Читать книгу The Mills & Boon Ultimate Christmas Collection - Мишель Смарт, Kate Hardy - Страница 111
ОглавлениеANDRES CALLED HIMSELF ten kinds of fool on his way back to his chamber. He couldn’t go back into the luncheon, not after that. Anyway, Zara had destroyed his shirt.
He had left her there, similarly destroyed. Altered.
But he didn’t fix things, he only broke them further, so there had been no point in him staying. He hadn’t been able to.
He hated isolation. Hated it. But it was the only way he could regain control after something like that. A fact driven into him from childhood.
It was why his mother had always locked him in his room after an outburst. Why he was condemned to staying in the palace when the royal family went out.
Now he was doing the same to himself. Because he had to do something, anything, to calm the raging monster inside him that had claimed control of his actions.
An image flashed through his mind, her hands wrapped around the fabric, tugging hard, sending the buttons onto the marble floor. The look in her eyes, dark, determined. As with all things she had been uncivilized, untutored, and wholly authentic. For a man who had no idea what his own personal authenticity might look like, it was alarming.
But that wasn’t what disturbed him now. Wasn’t what caused rage to roar through his veins like a ravening beast.
He had lost control.
Civilizing Zara was one thing. It was himself...that was where he failed. He was cracking apart inside. The years spent forming himself into the man he was seemingly washed away on the tide of lust Zara had inspired in him.
The woman was new. The failure was not.
His best effort had never been good enough. When he was a boy he had been the one at the formally set table dropping silverware, fidgeting in his seat. Crawling underneath the table to pick up a crouton he had dropped. And when the thought to get up struck him, he had never been able to control the impulse. Sometimes he would think of something to say, and it would just spill out of his mouth. His father would simply glare at him, his eyes ice. Kairos would pretend it wasn’t happening.
His mother would cry. As though he had done it to her personally. As though he had done it to hurt her.
She had felt everything so deeply. He would make a loud sound and the poor woman would tremble. He wondered at that now, though he’d never understood it then.
Finally, they had stopped allowing him to attend events. The solitude had been frustrating, but better than being set up to fail. Every luncheon, every church service, ever concert...it all seemed designed to doom him.
Then the last Christmas banquet had come. The last one his mother had been at.
He had destroyed that too.
He had tried, and it hadn’t been good enough. He had made her cry one too many times. And he was certain that his father, that Kairos imagined it had been like every other time before. But Andres had felt it. When his mother had wiped that final tear off her cheek, he knew that it would be the last year she ever cried for him.
Of course, in order for him to stop making her cry, she couldn’t see him anymore.
None of them saw her again. Because of him.
Kairos never blamed him, because Kairos was too honorable to ever think about doing such a thing. Kairos only blamed him for the loss of his fiancée when it suited him, and then, never as much as Andres felt he deserved. Given that, he would never, ever blame him for their mother leaving.
Their father had. Angrily. Loudly. And Andres hadn’t even been able to feel sorry for himself because it had been true. He had known it then; he knew it now. You will never amount to anything. You’re nothing but a disappointment. If that was your best, if that was you trying, then you will never, ever succeed.
He had known it to be true then, and so he had simply gone off to do what he wanted. He hated trying to conform to palace life anyway. Who did he have left to please? His father believed him to be beyond redemption, his mother was gone. Kairos cared, if only in a long-suffering way, and didn’t seem to mind what Andres did as long as it didn’t affect him.
His indiscretion with Francesca had not been acceptable as far as Kairos was concerned, but then, Andres was not terribly surprised by that.
It was because of that that he was trying. Because of Kairos. Because if nothing else his brother had always cared for him, in spite of the fact that he had been nothing but trouble. Nothing but a disappointment. He was trying, and Zara was intent on seeing him fail.
That was why he had dragged her out of the ballroom. That was why he had allowed her to push him into this power struggle. Allowed her to push him into trying to one-up her.
And then she had grabbed him. She had meant it to be a threat, and he was not naive enough to think she wouldn’t follow through with it. Zara was a survivor. A fighter. He would not underestimate her. Had not underestimated her from the moment he had walked in and seen her in his bedroom.
