His breath hissed from between his teeth. “It’s madness for me, too.”
It must be. And in that moment Zenobia loved him more than she ever had, as he knelt before her, his body straining to the edge of agony, yet utterly still and waiting for her.
She looked up, and saw how his gaze lost its focus when her hand stroked upward, heard the tortured groan from deep in his chest. That was how she’d felt, with her leg on his shoulder and her body devastated by his lips and tongue.
Madness for him, too. “Because you’re vulnerable?”
It was almost impossible to believe. Even with this sensitive part of him in the palm of her hand.
“Inside you—” The guttural response was broken by another groan when she stroked again. “Inside you. A man is . . . always vulnerable . . . with his weapon sheathed.”
Sheathed. She almost laughed. “You say you’re vulnerable, yet call the thing you’ll be stabbing into me a weapon?”
His grin only lasted until the next stroke. On a harsh breath, he caught her fingers in a tight grip, stopping her languorous movement up his shaft. “My will is steel, wife. My body and my heart are iron—but they are yours to break.”
Hers.
He let go. Inviting her to do anything. She only wanted to give him as much pleasure as he’d given her, to keep him this close forever.
“Stand up, then,” she whispered. “And let me taste you.”
Ariq’s eyes closed. Another shudder wracked his big body, then he smoothly rose to his feet. He stood before her, the muscles in his thighs like ropes of steel, his arousal long and thick.
Zenobia was shaking again as she moved closer, nerves and anticipation rioting like an electrical storm within her. She hadn’t planned this, hadn’t imagined it. In every scenario, it had always been Ariq who’d kissed her, who’d touched her, who’d pushed inside her. Always Ariq, giving her pleasure. This time, she would give it.
She hoped. None of the drawings she’d seen had offered explicit instructions. But he’d licked her. She could do the same.
Leaning in, she braced her hands on his solid thighs. The familiar scent of his skin was stronger here, salty and warm, as if he’d bathed in the ocean before lying in the sun. His shaft rose before her, curving up against his lower abdomen. The dense muscles under her fingers stiffened when she pressed her tongue to the base, gently licking. Barely even salty, just skin, but she wasn’t here for a meal anyway. She was here for Ariq, and the groan that ripped from him, and the thrust of his fingers into her hair before he let her go again.
When he’d done this, her knee had buckled and he’d held her up, yet she knew Ariq would stand no matter what she did. One day, she might discover how to make him fall. For now, it was enough that he moaned.
But she wanted to hear more.
Eagerly she licked her way up his length and resumed the stroke of her hand. She bathed the wide head with quick flicks of her tongue. His hips jerked when she licked the moist slit, jolting the tip of his shaft against her teeth, and though she winced at the scrape Ariq’s head fell back, and he cursed, and she thought he prayed though she didn’t understand a word.
God help her. She hadn’t known this could be so exciting. She’d known the fire, and the ecstatic clench of flesh, and the hollow ache that deepened with every touch, every lick. But she hadn’t known the exhilaration of watching her man come slowly undone.
Zenobia licked faster, squeezed her hand tighter, tried to find where he was most sensitive, and every time something like pain hoarsened his groans she licked there again. Oh, but she hadn’t believed that he’d be vulnerable inside her. He would be pushing in, invading. But now she understood. He might invade. But while he was there she could lay claim to him.
She claimed him now. Watching his face through her lashes, she parted her lips against the broad crown and took him in as deep as she could.
Ariq froze with his head back and his body straining. His jaw clenched, the tendons in his neck standing in sharp relief beneath his skin, and he grated out her name. The pulse in the underside of his shaft beat rapidly against her tongue.
He liked this. Oh, he liked this.
Mouth already full, she couldn’t take more of him—only wriggle her tongue, and suck on the wide crown, which made him shout and grip her hair again, so she sucked harder. His flavor was saltier now, heavier, and his groans those of a man enduring unending torment, shudders steadily wracking his rigid frame.
“Zen . . . o . . . bia.”
Her name was a ragged warning. He was nearing release, she realized. Her excitement ballooned, bigger, hotter. Her fingernails dug into his firm buttocks as she desperately took more, sucking him deeper, though her eyes leaked tears and her throat tried to revolt.
“Enough!”
Fingers in her hair, he dragged her off his thick length. Winded, she couldn’t catch her breath to protest. Ariq dropped to his knees. Without warning, his mouth captured hers, his kiss hot and slick and slow, but his body tightened spasmodically, as if fists pummeled his stomach.
His breathing was harsh when he lifted his head. “My steel will is a blade of grass with you.”
So he’d come anyway. His seed painted the front of her dressing gown. She stared at the glistening strands, suddenly grateful that he’d pulled her away. She wouldn’t have been prepared.
“There’s more than I expected,” she said.
Ariq barked out a laugh. “Years of waiting for you.”
Years? “How long has it been for you?”
“Before I left the rebellion.” But he must have had less interest in previous lovers than Zenobia did. Tilting her chin up, he dipped his head and nipped gently at her throat. “Is it my turn?”
Was she ready?
Heart racing, Zenobia gripped his shoulders. “Yes.”
No more waiting. He stripped away her dressing gown and let it fall to the mat. She wore only her thin shift when he lifted her, and though this was nearer to what she’d imagined, nothing she felt was. His kiss was just as sweet and hot, his arms as strong, but along with the pleasure and the heat were her hope and trust. Oh, she loved him. Her whole heart was in this kiss.
Across the chamber he carried her, behind the screen where their bed lay. Moonlight through open shutters struck the pale linens. She was shaking again, no nerves now, just undeniable need tearing through her with every stroke of his tongue past her lips.
