by Sabrina York
“Really?” His heart hitched. “What is that?”
“You remember when you showed me the bathing room?”
“Yes.” His pulse thrummed. Everywhere.
“Ummm.” She rubbed against him. “I would love a bath.” But the way she said it, he knew it was not the bath that was on her mind. Or his.
“Come along.”
She laughed when he grasped her elbow and ushered her, posthaste, back along the balustrade to the third door. It opened for them and a coil of steam roiled out. He steered her inside.
But once there, she hesitated. Doubt flickered across her features.
With an instinctual knowledge, Keeshan read her uncertainty. He pulled her into his embrace. Into his kiss. He soothed her with his lips and tongue. And only then, only when she was warm and willing and pliant, did he nudge the sleeves of her lace dress from her shoulders.
When she would have stopped him, he lowered his mouth and feasted his way along the neckline, seducing the dress from her body one tiny increment at a time. She lost all sensibility when he found her nipples—thank all the gods—and allowed the dress to fall, unheeded, to a pile on the floor. Keeshan, however, continued his work.
It was very serious work. He’d had yet to explore her so completely and he relished it. He tasted her breasts, like ripe fruit, sucking and nibbling. He worshiped at the small of her back, licking and dabbing the two entrancing dimples there. Tasted the cream between her legs, laving her again and again, filling himself with her taste, her essence until she clutched at his shoulders, trembling with strain.
“My. That was selfish of me.” He stood before her, holding out his arms. “It is your turn, my lady, to disrobe me.”
It delighted him the way she stared at him. Like a child offered a multitude of treats and unsure which to taste first. He decided to help and removed his belt. Then he placed her hands at the hem of his tunic and helped her lift it off.
She made a feral little grunt as his chest was revealed. He couldn’t help the lash of pride her admiration engendered. But then he forgot about all of that because, just then, she began to explore. From his collarbone down to his pectorals, swirling around a nipple until he thought he would expire and then down again, lower, to ripple over his abs.
A shudder shot through him, tightening his cock, sending a tingle through his balls, as her attention drifted lower.
He shifted impatiently as she neared the target and then drifted away. “Aimalee,” he groaned. And then he lost all capacity for speech, because she knelt—knelt—before him and hooked her thumbs in the waistband of his breeches and eased them down.
His cock, not shy in the least, bounded forward.
Her eyes widened and her lips parted. His knees went weak at the sight but then they almost failed him when she touched him.
Ah, the bliss. The superb bliss of her fingertips. He thrust his hips forward, unable to stop himself. He wanted this, needed this, ached for this.
When she fisted him, stroked him, he nearly lost consciousness. He was glad he did not, for the next heartbeat her breath wafted over the throbbing head of his cock like a zephyr straight from heaven.
He pressed forward again and—bless her—she took the hint and drew him into her mouth. Her tiny tongue dabbed at the sensitive slit and her lips came around him and she sucked ever so slightly. He held himself as still as he could, wanting to prolong this agony, prolong this bliss.
But when her nails scored his length, he knew he could tarry no longer. An instant more and he would be finished.
So he stepped back.
It was the most difficult thing he’d ever done.
But he stepped back and helped her to her feet.
They were both naked now so he led her step by step into the water. The pool was heated, the water a delight. She moaned as it lapped at her thighs and then, with another step, at her clit. Tiny bumps rose on her skin, screaming her delight.
He led her deeper.
And deeper still.
He brought her to a little stone seat that had been built into the pool. It was a place where one could relax and enjoy the caress of the waters or the caress of another. He settled her and then sat beside her.
She opened her mouth to speak but he kissed the words away, sucking gently on her tongue and nibbling at her lips, teasing her much as she had teased him. And with similar effect. Soon she was quivering and cooing in his arms, clutching him as he found her slit and delved within.
It did not take much to rouse her. What a relief. Rising arousal, twined with desperation, played over her features as he traced her crease, circled her clit then slipped lower and deeper and in.
His heart stalled at what he found. She was slick and hot and ready.
He slid his finger out—much to her chagrin—and then slid it back in with another beside it. And he groaned. That easily, he filled her, so tight was her cunt.
The ripples of sensations battering his body dissolved into manic shivers as need crept higher and higher. His balls tightened into little nuts. His cock wept. Saliva pooled in his mouth at the thought of sliding into her. Taking her. Having her.
He had promised to please her. To see to her pleasure. And he was determined to do so. He wanted to bring her to bliss before he entered her.
But he did not know if he had the strength.
Fortunately, she had other thoughts.
She took control, bless her. She grabbed a hold of his shoulders and lifted herself in the water, turning to straddle his lap and—all the gods—to straddle him.
She took his cock in her hands again and eased down on him. He hissed, throwing his head back. She was hot. Hot and tight and slick. One stroke might do him in.
His balls throbbed. The insistent little pulse at the base of his cock went wild. Pressure, insistent and intense, built. It was all he could do to hold himself still.