He had anticipated that she would be difficult. That dealing with the engagement, the upcoming marriage, wouldn’t be an easy thing. He had never anticipated he would lose his mind completely and take her up against a wall in the palace. In public, where anyone could have found them. Yes, they were in a slightly hidden alcove, but all it would have taken was someone to wander out of the banquet and get lost looking for the restroom.
That was not how a prince was to treat his future princess. It was certainly nothing Kairos would ever have done with Tabitha. Of course, his brother was the authority on unhappy marriages. That was becoming more and more apparent.
That was also Andres’s fault.
His actions had forced Kairos into the speedy marriage in the first place.
The reason he had to atone now.
And Zara was making things impossible for no reason other than her own bloody-mindedness. She had nowhere else to go. He didn’t treat her badly.
What happened back there wasn’t treating her badly?
He gritted his teeth, shoving the thought down deep. Trying to ignore the growing unease in his chest.
He threw open the doors to his bedchamber before slamming them behind him. He pushed his fingers through his hair, and only then did he realize that his hands were shaking. How could he have done such a thing? How could he have allowed her to push his control like that?
How could he allow her to prove that he was still nothing more than the boy he’d been? The boy who couldn’t sit still for more than a couple of minutes. Who couldn’t fight any impulse that came upon him. He had wanted her, and so he had taken her.
Without a condom.
He swore, taking his suit jacket off and casting it onto the floor. He had never in his life forgone the use of protection. In truth, he was quite controlled in his debauchery. He didn’t keep himself from doing anything he wanted, but if he wanted to resist something, he was able. Sure, he didn’t have to exercise self-denial very often, but he was capable of it. Was capable of making responsible decisions.
Not today.
In public. In the middle of the day. Without protection.
The door burst open behind him and he whirled around to see Zara standing there, her hands clenched at her sides, her expression stormy, her dark eyes glistening. Her glossy black hair, which had been expertly schooled into a bun earlier, was disheveled now, all but shouting about what had taken place only moments earlier.
“How dare you walk away from me?” Her voice was quivering with indignation.
There was no doubt that Zara’s feathers were thoroughly ruffled. Though he had a feeling there was nothing he could do at this point to unruffle them. In truth, she had been rather ruffled from the first moment he saw her. It was the effect he seemed to have on her.
That didn’t bother him. What disturbed him was the effect she seemed to have on him.
“Did you want me to stay and initiate another round? We were standing in the hallway. Anyone could have walked by,” he said, throwing the same accusations at her that he had just thrown at himself.
“That didn’t bother you before.”
No, it didn’t. Because he hadn’t been thinking. He hadn’t been in control.
He ground his teeth together, his heart thundering hard. He was...angry. At his body, for betraying him as it always did. At himself, for his weakness.
At her, for making him vulnerable.
Before he knew what he was doing, he growled, crossing the room toward her. Her eyes widened, and she shrank back from him, her back hitting the wall.
“You think the wall will save you? I think we’ve proven that it won’t,” he said, rage making him reckless. Making him cruel.
He wanted to use his words to drive a wedge between them. To push her away. He didn’t want her to look at him with desire.
“You are not touching me again until you explain yourself.”
“What’s to explain? I wanted you. I had you.” With no control, no finesse, no care for anything at all. He hadn’t even asked her if she wanted it. Yes, her body language had given every indication that she did, but he hadn’t even known how innocent Zara was. He still wasn’t entirely certain. She had acted boldly back there, but that meant nothing. He was afraid to ask. Now that it was too late, he was very afraid indeed.
“And then you left.”
“Again, Princess, what did you want from me?”
“I thought we might go back in for dessert,” she said, her voice wobbling.
That innocence, the insecurity, tore at him like claws and yet he could not stop himself from putting more distance between them.
He laughed, the sound carrying no humor. “So you thought I would go back in there with no buttons on my shirt? After all, a little creature pulled them off.”
She is not the creature. You are the monster.
Her expression turned all the more stormy. “I am not a creature. I am a woman. As I think I just proved.” She was as haughty as ever. As prideful. Her chin tilted upward, her eyes full of determination.
