Page 35 of WarBride

He pushes me away from him. I start to protest, but he stands up behind me and turns me to face him. For a moment he simply looks down at me, his gaze holding mine hard. He’s so tall—in those moments when he sat with me between his legs, I’d almost forgotten how toweringly huge he is. I feel quite dizzy staring up at him, though that may be due to my sudden inability to draw a full breath.

His eyes slowly, slowly lower, taking in the sight of my mostly-exposed bosom. With exquisite care, he slides the other strap from my shoulder, smooths back the fabric, until the gown simply drops to my waist, and I am bare before him. Heat roars to my cheeks. I’ve never been so exposed to a man’s gaze. It’s one thing for his hands to be on me, another entirely to face him, to be looked at with such hunger. Part of me wants to wrap my arms across my chest, to hide myself.

But I also like it. I like that look. I like the craving in his gaze, and I don’t fear it. Or perhaps I do a little, but it’s a delicious sort of fear, a thrill, a curiosity. His touch thus far has awakened such things inside me as I never believed possible. What more mighthe do? What more might we discover if I give into fear just a little more?

Red light from the fire flares in the depths of his black eyes. He takes hold of my waist, turns me to the bed. “Lie back,” he commands.

I obey. All sense of control slips through my fingers, but I like that too, oddly enough. I sit on the bed, lean on my elbows. He bends over me, massive, dark, and dangerous. With the light of the fire behind him, I can scarcely see his face beyond the shine of his eyes. I lift my mouth to his, and he kisses me again. Kisses me and presses me into the bed, while his hand traces the line of my breast, and his calloused thumb plays with my nipple. I moan, opening my mouth to receive him more deeply. This time his tongue dances across mine. Emboldened, I extend my tongue, teasing his upper lip. Then, impulsively, I take his lower lip between my teeth and bite.

He draws back, grinning wolfishly. “Careful,” he growls, teeth flashing. “Two can play at that game.” He touches my lower lip with his thumb, pulling at the plump softness. “But not tonight, for I vowed not to hurt you.”

“I made no such vow,” I point out and catch his thumb with my teeth, holding it there with just the barest pressure.

“No,” he agrees. “You did not. If you would like to bite me again, I will not stop you.”

But I don’t. Not just now. I want to kiss him again, and I want his mouth on other parts of my body as well. So I release his thumb, prop back up on my elbows, and tip my head to one side. “Have you more instruction for me, warlord? What else do you think I would like?”

“So many things. This for example.” He bends forward and kisses my neck down to my collarbone, my sternum. I drop my head back, giving him more access. His mouth finds my breast, his lips claiming my nipple. His tongue dances and plays, and Ilike it, oh so very much! My breathing increases, and the fire in my belly deepens and roars.

Sudden worry shivers up my spine. What if this is it? What if this is the pleasure he spoke of? What if this is the end of his commitment to me? I should be glad if so; I didn’t choose any of this. I should be eager to finish, to claim my freedom, to get away from this place as soon as possible.

But if he stops now, something inside me will scream. I don’t even know what I need, only that I need, need,need.

“Oh gods!” I gasp as he moves from one breast to the other. “Oh gods, help me!”

He draws away again, and the sudden loss of his mouth on my skin is an agony. His lips are swollen and parted, and he stares down at me, breathing hard. “Did you not like that?”

I shake my head and push hair out of my face with one hand. Beads of perspiration dot my brow. “I did!” I gasp. “I do! But . . . but oh! What is this? What is happening?” I could almost sob with ache, with longing. “Can you help me?” I gaze up at him. Desperation claws up my throat, choking out all words. I don’t even know what I’m asking for.

But Taar smiles again, that dangerous flash of teeth. My heart turns over. “I can help,” he says. “And I will. But you must trust me. You must give yourself fully into my hands. Can you do that?”

I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I should. But if I don’t, what then? Will this ache in me go unfulfilled? I cannot bear that.

“I trust you,” I breathe, damning the consequences. “Do what you must.”

He smiles then. His hand, which had been tracing small circles around my stomach, slides down to my knee then up my thigh. His fingers play along the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, exploring farther, higher.

My eyes widen. “Are you . . . ?”

“Hush,” he says. “You have no need to fear. Just tell me: do you like this?” He parts my soft folds and flips his thumb across my hot, throbbing center. Stars burst in my head. My head drops back, my neck long, my arms quaking as they hold my torso partially upright. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmurs. “And this?”

His fingers explore down to my wet opening. He slips the tip of one finger gently inside, just to the first knuckle. His fingers are large, however, and I am unused to such intrusion. I bite my lip. “I . . . I’m not sure.”

“Perhaps not tonight,” he says. His breathing is heavy, keeping time with my own ragged gasps. “But you like this?” He moves a little upward again, back to that sensitive place at the crest. His finger massages me in a quick, circular motion.

“Oh, yes,” I breathe. “Oh . . . oh . . .” He continues to toy with me, and that maddening heat intensifies. It is pleasure—it is great pleasure indeed. But it is torture as well, without relief, without release. “Gods!” I cry. “Please, I can’t bear it!”

He pulls his hand back. “You do not like it?”

I want to scream, to grab his hand and push it back to where it was. “I do!” I whip my head up, glaring at him fiercely. “I do, I do like it, but . . . but it’s too much! Can you not . . . can you . . . ?”

What? I don’t know what to ask for, don’t know what I need. Groaning, I sink back onto the soft blankets and cover my face with both hands. I might cry. Or screech like a harpy—I haven’t decided which.

But Taar catches hold of my wrists, his grip strong and firm. He pulls my hands away from my face and smiles down at me even as I scowl back at him. He bends down, his long hair a curtain on either side of my face, and kisses me softly on my angry, trembling lips. “I think I know what you need,” he says.

He kisses me again and again, opening my mouth, enflaming my hunger. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him to me as though I might consume him. He is not to be consumed, however. His kisses once more escape my mouth and run down my neck, my breasts, all while his finger continues to toy with me, to torment me. His mouth ventures lower and lower, down to my navel.

Then he slides from the bed and kneels between my bent knees. His large hands grip me firmly by the hips and pull me down to the edge of the bed. He slings one of my legs over his shoulder, and when I push up on my elbows to glare at him again, he grins. I feel suddenly so exposed, so vulnerable. My heart throbs, but that need in my belly throbs harder. I feel as though I will explode if that pressure isn’t somehow eased.

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