She rose above him, disimpaling herself, clutching at his captured cock with the walls of her taut cunt, massaging him with that slick, velvet glove. Her fingers, fisted in his hair, distracted him, but deliciously so. When she bent her head and nibbled at his nipple, he could not resist a thrust of his own. She liked that and wiggled a little, clenched his cock until he thought he might lose his sanity.
And then he did.
She did something with her internal muscles—he had no idea what it was—but she did it and fire ran riot through his body and he lost his mind.
He stood and, holding her in his arms, flattened her against the tile of the pool and impaled her. She cried out and threw back her head, arching into the thrust, sending him even deeper. He thrust again. And again. And then a mindless series of rapid lunges.
The water slowed him, frustrated him, but its resistance enhanced the sensation. As he moved more and more frantically, little waves lapped at him, lapped at her. They washed over her straining breasts and when he lifted her lapped at the tight button of her clit. Fascinated at the sight, he circled that nub and was rewarded when she came around him.
She was tight. So tight. The sucking sensation of her spasm nearly unmanned him but he gritted his teeth and clenched his ass and forced himself to hold back.
He wanted more. Needed more. More for her.
She wept and writhed. Each thrust into her engorged flesh sent spirals of hellish shivers dancing through her. Through him. The sensation traveled down his cock to nest in his balls. A heavy weight descended, a tightening, an increasing tension that delighted and tormented him.
His cock swelled, strained inside her.
Her eyes flew open. Their gazes met, melded. And he surrendered. Cum thundered from him to her in jet after jet of aching, burning bliss. Even when he was empty, he continued to thrust, because with each plunge she came around him, gripping, sucking, massaging the life from him.
Eventually he slowed.
Eventually he stopped.
He lifted her from the water in a boneless mass, wrapped her in a toasty towel and curled up with her
on the plush divan. And he held her in his arms as she sobbed and moaned against him, until she drifted into a peaceful sleep.
And as she slept, he held her. And stared at her beautiful face.
And ached.
After the transforming passion in the bathing room, they were both somewhat subdued. When she awoke, they went to the banquet hall and had a simple meal of cheese and bread and wine. Each feeding the other.
And then they took a walk along the balustrade and Keeshan led Aimalee along the path that snaked its way down the hill to the beach.
They walked in the surf and splashed each other and laughed until he kissed her again. Then they made love in the cool sand with the glowing moon as their only witness.
Chapter Eleven
She fell asleep in his arms when her passion was sated and he held her and watched her. He wasn’t sure why she fascinated him so, but she did. Everything about her drew him.
It was like a drug, watching her sleep. The way her lashes flittered just so, the way her lips twitched. The peaceful rise and fall of her chest as she lolled in the arms of Morpheus. She was lovely in her release and he envied her.
Sleep was a pleasure he remembered though had not enjoyed for centuries.
He tenderly tracked the line of her lips and then, because he could not resist, the slender column of her neck. The simple touch soothed him.
There was something about Aimalee that did that, relieved his tension, fed him, spoke to his soul. She was generous and kind and compassionate. She was a woman who deserved love, the very best of it. But there was something more in her. A warmth. An affinity. A familiarity.
And she deserved to be treated with respect.
She deserved better than being sentenced to this hell with him.
She deserved better than being ensnared by a cheap and tawdry trick like the passion incantation.
Keeshan rested his head on her shoulder. He shouldn’t use it on her. He knew he shouldn’t. And fortunately, up until now—with the exception of the first desperate time—he hadn’t had to. But he knew a time would come when he would need to. When the magic of the lamp would ensnare him and ride him and he would ache to his toes with desire for her—and she would refuse him.
Could he resist temptation then?
The pain was excruciating and grew like a roiling sandstorm when he didn’t touch her. When that happened, could he maintain the control to simply say no? To refrain from using the spell that would release him from his torment?
Now, with her tucked into his embrace, he imagined he could be strong.
Experience taught him differently.
Experience taught him that at his core, he was weak. He hated that about himself. Hated that the spell could ride him, control him.
But if he could do it, if he could resist using the incantation, it could be his little rebellion against the Dark Djinn. If he could bear it.
And he vowed that he would. Vowed that he could.
But somewhere deep inside, a little devil laughed.
Because he had never been able to resist before.
He cupped her cheek, stroked her with his thumb. Like a kitten, she nuzzled into his embrace.
Damn it all. He was going to hate it when she left.
But in the meantime, no matter what it took he would not use the incantation.
He would not.
Unless he absolutely had to.
He knew immediately when she began to stir. Her breathing changed, her body tightened, her presence…returned.
“Are you hungry?” he murmured into her hair.
She nodded. “A little.”
He sat up and waved a hand. A platter of fruit and bread and cheese appeared before them.
Aimalee laughed, wrapping herself in the blanket he had conjured as their bed. “That’s a useful little trick.”
“It’s a long walk back up the hill.”
“Mmm.” She plucked a grape and popped it into her mouth. He watched with a hunger of his own. She stared out at the sea, tapping her lip. “You said you were a student of the Dark Djinn?”