But she was also vulnerable. He could see it there, written on her face plainly. And there was nothing he could do about it. He was not the man to handle vulnerable women.
If his history was any indicator, he was the man who chased vulnerable women away.
“And I am a man,” he said, keeping his tone dry. “So there is nothing all that exceptional about attraction exploding between us.”
She frowned. “Even though we were fighting?”
“Especially because we were fighting,” he said, his voice rough.
“That makes no sense to me.”
“Then I question the sort of lovers you’ve had in the past.”
It was her turn to laugh. “I’ve had no other lovers.”
It was the answer he had been afraid of. The rage in his blood turned to ice, settling in the pit of his stomach. “Is that so?”
“Of course I haven’t. I had never even kissed a man before you.”
Mother of God. Had she even known what was exploding between them out there in the hall? Had she even realized where it might go? What had he done?
In that moment he despised himself. He hadn’t thought it was possible for him to reach a new depth of hating his own lack of self-control. The loss of his mother, what happened with Francesca, he had imagined that was the worst of it. Right now, looking at this angry, confused woman who had been a virgin only minutes earlier, he realized there were entirely new depths he hadn’t even known about.
“How is it you have survived this long?” he growled, aware that he was allowing his anger at himself to spill out and hit the wrong target. “You are so naive it is painful. By rights you should have been devoured by a wolf in the forest.”
Her eyes were filled with righteous indignation. “I feel as though I was just devoured by a wolf.”
“If I had devoured you, little one, you would hardly be standing here radiating rage.”
“Perhaps, had you not run away from me like a scared little boy, I would not be standing here radiating rage.”
For a moment, he saw himself as exactly that. A scared little boy failing at his duty yet again. Going off into isolation.
No.
He slammed his hand against the wall, right by her head. “Were I a little boy you would not behave so satisfied as you apparently were.”
“You can’t minimize and maximize the impact of what happened in the same argument,” she said, her eyes never wavering from his.
“I can do whatever I like.” He pushed away from her, his heart raging. “I am the prince here.”
She rolled her eyes, having the gall to look bored. “And I am a princess.”
“Princess of the caravans,” he said. “Very compelling. You would be nothing here in my country were it not for your engagement to me. An engagement that you seem intent on preventing when you know it’s the only way you’ll ever make anything of yourself. You want to know who you really are? Apart from me? Impoverished. Would you like to explore the meaning of that? Being cold, being hungry, being truly alone.”
The color drained from her face and he felt an answering ache expanding in his stomach. He didn’t think it was possible to be any more of a bastard than he already was. Yet again, he was proved wrong.
“Whatever freedom you imagine you might find in that,” he continued, “I guarantee it will not be there. Here? With me? I will give you money, power, access to education, a chance to make a difference. Not sleeping in the street, which I feel you may also think an advantage.”
She was now completely white-faced and still, like a small marble statue, turned to stone by his words.
“My mistake,” he said. “You were imagining that you might have a life if you left me, and I have just stolen your illusion. What were you thinking? That I might finance your life without the benefit of having you in my bed?”
“No.” Furious color rose in her cheeks. “Of course I didn’t think that. I thought that I could...perhaps find out what I wanted to do...”
“For work? You have no job experience. You have no life experience. Forgive me, Princess, but you need to understand that growing up in the wilderness, surrounded by a band of people lost somewhere in the last century, does not give you the necessary tools to exist inside an urban society.”
“I am not naive, nor am I stupid. The screaming in the palace... Andres, you would pray to God to have those memories removed from your head. However, it doesn’t work that way. If I had any innocence left, it all was lost then. So do not treat me as though I am some kind of wide-eyed child. I stopped being a child when I was six years old.” She took a deep breath. “I am the only survivor of a terrible attack on the royal family. I was whisked out of my bedroom in the dead of night by my mother’s maid, screams filling the air behind us, screams that echo in my head even now. Screams that most certainly belonged to my mother, my father. My brother. I am left with nothing but the sounds and my imagination to weave every dark image with them. I do not know exactly how they died, but I have thought of countless ways. Dreamed the most nightmarish things. Do not mistake me for an innocent.”
