Page 67 of Dark Shaman: The Lost Treasure
His expression softened. "You are no one's possession."
She actually was Navuh’s possession, but her heart and mind were her own.
"Tell that to the guards," she said.
"I would, if I thought it would make a difference." His hand came up to cup her cheek. "I can't change your circumstances, but I can make you forget them for a little while."
"You already have." She turned her head to kiss his palm. "But now I find myself greedy for more." She began working on the buttons of his shirt.
When she parted the fabric, her breath caught. His chest was smooth and well defined, the muscles of someone who used his body for work rather than vanity. But it was the mark on hisright pectoral that drew her attention—an intricate pattern that looked almost like a symbol, burned or etched into his skin.
She traced it gently with her fingertips, feeling him tense beneath her touch. "Is this what you were worried about me seeing?"
He nodded.
"How did you get it? It looks like a burn." The pattern was too precise to be accidental, too meaningful to be random scarring.
His breath hitched. Was it a surprise to him that she'd identified its nature so quickly? "It was a burn," he said.
She lifted her eyes to meet his, seeing the wall he'd erected around this particular truth. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine."
"I don't." The words were soft but final.
A small hurt bloomed in her chest at his unwillingness to share, but she pushed it aside. This was only their first night together, and trust took time to build. When he felt safer with her, perhaps he would tell her the story of how he'd been marked.
Instead of dwelling on what he wouldn't share, she focused on what he would, moving her hands to his waist. The anticipation of finally seeing all of him made her pulse quicken.
She helped him shed the rest of his clothes, and when he was finally naked before her, she took a moment to simply appreciate the male beauty. He had the lean strength of a runner, a body honed by use rather than training.
"You are beautiful," she said.
He laughed, the sound slightly self-conscious. "I think that's my line."
"No." She ran her hands over his chest, his arms, mapping the terrain of his body. "You are beautiful in the way a well-balanced blade is beautiful—functional and elegant at the same time."
Her exploration led her lower, and when she found his hard length and gave it a testing caress, the groan that escaped him sent liquid heat pooling in her belly. The smooth, hot flesh pulsing in her hand felt magnificent—perfectly sized, responsive to her touch, already weeping with need for her.
Before she could explore further, he threaded his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her skull with gentle firmness before claiming her mouth.
Finally, they were kissing—something that should have come before the intimate kiss he'd already given her, but she wasn't complaining about the unconventional sequence. If anything, this rewriting of the typical script added to the uniqueness of their encounter.
His lips were soft but insistent, coaxing hers apart so his tongue could slip inside. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world, like nothing existed beyond this moment, this connection, like his shaft wasn't making any demands. His tongue danced with hers, sometimes leading, sometimes following, creating a rhythm that made her think of another dance their bodies would soon share.
As if reading her mind, he rolled her beneath him with one smooth movement, his weight a warm blanket on top of her. He wasn't too heavy, just substantial enough to make her feel deliciously trapped, every point of contact between themelectrified. His skin was warm and smooth against hers, muscles shifting as he adjusted his position to keep from crushing her.
He cupped her face between his palms, holding her like something precious as he kissed her again. This time it was just gentle nibbles on her lips, teasing touches that made her arch up seeking more. When she opened for him, his tongue swept inside, making love to her mouth with the same patient devotion he'd shown elsewhere.
His hard length pressed against her inner thigh, so close to where she needed it. Why was he waiting? Could he not feel how ready she was, how desperately she wanted him inside her?
Centuries of barely adequate lovers had left her hungry for something more, something real. And now that she'd found it, the anticipation was almost unbearable.
His height meant she had to stretch to reach what she wanted, but she managed to grasp his firm buttocks, sinking her nails into the solid flesh as she arched up, rubbing her aching center against his hardness. The friction sent sparks through her, but it wasn't enough.
"I need you inside me," she gasped against his mouth.
He groaned, lifting just enough to reach between them. She felt him position himself at her entrance and braced for the hard thrust that would follow, craving the sweet invasion.
But it didn't come.
