolutely boneless. He drifted in a haze of love and lust, of complete contentment. Her hands moved down his back to his buttocks, kneading and working out every kink, but the ritual gave them much more than relief from sore muscles. The more she worked on his body with her small, sure hands, the stronger the connection between them grew, as if that ancient oil created a bond that cemented them together. She massaged all the way down his legs and each foot, with that same easy, slow pace.

  “You must turn over, Sammy,” she whispered.

  He opened his eyes as he rolled over. She had placed both feet flat on the floor on either side of his hips and lifted herself just enough to allow him to turn over. Immediately she lowered her body over his, straddling his lap, her hot, damp center sliding intimately over his heavy erection. Her hands immediately went to his shoulders.

  Sam held up his hands. He was aching to touch her and this wasn’t going much further, not without him taking her. “Share, Azami.”

  She smiled at him and swiveled slightly, causing a wealth of sensations to course through his groin. The candlelight played over her skin, the swell of her breast and narrow rib cage. The spider moved, showing itself briefly before she turned again to give him a full frontal view. She held the pot of oil in her cupped hands as if it was precious to her. Her gaze locked with his, she offered him the oil.

  Sam coated his hands in the warm, slick oil and waited until she placed the pot carefully on the floor just within reach. When she would have bent forward to resume massaging his chest, he shook his head and lifted his hands to her shoulders. She sat back a little, watching him from under those long, luxurious lashes. He took his time massaging her shoulders before sliding his hands to cup her breasts. The oil disappeared quite fast, just as she’d said it would, leaving her skin softer and silkier than ever.

  Watching her face, he brushed his thumbs over her nipples, saw the flush creeping under her skin and her heightened breathing. “Are you afraid, Azami?” he asked. It was a legitimate question. He wasn’t a small man, and she was quite diminutive by comparison.

  “A little nervous,” she admitted, “but I want you quite badly.”

  He expected nothing less than her honesty. Azami didn’t have it in her to play personal games with him. She would tell him what she wanted and provide for his needs as best she could. He knew the ritual bath had helped to calm her nerves and allow her to familiarize herself with his body while allowing him to see hers.

  “I love this spider,” he whispered and lifted his head so he could taste the oil.

  As he expected, some previous ancestor had considered that a husband and wife would be anointed with the oil and want to consummate their marriage bed. Her skin was more than just pleasant, it held a hint of cinnamon, citrus, and maybe apple. He would never forget the smell of her skin or the way she looked with the flickering light dancing over her. He took possession of her breast, drawing the soft flesh into the heat of his mouth.

  She let out a soft sigh and bunched her fist in his hair. He teased her nipple gently, his mouth moving over that intriguing spider guarding his woman. “I’m going to roll us over, baby,” he said softly.

  He wanted her under him. She’d shown him her world and now he was going to introduce her to his. She nodded and straightened her legs as he caught her around the waist and rolled, pulling her small frame beneath his. The oil on their bodies made them both so silky smooth their skin seemed to caress one another as they shifted and moved. He caught the quick nervousness in her eyes and immediately lowered his head, kissing her mouth over and over until she went boneless and pliant beneath him.

  “Would you feel safer with a dagger in your hand?” he asked as he kissed his way to the tip of her breast.

  “I’m safe with you,” she said. “This is new to me, just as the ritual bath was new to you.”

  “I’ll make your experience every bit as wonderful as you did for me,” he promised. She was nervous, yes, and maybe, just maybe, there was that little hint of fear for the unknown, but she trusted him.

  Sam bent his head to her flat belly and began tracing the delicate lines of the spiderweb with his tongue and lips the way he’d wanted to from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her tattoo. His tongue swirled in her intriguing belly button and moved again to trace her ribs.

  “You need another spider right here by your belly button for me to tease,” he whispered against her skin.

  His body wanted to go fast and take her, burying himself deep over and over, but another part of him wanted to savor her in that same unhurried way she’d built such anticipation. He wanted her soft, breathless cries pleading with him. He wanted her so ready for him there would be little discomfort to her.

  Her stomach muscles bunched and rippled beneath his exploring hand and mouth, her breasts rising and falling as his mouth moved closer. His heart nearly exploded when her mind slipped into his, a little hesitant at first, as if she needed reassurance that he wanted the added intimacy. She would know then—he wouldn’t be able to hide what she meant to him. He wanted her with every breath in his body. He needed her just as he needed air to breathe, and he didn’t even know how it happened.

  Something had happened when their minds connected, out there on the battlefield, and when she’d left his mind, she’d taken a part of him with her. The slow ritual bath had only deepened that bond, pushing his desire so far, creating a hunger so endless for her that it clawed and raked at him. He caught her hands and drew them around his neck, lifting his head to look down at her face. Her eyes were wide-open, and he could see the passion and desire shining back at him. The same hunger clawed at her. He lowered his head to kiss her again, sharing her breath, sharing his mind, one hand sliding down all that smooth skin to find the vee between her legs.

  She was all heat and dampness. A private sanctuary for him to get lost in—and he didn’t give a damn about trying to find a way out. As his palm covered her mound, his thumb sliding deep into her sheath, she flushed, her body growing hotter. Her eyes went wide with shock and her breath turned ragged, but she parted her thighs wider for him.

  “It’s all right,” he soothed. “You’re safe with me, Azami. We’ll do this together.”

  He didn’t think he’d survive that long. His body had never raged at him like this, never made such demands. The candlelight made her skin glow and the threads of the spiderweb actually appeared luminous, a trick of the ink. Watching her, mesmerized by her reaction, he slid his finger into that slick heat. She was tight and hot, and with her small body writhing under his, all that silky skin rubbing against him, he feared he might lose his mind.

  He talked to her to keep sane, to keep from being a primitive idiot when she needed to be introduced into the world of lovemaking gently. “I dreamt of you when I was young, back on the streets. So long ago, Azami. I would spend the night huddled in a doorway, afraid I’d have to kill someone to stay alive, hungry, alone, and when I’d be so tired I couldn’t stay awake, I’d be with you. You were so beautiful and exotic and unattainable, and at the same time, the onl
y solace I had.”

  “I dreamt of you too,” she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I never thought to find a man I would want to share my body with.” She lifted her head and waited until their eyes met. “A man who would see me in spite of my flaws.” She brought her hand up a little self-consciously to her misshapen breast. The scars zigzagged across the soft mound and just to the side of the nipple, where the spider resided, in that small nook where a small part of her breast was missing. The scar was shiny white beneath the spider.

  Sam bent his head to brush kisses across that spider. “The only flaw you have, my beautiful Azami, is that you didn’t find me sooner.”

  Azami laughed softly, but her eyes were overbright and tears shimmered on her long lashes. “Only you could say that. Even my father did not think that. He said I would have to learn to curb my temper. I spent many hours scrubbing the floor of our dojo for losing my temper and nearly taking off the head of my brother when practicing.”

  Sam nibbled his way up to her chin. “Did you chase him around with your sword?” He moved his finger deep inside her, stretching her enough to add a second finger.

  He took possession of her mouth, catching that breathy little moan. He kissed her over and over, savoring the sweet taste of her and the way her lips were soft and firm and her tongue danced with his. He lifted his head enough to kiss the corners of her eyes, removing those tiny, sparkling tears.

  “Did you? Did you chase your brother with a sword?”

  “Yes.” Azami lowered her gaze, clearly ashamed.

  Sam laughed. “I knew it. What did he do?” “He teased me about my white hair and I wanted to chop all of his hair from his head. Father made me scrub the dojo from top to bottom.”

  “That seems fair to me, shaving his head, I mean.” She shook her head. “No, Father was right. I was learning to be quite lethal and I needed to hold my temper over silly matters. Although, I have to say, I was quite secretly pleased when the next time I saw Daiki, his hair was chopped off. He did it himself when he saw me punished.”