Her words felt like a crushing blow against his chest. He wondered, for some reason, if anyone had ever taken care of her. Yes, the people who had raised her had certainly seen to her needs. Her basic needs. But he wondered if anyone had truly cared for her.
His mother had left, and his father had been distinctly disinterested, but he’d had servants, nannies who at least approximated some kind of love. Who had read him stories, and tucked him in. Had anyone read her stories? She was a girl, a girl who had thick, luxurious hair. Surely someone would have needed to braid it for her? Had anyone ever done so? It seemed a crime if no one had.
As if you’ve treated her any better. You were rough. You took no care for her virginity. And you must’ve known. There’s no way you couldn’t have.
He had only contributed to her loneliness. He had left her. He hadn’t taken care of her. He had been so focused on her failing him that he hadn’t taken into account the fact that he had failed her.
Just as he had failed his mother. His father. His brother.
He had a chance to endeavor to do better by her. At least now.
“Go into the bathroom,” he said, unable to modify his tone.
She stayed rooted to the spot, glaring at him intensely.
“Must you be stubborn about everything?” he asked. “Go into the bathroom.”
She practically snarled as she pushed away from the wall and stomped past him, heading into the bathroom.
He followed, undoing the last of the buttons on his shirt before casting it, and his jacket, down onto the ground. He tried to fight the heat that was pouring through his veins. This was not the time. He slowly undid his belt buckle, the button on his pants, and left both of them behind as he continued on. By the time he entered, he was naked.
Zara looked up at him, eyes wide. “What are you doing?”
He bent down, turning the handle on the bathtub. “I am giving you a bath. I’m certain that you feel in need of one.”
She crossed her arms over her chest as though she was trying to protect herself and looked away. “I do.”
“Then, take your dress off.”
She shrank in on herself, her expression suspicious. “I don’t know that I’m ready to be naked with you.”
“It’s a bit late for that.”
She locked her attention on to him, a blush coloring her cheeks. “It is not too late. We weren’t naked.”
“No, but I was just inside you.”
The color in her cheeks intensified. “Well, I don’t know if I’m ready for that to happen again.”
She was so raw. So hurt. He was the lowest creature. This was too little, too late, and he knew it.
“I left you so I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said. “And...and because it was the only way I knew to get control over myself.”
She looked up at him. “What?”
“I was rough with you. I was...beyond myself. It is something of a default. A...a punishment for me to remove myself from people when I...misbehave.”
She frowned. “You punish yourself?”
“When I need it.”
“Oh.”
He let out a sharp breath. “I swear to you, I will not touch you like that. Not now. Not until you say.” A skeptical light glistened in her dark brown eyes. “I only want to take care of you.” Were she another woman, one who did not deal in uncomfortable honesty, she would not have believed him. If she were another woman, and this were another time, he would not have believed himself.
“Turn around,” she said.
He obeyed, and he heard rustling behind him. He was hard again. And he despised himself for that too. He had good intentions. Sadly his body did not. His body did not understand how to keep its word.
But he would. He would overcome. He would prove himself now, though he had failed his earlier tests. He did have control over himself now. Yes, he had spent a great many years not exercising that control, but he knew it was there.
He would prove it now. This was the ultimate atonement. The ultimate test.
He heard the sound of her disturbing the water, and he closed his eyes, trying very hard not to imagine what it would look like as she sank down into the tub. Trying very hard not to imagine what her bare skin would look like.
He had shown restraint that first day, when he plucked her out of the bath and threw her onto his bed. He had not given himself permission to look at all of her bare, silken skin. He would not show such restraint today. Today, he would look. He would not touch her, not until she begged for him to, but he would look.
He waited a moment, then without waiting for her permission turned. She was submerged beneath the water, only the tops of her shoulders and her head visible above the surface.
Andres walked toward the tub, stepping into it, sinking down across from her. The water level rose, and her eyes widened. “A bit late to play the blushing virgin. You should have affected that bit earlier.”
“I’m still practically a virgin.”
He laughed, but the sound carried no humor. “Not even a little bit, agape.”