“Yes. But he wasn’t the Dark Djinn then.”
“What did he teach you? Magic?”
Keeshan nodded. “Of a sort. But looking back, the spells were little more than cheap tricks to bend space and time. Nothing really astounding.”
“I find the ability to conjure up food out of thin air rather astounding.”
“Yes, but it is nothing you could not do on your own with a little more effort. This kind of magic is little more than shortcuts.”
“Still… It’s impressive.”
“I am so gratified that you are impressed.” Truly, his power was so insignificant in the scheme of things it was barely worth mentioning.
“Is the Dark Djinn so much more powerful than you?”
“He was much more powerful than I two thousand years ago. Surely now that he has had all this time to hone his craft, he is even stronger.”
She shrugged. “No one is invincible. Everyone has their weakness. You simply need to discover his.”
Keeshan laughed. He had to. She was so naive.
But she made him feel special and he would always remember her for that. Even after she was gone. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight.
“Keeshan?”
“Mmm?”
“There’s something I would like to ask you.”
“Anything.”
“The other day when you were watching the mirror…”
“Yes?”
She tipped her head so she could peer up at him. “Who was she?”
His heart lurched. “She?”
“The woman in the scene. You said the mirror clouds the vision when your emotion overflows. So obviously you cared about her. Who was she? What made you so emotional?”
The pulse at his temple began to throb. He glanced away. “It was nothing.”
“It was hardly nothing. Who was that girl?”
“It doesn’t matter. She died a long time ago.”
“Who was she, Keeshan?” Aimalee set her hand on his broad shoulder. His muscles rippled at her touch. “Was she the woman you loved?”
Her words gored him through the gut because he caught the thread of jealousy, the tinge of pain in her voice.
He swallowed the thick lump in his throat. “She was my sister. Lisette.”
“You have a sister?”
“Had.” One word. So difficult to choke out.
“How-how did she die?”
Keeshan scrubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm. He didn’t want to talk about this. He didn’t want to think about this. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, Keeshan.”
“I have never been able to get that far. I always lose the vision when she screams.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“No matter. That was long ago. Centuries past. Even if I wasn’t a prisoner here, there is nothing I could do to save her.”
“But it would help you, give you peace to know what happened to her. Wouldn’t it?”
It would. It would help immeasurably. One tiny shard of peace in an endless torment.
“I have tried, Aimalee. So many times.” The memory of that anguish, of disappointment upon disappointment, weighed so heavily on him, his shoulders slumped.
“What if I asked?”
His heart lurched. “W-what?”
“It worked when I wanted to see Carter.” Her lip curled as she spoke of the man she had loved, the man who had betrayed her. “We can sit together on the chair and I can hold you the way you held me. And I can ask. Maybe we will be able to see more. Just a little more. That’s all you need, isn’t it?”
He swallowed the lump in his throat. She was right. It had worked before. But it was almost more than he was willing to hope.
She punched him gently on the shoulder with a tiny fist. “Come on. It wouldn’t hurt to try.”
She was wrong. It could hurt. But he could not pass up the chance. He had
no idea how long Aimalee would be with him. If they were going to do this, there was no time to waste. “Now? Can we do it now?”
She laughed and the sound was a balm to his soul. Then she stood and reached out to him, which nearly made him laugh as well. She was such a tiny thing and here she was offering to help him stand. Funny thing was, he suspected she had the strength to do just that. And perhaps more.
He suspected she had the strength to salvage what was left of his soul.
And he wanted to let her.
And for some reason, the thought no longer frightened him.
He took her hand in his and stood. Together they made their way back up the stone steps, up the hill and back to his prison where the truth, a secret held far too long, waited to be revealed.
* * * * *
“Are you comfortable?” They sat on the throne in the mirror room, side by side. Aimalee had her legs draped over his lap and her arms wrapped around his chest. He was so broad, her hands didn’t meet.
“No.” His face was a mask. His lips were pale. A pulse throbbed at his temple.
“Don’t worry, Keeshan. I’m here.”
He kissed her forehead. “Thank you, Aimalee. No matter what happens. Thank you.”
She let herself drown in his gaze but only for a moment. The tiny tremors shivering through him told her he needed an answer. And he needed it now.
She cleared her throat. “Mirror. Show me Lisette, please.”
To her surprise, Keeshan chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“I never say please.”
She grinned. “Shame on you. Such bad manners. No wonder the mirror never shows you anything.”
But all conversation stalled, all banter halted. Keeshan stiffened as the scene, the so familiar scene coalesced on the screen.
A girl. Lovely, spirited and carefree. Now that she knew, Aimalee could see why she had seemed so familiar before. She had Keeshan’s features. His long, slender nose, his high cheekbones, his eyes. She was so like him, yet so lovely.
Smiling at some secret thought, she plucked berries from a bountiful bush, popping them into her mouth, staining her lips an even richer red. She turned to speak to a friend, a sultry, husky voice, and then she laughed at the response, tossing her head back with elegant abandon. And then…