Lord of Desire (34 page)

In turmoil, Alysson whimpered, as much in fear of the fierce sensations he was making her feel as in protest of his harsh treatment. Abruptly Jafar gentled his assault. Tenderly now, as though trying to kiss away the hurt hed inflicted before, he moved his mouth over hers in a tantalizing display of controlled passion.
Coaxing.
Careful.
Alysson felt the first stirring of a familiar response that shed learned to deplore, the sweet awakening of desire.
No,
her mind screamed, and yet her body, her traitorous body, reacted so differently.

She was panting for breath by the time Jafar finally lifted his head. When he gazed down at her, she could see the dark light of desire in his jeweled eyes.

"Ehuresh,"
he whispered.
"My lovely defiant one."

Her lips parted in protest as he reached up to loosen the drawstring of her chemise, but he forestalled her by pressing his fingers gently against her lips.

"Don't fight me. You cannot win." His voice was a low
rasp as he slowly drew down the bodice of the garment to bare her breasts.

Alysson closed her eyes, feeling sharne, both at the possessive intimacy of his heated gaze, and the traitorous yearning it aroused in her. But she obeyed; she didn't fight him as his hand roamed downward.

Deliberately, with the slowest of seductive movements, he captured her breast. Alysson drew a sharp breath,
then
went rigid as he caught her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. His bold fondling dredged another gasp from her lips. She hadn't expected the brutal rush of feeling as her nipple tightened unbearably, or the hard, rebellious ache that flared quickly between her shivering thighs.

She should struggle, Alysson told herself as he molded the satin flesh of her breasts with his long fingers. She should resist him with every ounce of strength she possessed. She should try to escape his vengeful lovemaking. Yet she couldn't summon the will. Besides his superior strength and overwhelming masculine vitality, she was also fighting the dazing sense that what would happen between them was inevitable. They were meant to be lovers. He had told her so, and she, God
help
her, believed.

She remained trembling and still when he divested her of her chemise, not pulling away as he tossed the garment aside. Helplessly, Alysson lay naked to his gaze, to his touch, her heart pounding.

His eyes swept slowly over her body. "Beautiful," he murmured, the French word a husky rasp. Alysson could feel herself quivering at the seductive promise in his tone.

Without leaving her side, he drew back to quickly shed his trousers. In the darkness, she glimpsed the beautiful, sculptured perfection of his male form—his body lithe as a cat's, as sleek and powerful as his favorite stallion's. Then he returned to gather her in his arms.

His naked skin was hot to the touch, Alysson realized with an acute sense of awareness. Every angle of him fit intimately against her, making her feel the thin dusting of his leg hair stroking her own smoothness, the hard wall of his muscled chest meeting the yielding swell of her naked breasts, the shocking evidence of his desire pressing against her abdomen. Alysson stiffened at that hard, vital ridge of
flesh. Startled by the enormous size of him, by his very maleness, she shivered with fear and an unaccountable thrill of longing. Dear God, what was happening to her? She couldn't allow him to continue.

"No . . .
I can't let you . . ." she whispered. His eyes glittered with heated promise as he gazed at her. "Yes . . . you can,
ma belle,"
His gentle reply held no margin for negotiation.

She watched the play of light and darkness in his eyes as he began to caress her. His movements were slow, so slow.
And incredibly stirring.
Caught by the wonder of it, Alysson remained completely still, until his fingers glided between her thighs.

"No!" she gasped again, clutching at his arm to prevent him from proceeding further.

"Yes,"
Jafar
bent his head to kiss the coreer
of her
mouth. "Open for me,
Ehuresh.
Let me take you to paradise.
"
His fingers threading in the curls hiding her femininity, he lowered his mouth to hers again, its warmth moving hotly over her lips.

She made one last frantic attempt to break away, but his mouth kept hers captive. He wouldn't let her go. His kiss was hoi and deep and long, his hands hard and skilled on her body, arousing her in ways she had never dreamed possible. Desperately, she fought the tightening of her body, trying to hold herself aloof, but it was no defease against his warm mastery. She found herself clutching at.
his
shoulders, even as she opened her mouth further to his thrusting tongue and arched her spine to meet his caressing fingers, Feeling her involuntary yielding. Jafar slowly parted her thighs, opening her to his caress. When his fingers touched
a dewy
warmth, Alysson inhaled a sharp breath.