He reached out, wrapping his arm around her waist and turning her so that she was facing away from him, wedged between his legs. She squeaked as he adjusted their positions, but she didn’t fight him. “Well, it isn’t as though I have a vast array of experience.”
She was determined to fight him. Every step of the way. If he didn’t enjoy it so much, it might irritate him.
“You don’t want a vast array of experience,” he said, softening his tone. “You said yourself you are not prepared for any more.”
She shifted, the round curve of her butt brushing against his arousal. “I said not right then.”
“You are the most difficult creature.”
She turned to look over her shoulder. “So are you. You are so determined to have your way.”
He lifted his hand out of the water and caught her chin. “This is not about having my way. I am trying. For my brother, for my country. You have not been honest with me.”
“What do you mean?”
“You told me you had accepted this.”
“I never said that.”
“Scoot forward, and lay your head back.”
“Why?”
“Why do you insist on arguing with everything I say?”
She had no response to that. Instead, she complied. He held her tightly as she lowered her head backward, her dark hair slipping beneath the water, fanning out around her. His eyes were drawn to the pale, rounded curves of her breasts, visible just above the surface of the water. In fact, the new pose brought all of her body much closer to the surface, revealing each curve, dip and hollow. But he had promised he wouldn’t touch. Not in that way. So he didn’t. Instead, he helped her tip her head back farther, careful to keep the water out of her face.
Once her hair was wet, he guided her back up between his thighs, reaching for one of the cut-glass bottles that was resting on the edge of the tub. He tipped it to the side, putting a bit in his hand before replacing it, and turned his focus back to her. He buried his fingers in the dark, silky locks.
“What are you doing?”
“Washing your hair.”
He felt her shoulders go rigid. “Why?”
“You are far too full of questions.”
“And you are full of questionable behavior.”
“Has anyone ever taken care of you, Zara?”
He felt her frame shrink. “I never wanted for food. Or shelter. I was quite adequately taken care of.”
“No. That isn’t what I meant. Who cared for you? Did anyone do anything beyond simply ensuring that you would not die?”
“What else is there?”
He continued working the shampoo through her hair. “There is this.”
“Clean hair won’t keep me alive.” She sounded subdued now, even though she was still challenging him.
“Is being kept alive enough?” He did not let the question go deep enough that he might be tempted to answer it himself. For himself.
“It has served me well so far.”
“But you want more. Which is why you are pushing back so hard on the engagement.”
“Or perhaps I simply don’t like you. Maybe it isn’t the marriage. Maybe it’s you.”
He leaned in, scraping his teeth over the top of her shoulder. “You like me well enough. At least, in the most important way I can think of where marriage is concerned.”
He felt her shiver beneath his touch. “Sex isn’t everything.”
“Says the near virgin. Sex is quite a few things. Sex is a wonderful source of release. A way to make yourself feel close with someone when you aren’t truly close with anyone. And a wonderful way to destroy relationships and family ties.” This last part came out more bitter than he’d intended.
“You speak from experience.”
“Far too much experience.”
“I am curious, Andres.” She slithered out of his hold, turning and backing up against the opposite side of the tub. “Why did you do it? Why did you sleep with Kairos’s fiancée when you could have had any woman you wanted?” She tilted her head to the side. “Did you love her?”
“No,” he said, “I did not love her. I did not even know her, or like her especially.”
“Then why would you do it?”
His throat grew tighter, and he couldn’t possibly say why. He didn’t think he could answer her question either, since it was one he had asked himself many times over the past five years. Except now, for some reason, when the question came from her instead of from himself, he felt an answer rising to the surface. “Alcohol, mainly. As I told you, I didn’t even remember what had happened the next morning.”
“That isn’t all.”
It wasn’t.
He swallowed and took a deep breath. “Kairos was the only relationship I had yet to damage. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. Kept waiting for him to disown me for some antic or another. And he never did. It was hell waiting. Like the blade to the guillotine was hovering above my neck and I knew it would drop, just not when. I decided to drop it myself.”
“But... It didn’t work. He didn’t disown you.”
