Page 34 of WarBride

I catch my breath. I wasn’t expecting that. That pressure of his mouth against my skin, a salute of honor. Nothing grasping or greedy. Simple and yet . . . not simple at all. I don’t know how to describe it; I don’t know how to feel. I know only that my heart leaps to my throat, and when it thuds back into place, it’s pounding faster than before. Warmth spreads from that point of contact between us, as though he is imparting his own body heat into my cold frame.

The fire in my belly flares. Suddenly, to my surprise, I find I want more. I want to feel how those lips of his will make other parts of my body respond. I want to feel them pressed against mine, because maybe kissing could be more than just mouths mangling and tongues tangling. Maybe . . .

He draws back slowly, breathing against my forehead. “Did you like that?”

I nod. It’s the first time I’ve answered without hesitation.

His fingers still on my chin, he tips my head back farther. He sits on the edge of the bed, and I stand between his legs, but our bodies still feel miles apart. What would happen if I dared cross that gulf? If I dared make the leap?

He leans forward, closing his eyes once more. This time he brushes my lips with his, a breathtaking whisper of touch. Something inside me ignites, something I wasn’t expecting at all. Not here, not with him. Not ever, if I’m honest.

Once more he withdraws. I suck in a breath, leaning toward him as though to catch and hold his kiss. But he puts a little space between us, his mouth so near I can still almost feel the shape of it. His breath is warm and sweet as it mingles with mine. “And?” he asks, his voice a deep vibration in my chest. “What did you think of that?”

I cannot find words. My hand, which has been stiff and clenched at my side, rises as though of its own volition to touch my parted lips. They seem to burn. I flick my gaze up to his. “Kiss me again?” I breathe.

He smiles. “At your pleasure.”

He presses his lips to mine more firmly this time. His hand in my hair pulls me toward him, while his other hand slips around my waist, applying pressure to the small of my back so that I have no choice but to step into him. I press my palms against his bare torso, his skin flaming to my touch. I like that as well—I like the hardness of him, the muscular size and strength of him. I slide my hands gently over his chest up to his broad shoulders. He groans deep, like a growl. The sound shocks me, and I startle. Instantly he pulls back, his eyes still closed. “Oh,zylnala,” he says. “Do you—”

Before he can ask that gods-damned question again, I dart forward and kiss him myself. My lips are awkward and uncertain. I’ve always been on the receiving end of kisses, never the initiator. But Taar responds at once, his mouthmoving against mine, his lips playing, molding, teasing. A little uncertainly, I open my mouth, inviting him in. He flicks his tongue against my upper lip, and I gasp, but do not break away. He does not fill my mouth like Artoris did, however. His restraint is admirable. And maddening.

He breaks away at last and presses his forehead against mine as we both pant for breath. “If I had my way,” he says, “I should like to kiss you like that all night long.”

“Can you not?” I answer, the words low and a little guttural. “I . . . I like it. It pleases me.”

He smiles. I feel it rather than see it, for my eyes are still closed as I rest my brow on his. “It is a pleasure, a great pleasure indeed,” he replies. “But we must keep searching for a pleasure greater still.”

I’m not sure there is a greater pleasure, not for me in any case. But, as much as I hate to admit it, Iamignorant when it comes to such matters. “What would you suggest then?”

“How about this?”

He kisses me again, but when I try to catch and hold his kiss, he moves his mouth away from mine, exploring my cheek, my jaw, my ear, nibbling and teasing my sensitive skin. And I like it, oh, yes, I like it! I like as well the warm strength of his hands, the one still firmly gripping my head, the other planted at the small of my back. I think those hands could possibly do more, though I’m not sure what.

As though reading my mind, Taar loosens his grip on my hair and lets his hand trail down my neck, more of those gentle, exploratory strokes with which he began this experiment. I like that too, more than I did before. I moan softly, which seems to excite him. The hand at my back tenses, fingers curling into the sheer folds of my nothing gown.

Before I can catch my breath, he spins me abruptly around. I utter a little squeak and fall back against his chest. He catchesme, his hand splayed across my abdomen. The other hand moves aside long locks of my hair. His mouth, which had been teasing my ear, now moves down the column of my neck to the curve of my shoulder. And that I like very much indeed. Those kisses send ripples of lightning across my skin. It’s almost more than I can bear. I squirm in his grasp.

Hardness wells up against my buttocks, a large, solid swelling, much bigger and more insistent than I anticipated. My heart jolts, and my body tenses once more.

“Have no fear,” Taar murmurs, aware of my reaction. “This night is about your pleasure alone. I shall do nothing that causes you pain.”

“Are . . . are you sure?” I whisper. Because he feels very urgent, pressed up against me like that.

“Yes,” he replies, his breath tickling my skin. “I want you. I can’t pretend to deny it. But I am master of myself. I will do nothing you do not ask for.” He nibbles the shell of my ear, and I shiver in delicious response. “Tell me now, little bird, what would you ask of me next?”

I don’t know. I don’t know what to ask. This is all so new. I roll my shoulder, turning my head to one side, and try to catch a glimpse of his face from the corner of my eye. “Kiss me again,” I say, as the strap of my gown slips from my shoulder down my upper arm. “There. And . . .” I gasp as his mouth creates more sensation exploding across my skin. “And there, and . . . and . . .oh.”

I lose all ability to speak. Because his hand is now sliding up my stomach, slowly, slowly. His thumb traces the lower curve of my breast, slipping beneath the folds of cloth to explore the delicate skin. That thumb trails up along the curve until it finds the nipple. He flicks me delicately, and fire roars straight to my loins. “Do you like that,zylnala?”

“Yes.” I lean my head back against his shoulder, eyes half-closed, and whimper. “Yes, warlord. Yes, yes.”

His other hand slips around to my front until he cups me firmly with both hands, massaging and teasing, toying with me. “And what do you make of that?” he whispers.

I whimper again and press into him, no longer concerned with the hardness against my buttocks. I arch my back, gasping for breath. My own hands slide up to grasp his shoulders and twine in his long dark hair.

“If you like that,” he murmurs, “there’s something else I want to try. Shall I?”

I don’t want him to stop what he’s doing, but . . . I’m also curious. He seems to know so much more about my body and its mysteries than I do. Unable to form words, I nod.

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