Breathless when he knelt and laid her on the bed, she reached for him. But instead of covering her body with his, he gripped the neckline of her shift and tugged it down, baring her breasts, her belly, leaving the linen bunched over her hips.
His back to the moonlight, his face was in shadow as he lowered his head. A shiver raced over her skin when his breath feathered across the sensitive tip of her breast. His long fingers skimmed up over her knees, dragging the hem of her shift upward, urging her thighs apart. The only sound was the quiet rustle of cloth, the pounding of her heart, and the rough possession in Ariq’s voice.
“My wife.”
“Yours,” she whispered, then caught her breath as his tongue leisurely circled her nipple.
Oh, no no no.
She couldn’t survive leisurely. Her hands fisted in his hair. “Don’t go slow. I need you in me.”
Ariq looked up at her. His smile briefly appeared before his lips slowly closed around the stiffened peak. Watching her face, he gently began to suck. Zenobia cried out, and her hips bucked, as if his mouth had plucked a string of nerves running from his mouth to her sex. His fingers slid higher.
Not high enough.
Panting, she tugged at his hair. “God!
Please,
Ariq.”
With another slow lick, he released her nipple and moved up to lie on his side. Braced on his elbow, he loomed over her, his erection prodding at her hip and his left hand still rising between her thighs. He said gruffly, “It will take time before I can finish again. Let me please you until then.”
So he would wait until nearer to coming again before taking her? She wanted his mouth. She wanted his hands.
But more than that, she wanted to know what she’d been waiting for. “Then spend that time inside me.”
At her response he laughed, but the sound was tortured and ended on a groan. He watched her for a long second, then his head lowered, and he said against her lips, “I’ll make you ready first.”
I am.
But before she could respond his lips were coaxing hers open to the thrust of his tongue. Oh, she loved his taste. The pure pleasure of kissing him drew a moan from her throat, a moan that quieted when his hand began moving higher again. Her body stilled, and Ariq’s did, too, not kissing anymore, but simply breathing raggedly, her mouth open against his.
He reached the juncture of her legs, fingertips whispering over silky curls. Tension quivered through her thighs.
Ariq murmured soothingly against her lips, then his fingers slicked through aroused flesh. Anticipation splintered into sharp pleasure. Her back bowed, and she cried out, pushing against his hand.
With a ravenous moan, he sucked her lower lip between his teeth, then released her to growl, “So wet, my wife.”
And ready. But she could only moan in helpless need when he cupped her in his palm, the heel of his hand grinding softly against her clitoris, his longest finger sliding between her saturated folds to tease at her entrance.
“Move with me,” he demanded roughly, then his mouth covered hers again.
Excitement mounted. Bending her knees, she braced her feet against the bed and rocked with the grinding of his hand. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding him tight as she sucked on his tongue, and she gloried in his shudder and his moan.
And froze again when the blunt tip of his finger breached her entrance. He pulled back to watch her. Chest heaving, she stared up into his eyes. This was odd. Not painful. Just strange to feel something where nothing had ever been before.
Gently his hand pumped, pushing his invading finger deeper.
“All right?” His voice was hoarse. “You’re tight.”
Or his finger was just big. Then she thought of his penis, so much longer and thicker, and she should have bolted to her feet and run, but the madness came over her again. Soon this sensation
would
be his penis. And imagining that, what had been odd suddenly felt so very good, and she gasped as her body clenched around him.
“And now tighter,” he grated, and his eyes had that glazed look again, his features starkly drawn.
“I’m all right,” she said breathlessly, then pulled his mouth to hers.
Desperately she moved with him again, her hips rising and falling with the rhythm of his hand. He slid a second finger to join the first, but the stinging pain barely registered—just the delicious sensation of being filled where she’d been empty. Crying his name, she writhed against his hand, trying to take more. Ariq groaned, and despite his claim that he would take a long time, that he’d already been satisfied, his kiss was rougher now, the thrust of his fingers more frenzied, as if his arousal was as violent as hers.
Abruptly he rose over her, his knees pushing hers wide, his fingers still pumping into her slick heat. Forearm braced beside her shoulder, he rasped harshly against her parted lips, “Need to be inside. Need to feel you around me.”
Please,
please.
But she couldn’t even say it, her body already at the edge, everything within her constricting as his hips settled into the cradle of her thighs, his fingers still thrusting, thrusting, thrusting. Sweat gleamed over his skin. Her hands clenched frantically on his shoulders, trying to pull him closer. Her back was arching even as his weight spread her wider, as burning pressure replaced his fingers.
Grasping her hip, Ariq rocked against her and groaned, his head bowed, his teeth gritted. “You’re even tighter.”
A sobbing breath escaped her. “Because I’m about to— I’m about to—”
Ariq cursed sharply, and she broke off with a cry as his slick fingers returned to her clitoris. The pressure at her entrance built, because he was pushing inside her,
inside her
; it was such insanity and he was going to be hers. Then his fingers swirled over her throbbing clit and she screamed, her body shattering into a thousand white-hot pieces, of curling toes and clutching fingers, her head thrown back and neck straining, and Ariq pushing deeper and deeper, her inner muscles convulsing around his thick shaft. He filled her, too full, the stretch was unbearable, and perfect, and already she was coming again, shuddering as her hips tilted and he drove in to the hilt.
Embedded deep, he remained there, lifting his head as aftershocks wracked her frame. His curled fingers drew her tangled hair from her face, and he softly kissed the corners of her eyes, and she didn’t realize that she’d wept until he returned to her lips and she tasted the salt.
His kiss was leisurely again, as if he gave her time to adjust to his size, time to recover. When she moaned, and her knee slid up the length of his muscular thigh to hook around his back, he gently released her lips.