Page 36 of WarBride

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

I shouldn’t. And yet . . .

“I do,” I whisper.

“Then tell me,” he says, turning to kiss the inside of my knee, “is this to your liking?”

My throat tightens. I nod once and bite my lower lip.

His kisses travel up farther. His tongue dances across my soft inner thigh.

“I like that.” I moan, my fingers tightening around the velvet blanket. “I like that, warlord.”

“Good,” he says. Then he leans forward, breathing hot against my most secret places. “And this?” He kisses me, his lips lingering.

I shake my head, another moan in my throat. Hair falls across my damp face. I feel I shall never draw a full breath again. He pulls back, uncertain how to interpret my reaction. Desperately I reach out, grab hold of his head, tangling my fingers in his hair. “Please. More.”

“Well in that case . . .”

He pulls me to him, his mouth enveloping me, devouring me. As though I am the one giving him the great pleasure, as though he cannot get enough of me. His tongue plays back and forth, and I fall, my arms suddenly too weak to support me. Reaching overhead, I grip the furs and blankets, moaning as the heat in my core intensifies tenfold, a hundred, a thousand! More maddening, more torturous, more exquisite than ever before. I am completely at his mercy, and I should not like it, but I do. I like it so much, too much.

Something bursts inside me. With it, a cry escapes my lips, a song, a melody such as I have never before uttered. It springs from that deepest well inside me, as all that pent-up tension escapes at last in wave after wave of pleasure.

So this is what the warlord sought. This is the elusive mystery, the secret, the revelation. I understand now what he wanted to teach me, the truth of what my body is capable of achieving—absolute and ecstaticrelease.

12

TAAR

The song of her bliss is sweet in my ears.

This is a song I should like to hear again and again, sung with such passion. Her whole body vibrates in response to the music I call to life inside her. It seems to catch me up in its swell and carry me away with her to the very heights of heaven. It’s intoxicating and terrifying by turns and, for the moment, I simply let myself experience the sensation to the fullest, here in this little slice of existence. With her.

When at last her ecstasy subsides, she lies trembling and whimpering softly on the bed. I gently untangle myself from her legs. My breath comes hard, and my body is fully awake to the need she’s aroused in me. I straighten and look down at her, still lying on the bed, bared before me, and . . . Oh gods, how easily I could lose myself in her! I want to enter her, to claim her. To make her truly my wife.

But that isn’t what this moment is about.

So I lean forward and allow myself no more than a chaste kiss on that patch of bare skin just above her navel. Her breasts heave, her nipples standing out dark and hard. I know the taste of them now. I know the taste ofher.And she is sweet, delicate, all things delightful, and . . .

None of this is real.

I stand up and quickly take a step back, aware of the fire behind me. Even more I’m aware of my own urgent body, swollen and painful. Vulnerable. Hastily I put my back to thegirl. If I don’t, the compulsion to find release might overcome me. But I am master of myself.

“Taar?”

Her voice is soft, still trembling with the aftershocks of the pleasure I gave her, like an echo of the song she sang. I’ve always thought my name a harsh one, suited to the harsh life I’ve been forced to lead. On her lips, it becomes something else—something strong and shining.

“Yes,zylnala?” I say without turning around. Squeezing my eyes tightly shut, I resist the urge to grab myself and seek immediate relief. Somehow that feels dishonorable. I did not bring her here for my own sake; I won’t do anything to make her think otherwise.

She is silent for a long moment, as though choosing her words. Then: “Is that . . . is that enough? Do we not need to . . . ?”

I shake my head. The question in her voice sounds almost like an offer, and it would be all too easy to let myself interpret it as such. But the truth is, she did not ask for any of this. She did not even ask me to save her. Every moment we have shared was coerced by circumstance beyond her control. I cannot pretend otherwise.

So I won’t take her virgin body. I won’t plant my seed in her or let her bear the risk of a life she is unprepared to carry. I won’t dishonor her or myself, no matter how sweet and plaintive that musical voice of hers is. No matter the hard swelling of my cock.

“By the customs of my people,” I say quickly, “the consummation of our marriage is now complete.” My voice sounds rough and abrupt in my own ears. I continue ruthlessly even so. “The law is satisfied.”

“Oh.” She lets out a little shuddering breath. I hear movement, the rustle of fabric. “What happens now?”

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