"See, your honey flows for me," Mar murmured, his voice stroking her as his rough fingers were doing,
A
soft shock of shameful pleasure rippled through Aiyssoii,

She wanted desperately to pull away, but she could oaly tighten her grip, feeling the muscles of his powerful shoulders coil and slide uacier the satiny shift, In a dim comer of her mind, she was aware of the tension thrumming through Jafar, the iron control keeping his.
body
rigid, but the hun
gry plundering of his mouth, the drugging heat of his body, was making her senseless. She was a willing captive.

She shuddered under the intoxicating influence of his lips and hands. For long minutes, he never let
up,
his tongue pressing into her mouth in an erotic mimicry of his finger's rubbing, thrusting rhythm. In response, she could manage only small, sultry cries of shock and confusion as she writhed against her will, in rhythm with his passion.

A moment later she tensed, suddenly afraid of the white- hot heat building inside her. "No . . ." she gasped in English.

"Yes," Jafar replied harshly in the same language, relentlessly driving her on.

And then the unbelievable things he was doing with his hands and mouth pushed her to the brink of insanity. A scream of pleasure and shame ripped upward through Alysson's throat. Fire streaked through her body, followed by a moment when reality splintered into a thousand sensual fragments of sensation.

Reveling in her heated response, Jafar held her shaking form and whispered her name triumphantly against her mouth. Her intense climax had brought him fierce satisfaction. Her body had surrendered to his, overwhelmed by blind desire. He had brought her to a state of sweet sexual arousal, had given her pleasure, whether she willed it or no.

As her cries faded away, he held himself still, his forehead pressed to hers, his face contorted with pleasure and pain. He wanted to bury himself in her silken heat, to drive into her endlessly. But while he might claim her innocence, while he might make her a woman and teach her the delights of her own body, he wouldn't take her maidenhead.

Forcing himself to move, Jafar eased away from Alys- son's shaking body. Frustration screamed through him. He ached with need. Yet he wouldn't take her. It had become a matter of pride. She must come to him willingly.

Willingly.

The image of Alysson giving herself to him, lying beneath him wild and
willing,
was more than he could withstand. No longer able to control his need, Jafor gave a growl, raw and primitive. "Merciful Allah . . ."he gasped as his
body tightened and convulsed. Twisting his hips, he spilled his seed onto the bedcovering.

When it was over, he
lay
there, his breath coming in harsh pants, his skin covered with a fine sheen of sweat.

Next to him, Alysson lay curled on her side, her face averted, her body weak and spent and throbbing. She was still trying to comprehend what had happened to her—and still unwilling to face
herself
for what she had allowed Jafar to do. She would have liked to forget it entirely, to obliterate all memory of the past half hour. Yet she couldn't disregard the hard, vital man lying beside her, or the naked awareness of intimacy that pulsed between them. Nor could she dismiss the fact that she had failed in her attempt at escape.

She doubted Jafar would dismiss it either.

"How did you know?" she asked finally, in a tone so low he could barely hear.

He realized without asking that she was speaking of the dagger. Jafar gave a sigh of regret for the intrusion of reality into the sensual moment.

"You are not good at hiding your feelings,
chérie.
Every time you dared look at me this evening, I could see you measuring your chances. I have fought too many men to misunderstand that look."

When Alysson didn't respond, Jafar suspected she was cursing herself for not taking more care to disguise her intentions. But it was not only her assessing glances earlier, or her
nervousness, that
had aroused his suspicions, but his sharply honed instincts for danger. He had spent half a lifetime guarding against attack and the threat of assassination. In this ruthless country, a man who was not prepared for treachery and violence did not live long.

As for his young captive's actions this evening, he wasn't sure he believed her claim that she hadn't intended to use the knife to kill him. He had expected her to try. Certainly he would have done the same had their positions been reversed, had he been the captive. But then he was not as softhearted as a woman. His heart had hardened to stone seventeen years ago.

Still, Jafar was surprised to realize he didn't blame her for trying to escape. Indeed, he would have admired her less had she
not.

Slowly he shifted his weight, rolling onto his side to face her. His anger had cooled, though his blood was still fever- hot. His searing release had left him temporarily sated but totally unfulfilled.

But the night was not over yet.

Before it ended, she would learn what he had always known. The attraction between them could not be denied or banished simply by willing it so. He would teach her a lesson in desire.