Page 66 of Dark Shaman: The Lost Treasure
She erupted with a cry that might have woken the entire floor if the walls weren't built to contain secrets. He continued his ministrations, drawing out her pleasure until she pushed weakly at his head, over-sensitized and sated.
He lifted his head and pressed a tender kiss to her mound, overwhelmed by a feeling of gratitude and satisfaction that had little to do with his own unsated arousal. He'd given her pleasure, had made this goddess among women cry out in ecstasy.
She caressed his head with gentle fingers, then cupped his cheeks to draw his face up where she could see him. Her eyes were open now, glowing more brightly than before, filled with wonder and something that looked dangerously like tenderness.
"I knew you'd be good," she said, her voice still rough from crying out. "But I didn't expect this. You blew my mind."
"Just your mind?" he teased. "I must not have done my job properly."
Her laughter was throaty. "Oh, you did your job superbly. I may never let you leave this bed."
"There are worse fates," he murmured against her lips.
As he rose to stretch out beside her, gathering her boneless form against him, Eluheed realized he was in trouble. This was supposed to be a simple night of shared pleasure between two lonely people, but nothing about Tamira was simple, and what he felt went far beyond mere physical attraction.
In her arms, for the first time in centuries, he felt something dangerous and wonderful.
Impossibly, he felt like he was home.
21
TAMIRA
Tamira took pride in being an excellent judge of character. Five thousand years of experience had honed her ability to read people with ease. She knew their desires, their fears, their true nature beneath whatever mask they wore. She had never been wrong in her initial assessments.
Until tonight.
Either she'd been completely mistaken about Elias, or the careful, reserved shaman had been hiding a passionate nature that only emerged when desire overrode caution, because the man who'd just shattered her with pleasure bore little resemblance to the cautious philosopher who'd sat beside her at dinner.
First times had never been like this.
She'd experienced the full spectrum—from a selfish god who had taken her virginity without much care for her pleasure to fumbling young humans who'd needed explicit instruction or arrogant ones who'd believed they were irresistible. The timid ones had frustrated her with their hesitation, whilethe overconfident ones had disappointed her with their assumptions.
Neither type had truly satisfied.
Long ago, she'd accepted that the perfect lover did not exist, that he was a fantasy created to give hope to young women who still believed that their salvation would one day come.
Simple carnal pleasure could be found easily enough, but a true connection? That meeting of bodies and souls that the poets sang about? She'd lost hope of ever experiencing it a long time ago and convinced herself that it didn't exist.
How spectacularly wrong she'd been.
Elias had displayed the perfect balance of masculine dominance tempered with gentle care and perfectly attuned consideration. He'd taken control without taking away her choice, asserting his will while remaining attuned to her every response. Each touch had been deliberate yet, somehow, spontaneous, as if he were simultaneously following a plan and improvising based on her reactions.
It was as if he'd been reading her mind, or perhaps her body, and interpreting each shiver and sigh like a language he'd spent lifetimes learning. He'd led when she wanted to follow, yielded when she needed control, created a dance of give and take that had been deeply satisfying and yet left her hungry for more.
Now he lay beside her, still fully clothed while she was bare, and the contrast sent another wave of heat through her. Any other man would have been tearing at his clothes by now, desperate to claim his own pleasure after taking care of hers. But Elias waited, watched, and let her set the pace for what came next.
It should have cooled her ardor, but instead, it stoked it higher.
He was unexpected, different, and delightful.
She turned on her side to face him, drinking in the sight of him in the near darkness. His hair was disheveled from her fingers, his lips slightly parted as if he was as breathless from her climax as she was, and his eyes were dark with desire but also tender. Full of wonder? Or perhaps recognition of the thing she felt blooming between them?
"You're still dressed." She trailed a finger down his chest.
"I know. I didn't want to presume. I'm here for your pleasure, not mine."
"You've delivered on that and then some. You made me forget my own name." She sighed. "You are the only man in forever who saw me as me, Tamira, and not someone else's possession."