His throat grew even tighter. “No.” He had tested Kairos, badly, and Kairos had proved to be the stronger man, the superior man as always. He had proved that Andres was weak. “No, he did not. Just another reason I am honor-bound to comply with him now. Why I must do this for him. I faltered. He did not.”
Suddenly, Zara sank beneath the surface of the water, submerging her head completely. When she rose again, she came up slowly out of the water, lifting her arms and sluicing the water droplets from her face, brushing her hair back. The action revealed her breasts. Plump, round, dark, rosy nipples that were more beautiful than he could ever have imagined. She settled again, hiding her body from his view. Then she began to move toward him.
Her dark eyes were locked with his, her expression questioning. She reached out, touching his cheek with her palm. She said nothing; she only leaned forward, pressing her lips firmly against his. When they parted, she was still looking at him. Looking far too deeply for his liking, as though she could see down deep inside him. Down to places not even he ever looked.
“Did it make you less lonely? Being with her?” she asked, her tone serious.
“No,” he said. “I felt nothing after being with her.”
“You said...it was about control, but... Is that another reason why you left me out there? Because you felt nothing after?”
How could he explain he left her for the opposite reason? That he left her because he felt too much. Because it felt as though she had reached into his chest and ground broken glass into his heart?
“No, that isn’t why,” he answered, his voice rough.
“I only ask a lot of questions because you make me.” She arched a dark eyebrow, letting her fingertips trail down the line of his jaw, down his neck, where she pressed her palm flat against his chest. “Just think how much faster all this would go if you were direct with me. That’s how we do things in the forest.”
“Do you also collect berries, live in burrows and bunk with squirrels?”
“Don’t be mean.” She leaned in and bit him on the chin. “I did not live with squirrels.”
He gripped her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I feel quite a lot when I’m with you. I left because I lost control. That never should have happened. You were a virgin. You could not have known how far I was going to take it. It was wrong of me.”
“I knew. I’m not completely ignorant. That’s one thing about living in such close quarters with other people. You are forced to share some intimacies. You simply accept that certain things will happen around you and you are obliged to look the other way. As a result, I have been well exposed to certain facts of human life.”
“Being exposed to and experiencing are two different things.”
“Stop treating me like I’m a child. Or a creature. I am a woman. And though I have been able to make few decisions about my own life, I do know my mind.”
“I know that.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Do you feel guilty?”
“I just said that I did.”
“No, I mean about the engagement. Our marriage.”
“There is no other option. There is no point entertaining guilt over it.”
She moved her hand farther down his chest, her eyes never leaving his. “I have a feeling you don’t have any room inside you for more guilt.”
Cursed woman. Why did she have to see things so clearly? “Are you charging for this session?”
“What does that mean?”
“Like a therapist. They charge per hour to listen to you talk about your feelings.”
“That seems like a waste of money to me. You could go out into the woods and just scream until you feel better.”
He looked down at her bland expression. “Is that what you do?”
“I have.”
He cupped her face with his hands. “What makes you scream, Zara?”
“The first time I did it,” she said, looking down for a moment, “it was after my parents died. I ran into the woods. And I knew I was alone. Really, really alone. So it didn’t matter if I screamed. I had to behave myself at the palace. I had to be a princess. But out there, I didn’t have to be anything. Nothing but sad. Nothing but lonely. So I howled like a wolf. I don’t know for how long. No one heard me, or if they did no one came for me. When I went back...”
“Did you feel better?”
“Not really. But I could breathe.” She traced the path of a water droplet over his chest. “So whenever I had trouble breathing, that’s what I would do. I was alone a lot. I found ways to make it bearable. Ways that it was an advantage.”
He had a flash of his own life. His own behavior. Parties. Drunkenness. Sleeping around with any woman who happened to show interest. That was how he combatted the years of isolation as a child.
An isolation that had been an illusion. Locked in a bedroom, in a palace full of people, you could never scream.
So he had found new ways to learn to breathe.
“Perhaps you could take me to your mountain someday and show me,” he said.
“Are you lonely right now?” she asked.
“No,” he said, and he found that it was the truth.
“I’m not lonely either.” She pressed her mouth to his, light, tentative. “You can touch me now. I’m ready.”
He didn’t deserve such easy forgiveness, but he would be damned if he didn’t take it.
He did not need to be asked again. He claimed her mouth, his touch anything but tentative. She said she was ready. Giving him permission showed that she knew what she wanted. And he would take her at her word, because he had no other choice. He had to have her. Had to have this. To chase the full, aching feeling in his chest that was so different from the emptiness that normally lingered there. Yes, this hurt too, but it was a different pain. One that he relished, one that he embraced.
He wrapped his arms around her, her breasts pressed tightly against his chest, slick from the water. He held her tight, tilting her backward so that her hair was in the water again, making sure that he had rinsed all the shampoo away.
He brought her back up, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes locked on his. There was something in them. Something luminous, filled with wonder. And he knew for a fact that he was undeserving of it.
But he would take it. And he would take her.
He claimed her lips again, delving deep, his tongue sliding against hers. He’d kissed so many women. More than he could count. More than he cared to count. But this was different. As though it were something entirely new. She was not simply another woman; she was Zara. She was wild, spicy, untamed. Like the land she had come from. He tangled his fingers in her newly cleaned hair, holding her hard against him. He was glad that this time they didn’t have any clothes between them. But even the water was too much.
He gathered her tightly into him, moving into a standing position, holding her against his chest. He stepped over the edge of the tub, carrying her out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. They were both still wet, but he didn’t care. As he had done that first day, he laid her down the middle of the bed, but this time he looked. He looked his fill. From those full breasts, down to her slender waist, the gentle flare of her hips and the dark shadow at the apex of her thighs. Water droplets rolled down her skin and he had a fantasy of licking each and every one of them away.
Already, he was so hard it was painful. She made him shake. Made him feel as if he were the virgin. His years, his experience, melted away. Until there was no one else but Zara. Nothing else but this.
She was staring at him, transfixed. “I have never seen a naked man before. Not one... Not one quite like you.”
“Meaning?”
“I have occasionally seen men changing. Or getting ready to bathe in the river. I have not seen them aroused.”
“And what do you think?”
Color slashed across her high, arrogant cheekbones. Arousal, he thought, not embarrassment. “I very much like it. You. Also it.”
He couldn’t help laughing at that. “I am glad.”
He joined her on the bed, placing his hand on her thigh and drawing it down the length of her leg. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee. She shivered beneath his touch and he moved forward. He saw a drop of water on her inner thigh and he lapped it up, moving closer to what he craved. He owed her. She had satisfied him out in the hall. And while he knew she had received some pleasure from their coming together, it wasn’t enough. She had also been given pain, which meant she deserved a double portion of pleasure. He was her only lover, would be her only lover ever. It was up to him to show her how incredible it could be.
It wasn’t entirely altruistic on his part. He craved her. Needed to know what she tasted like. Needed to satiate the hunger that was building inside him for her. That had been from the first moment he saw her. He hadn’t realized just how much he wanted her until that moment out in the hall. Until he had lost all control and had had no choice but to claim her.
He took hold of her hips, moving forward and sliding his tongue over her slick flesh, teasing the bundle of nerves he knew was the source of her pleasure. She lifted her rear off the bed, pulling away from him, but he held her fast.
“You can’t do that,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.
“Of course I can.” He ran his tongue over the same path again. “And I intend to do it until you aren’t screaming because you’re lonely. But because you’re screaming my name. You’ll scream until you can’t breathe because of me.”
He lowered his head again, tasting her, satisfying his craving until she was rocking her hips against his mouth, until she was whimpering. He teased the entrance to her body with his finger, sliding it in slowly, before adding a second, establishing a steady rhythm with his lips, tongue and hands. She was close, so close. So wet and ready. And he was so hard he was about to lose all control. But he was intent on giving her this. On satisfying her in this way before he claimed any pleasure for himself.
And then, finally, she screamed her release, her internal muscles tightening around his fingers as she did.
While she was still shivering from the aftershocks, he rose, kissing her lips, positioning himself between her thighs. “Are you ready for me?” he asked, and he prayed to God that she was. Because he had no more restraint left in him.
“I can’t,” she said, her words breathless.
“Oh, but you can. