Slumping on the bed, he stared at her.
“Do not fear, Azara, I will not take you unless you want me too.”
“How can I trust that is true? You have already violated me by bringing me to your cabin unchaperoned,” she cried, her voice deep with anger.
Yet he heard the quiver of uncertainty, a quiver of desire perhaps.
“I am sorry. I would not have us begin this way. You must remember that I am in command, first as a prince and second as the captain of this ship. I can’t allow you to question my authority and not react. Otherwise, I would lose face with my men.”
“And you must remember that I am a princess and not accustomed to obeying the demands of a lawless pirate,” she returned and sat up on the bed to face him.
She made no move to cover herself, but her long, black hair fell over both shoulders, covering her breasts with satiny curls. Rajak licked his lips and looked away from her breasts.
“I’m not a lawless pirate,” he said. “I am the rightful heir to the most powerful throne in the world. My brother took it by murdering my father. He has even imprisoned his own sons and a daughter to rid himself of any claims to the thrown. I would be dead, too, if I hadn’t managed to escape with the help of friends.”
She was silent for a long moment and when she spoke, her voice was softer.
“I sympathize with your plight,” she said hesitantly. “But I can do nothing to help you. I must think of myself. If I allow you to take me, I will be killed for infidelity though it would not be my fault. That is how our laws are made. I belong to your brother.”
“You belong to me!” Rajak said forcefully. “I am the one who signed the marriage papers and had them returned to your father.”
“You?” Azara stared at him in consternation.
“When I saw what my brother had done, I was determined to take something of his. I thought to have you for myself.”
Azara’s eyes widened. “I am small consolation for your throne,” she said. “Will you always remain a pirate, and am I to be a pirate’s whore?”
“Only if you wish to see yourself that way,” he replied, capturing her gaze meaningfully. “One day, you will be the wife of the rightful ruler of the throne of India.”
“You seem very sure,” she said.
“I am.” He waited for her to assimilate all he’d said.
He saw her taking in all the possibilities, but he saw more than that. He saw a regal princess who was little more than a girl, yet possessing the wisdom of a woman. She had been carefully reared as was proper for her, but she’d retained her own independence of thought and reaction. And she was intelligent. He was more pleased by this than he had thought, remembering how her body had fired his passion. But if she was to be his wife, she must be intelligent and wise beyond her years to handle the intrigue and corruption of any royal house.
He saw when her acceptance came. Where her gaze had been thoughtful, it now turned to him with curiosity and something more, something that had been there in the air between them, in the flares of temper and denial.
“I don’t like your brother very much,” she said softly. “A man who would kill his own father to gain his throne is not a man to be trusted. Perhaps one day he would choose to kill me as well.”
Rajak remained silent, letting her come to this decision by herself.
“If I give myself to you, will you protect me from your brother?”
“With my very life,” he answered fervently. “You are pleasing to me, and I would have chosen you for myself if I hadn’t been given the duty on my brother’s behalf. You are more lovely than any woman I’ve ever seen.”
He saw how his words pleased her, and he held out his hand to her. Her gaze moved over his face then her features relaxed and she took his hand. Her smile was tremulous, but he saw in her gaze an acceptance of him and all he’d said.
He pulled her toward him, and she came willingly, soft and yielding, her hands settling on his chest. His hand skimmed over her beautiful body, measuring the curves and dips, feeling the warmth. He cupped one breast and felt the heat of her nipple in his palm. She sighed softly. He tightened his fingers on the smooth roundness and her eyelids flickered.
He dipped his head and kissed her full mouth, gently at first, a mere brushing of lips against lips then deeper, tasting her, invading her with his tongue. Immediately, desire whirled through him and he kissed her thoroughly, his hand kneading her breast. She moaned against his mouth, returning his kisses, touching his tongue lightly with her own, letting him dip deep into the sweetness, her body softening in his embrace, becoming liquid, giving. He broke from the kiss and lowered his head to take the dark nipple into his mouth to suckle.
He heard her intake of breath and her moan of desire like a siren’s song to his ear. He eased her back on the silken bed, covering her body with his, his mouth going from one breast to the other, while with one hand he found the black curls at her crotch, which he separated gently and sought out the nub of her clitoris. Once again, she gasped and reached for his hand as if to halt his progress, but he’d already begun to move his finger against her and she sighed, her knees falling open in surrender, her hands urging him onward. With her heels dug into the mattress, she lifted her hips, opening herself to his caresses even more. At last, he released her nipple and rose above her. She opened passion-glazed eyes to gaze at him in anticipation.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered in protest as he took a different position.
“I won’t,” he said and chuckled at her eagerness.
That she was a virgin, he had no doubt, but her willingness in the game of love pleased him. He raised her slender legs and placed them over his shoulders, so she was exposed to him then lifted her hips to give him even better access. He felt her body tighten momentarily but when he lowered his head and placed his mouth against her clitoris, she cried out, her body jerking before she held herself still for him. He suckled her clitoris until she whimpered then laved it with his tongue before delving deep into her honeyed channel. She tasted like ambrosia, heady and sweet.
She cried out with pleasure, making no words just sounds and moans of abandonment. He brought her to a culmination so she twisted against him, clamping her thighs against his head in a paroxysm of completion. When the moment had passed and she lay quiet, he lowered her hips and legs, rose from the bed and stripped away his clothes and took his place between her thighs.
“No more,” she whimpered. “I can bear no more.”
“One final thing, princess,” he said. “You are ready for this now and so am I.” He slid to the opening of her channel where her maidenhead waited for his thrust then he was inside the hot, liquid core of her, into her slick channel where her muscles were still tight from her earlier climax. Though she’d cried out, she now remained stiff while she held her breath.
“Is it too painful?” he whispered against her cheek.
At first, she lay unresponsive, her arms gripping him tightly around his neck, letting her breath out slowly against his throat.
“Not as much as I’d feared,” she whispered.
His heart turned over at her courage. Tentatively, she moved against him then grew bolder in her responses. He pushed his cock deep inside her and heard her sigh, a musical trilling. Then she matched him stroke for stroke, arching against him, raising her legs higher, wider, opening herself to him until he felt her muscles begin to spasm and knew she was once again ready to climax. He let himself go, thrusting and moving while his own culmination washed over him like the moonlit sea when he dove too deep. But this time, he wasn’t alone. She rode the wave with him, her body striving to prolong their pleasure, her cries wild and uninhibited. She set her teeth in the skin on his shoulder while her nails flayed down his back with only enough pain to show her passion. When it was over, she lay against him, giggling a little and said something he didn’t understand.
“Hasna did not tell me about this,” she whispered before she fell asleep.
; Chapter Five
What had she done? Azara sat with her knees bent and spread wide, her feet crossed and pulled forward. The backs of her hands rested on her knees in an attitude of surrender and meditation while she sought to attain a moment of nirvana. To her servants, she was certain she looked serene and untroubled, but they had no hint of the turmoil she felt. She’d given herself to Rajak, and now she cursed herself that she’d acted so hastily. What if he was as untrustworthy as his brother? The thought died away immediately. The man who had held her through the night was one she could rely on. She would be safe with him and to think that she could spend every night making love as they had was pleasing and exciting.
The fact that he was gone when she woke indicated no desire on his part to linger and claim her yet again, although he’d felt no such reluctance throughout the night. Her aching body was still dealing with the physical discomfort the night had brought her. Shrugging away the memory of such pleasure, she placed her palms together, her fingers extended and brought her hands to her forehead and bowed, praying fervently that Allah would give her answers to her unrest.
For the first time, she wished Hasna were nearby so she might question her on the ways of men after they’d claimed their prize. But Hasna was not present. Only her advice echoed through Azara’s mind. Never give yourself wholly to a man. Keep back your heart. Well, she’d done that hadn’t she? She’d given her body willingly, but she’d kept her heart guarded.
Hasna wasn’t here to advise her so she must decide what to do on her own. She thought of the man who’d made love to her, teaching her passion and desire such as Hasna had never taught her to expect. He was handsomer than any man she’d ever seen before, but more than that, she perceived he was honorable. He’d become a pirate only because of his will to live and reclaim his throne. If she were not a royal princess—if she hadn’t been schooled by Hasna—she might be fool enough to give her heart to such a man. But there were too many uncertainties in life, especially in the life of a pirate who had a price on his head. If he was captured and hanged, would she be put to death as well?
What had possessed her to give herself to him? She couldn’t take it back now or could she? Some of Hasna’s secrets had included instructions for duping a man into believing she was still virginal. She needed only a bit of fish gut. She would order Oma to acquire some for her immediately. Of course, she’d not spend another night with the pirate prince. She would turn him away and hope he would respect her wishes. He had said he wouldn’t take her against her will. So be it.
She refused to admit the swirl of disappointment that flooded her at such a decision. Images of Rajak making love to her danced in the back of her mind, and she couldn’t help but think of the sensuous world of pleasure he’d shown her. Surely, she’d find such excitement and fulfillment with another man. Hasna had said all men were alike, and Azara had come to believe her father’s courtesan about most things, but this puzzled her.
Rajak had been considerate of the fact she was a virgin, making sure she was ready for him, giving her pleasure above his own. A pang of regret filled her to think she’d had no chance to use the tricks on him that Hasna had taught her to inflame a man.
Shaking her head with impatience, she got to her feet and stalked about the cabin. What should she do? Should she get word to her father that she’d been kidnapped? How could she go about it? Perhaps Hestia would know. She’d ask her at first chance. For now, her attendants were playing games in the main eating area, and she was grateful for her solitude, but almost as if summoned by her thoughts, the door opened and they entered, chattering animatedly. Hestia was the last to enter, as usual, hanging back, biding her time. Azara didn’t trust the young woman, because Hasna had not. Still, she tried to keep an open mind.
“Hestia,” she called to the young woman. “Come, I would speak with you.”
The other women looked at Hestia and giggled, although their sharp gazes were assessing, wondering what their princess wanted with that woman and not one of them. Life as a royal servant was fraught with uncertainty and jealousy. Hestia ignored them and came at once to Azara’s side, kneeling beside the bed upon which her princess sat.
“I know my father sent you to be his eyes and ears and to send him back messages of the things you see,” Azara began, keeping her voice low, only for Hestia’s ears. “Have you a way of contacting my father of this catastrophe? Can you send word we’ve been kidnapped?”
“Are you sure you want to do that, princess?” the woman asked, her eyes bold yet secretive.
“What do you mean? Of course, I do.”
“How will you explain what has happened in Rajak’s chambers?” Hestia waited for Azara’s answer.
Color stained Azara’s cheeks. “That is of no account to you,” she stammered. “I will tell my father that Rajak kept me in his cabin, but was noble of intent.”
“That will make little difference, princess. You were there without a chaperone,” Hestia said implacably.
“You have no right to comment upon this. You are a mere servant.” Azara tossed her head in anger and rose.
At once, Hestia got to her feet and bowed slightly, but her eyes were bright with an emotion Azara didn’t want to explore. More than ever, her dislike of the girl flared.
“Since you have disturbed my meditation,” Azara raised her voice so all could hear, “I propose we go on deck and take a bit of air. Cover yourselves well.”
The women chattered with excitement that the princess would be so bold as to show herself to the ship’s crew yet again. Oma rushed forward.
“Azara, you cannot,” the old nursemaid scolded. “’Tis not seemly to go among the men so often.”
“We will wear our burka’s and cover our heads,” Azara replied. “I am tired of sitting below deck like a timid mouse. I wish to go up and feel the wind on my face as we did before.”
“Your father would not approve,” Oma warned ominously.
“My father is not here,” Azara said. “I have been kidnapped by a pirate and am uncertain what will occur, therefore I will go speak to the captain and discern what I must for my safety and that of all my ladies. Come,” she called and without giving Oma a chance to protest further, proceeded to the stairs that led upward to the deck.
The men spotted them as they showed themselves on deck, their silken burka’s like colorful flowers blooming at sea. They called to the women and stared open-mouthed. Azara became afraid she’d made a terrible mistake by bringing her ladies on deck so soon after their last outing until a voice called out and the men immediately returned to their work, their faces now averted from the women.
Azara turned to the bridge where Rajak stood glaring at his crew. When he was certain they were all back to work, he descended the short stairs and hurried toward her.
“You should not be here,” he said, staring into her eyes with such intensity, she blushed.
“My women are tired of being below. They wished to take some exercise on deck,” she said with her gaze averted.
Her servants tittered behind their veils, their bright eyes barely revealed, lively and unafraid.
“I will assign someone to walk with them and see to their safety,” he replied and summoned a tall, well-built man forward. “This is Kalari. He’ll accompany your ladies. As for you.” His eyes darkened and she felt heat flood her cheeks and travel down her body to the place below her belly. “I would be pleased if you would join me on the bridge.”
He held out his hand and she had no choice but to take it. As soon as she did, she felt a ripple of warmth shimmy up her arm. Without looking back, she knew that Oma had trailed along behind her. She thought of ordering her to join the other women, but reminded herself a chaperone was necessary. Oma sought only to protect her. Rajak accepted her presence without comment.
He led them to the bridge and to a place at the railing that gave her the best view of the vast ocean falling away before their prow. The wind blew the silk covering around her face, and s
he longed to throw it aside, but customs must be observed. Still, the feel of the powerful wind pressing against her skin was exhilarating. Rajak’s eyes sparkled as he watched her raise her face so she might experience it even more. Moved by the sheer excitement awakened by the elements, she let go of her hold on the railing and raised her hands above her head, squealing with delight. Suddenly the ship surged and she fell backwards, but Rajak’s arms were there to steady her. His arm remained at her waist and she leaned against him, sighing with contentment.
Oma made a sound, but Azara ignored it. This was heaven and she wouldn’t have a chance to enjoy this often. She refused to let fear of disapproval of people who were far away in another land inhibit her pure enjoyment. Oma clucked in distress.
“Oh come, Oma,” Azara cried in exasperation. “Come feel the wind against your face. It’s intoxicating.”
She pulled the old woman beside her and wrapped an arm around her rounded shoulders. Thus they stood, with her holding Oma and Rajak holding her, while the waves sparkled and danced before the ship and the wind sang of nautical tales they’d never known before. They stood for a long time, mesmerized and refreshed by the sight before them. Azara had never felt so safe as with Rajak’s arm around her, the feel of his strong chest at her back.
“The ocean is so vast,” she said. “It makes me feel small and unimportant.”
Rajak laughed, a sound deep and resonating. She realized she’d never heard him laugh before. She’d never known men to have such a quiet obvious enjoyment of simple things. She opened her mouth to say something else, something that would elicit that deep, masculine chuckle, but the flurry of her servants returning made her sigh and disengage herself from Rajak’s embrace, for such it had been. The spell was broken. She turned to look at her servants, giggling and chattering as they climbed the stairs and joined them at the rail. With a look of reluctance on his handsome face, Rajak turned to Kalari.
“Have you shown them everything?” he asked, obviously disappointed that they’d returned so quickly.
The Pirate Prince (Pirate's Booty Series, Book Five) Page 4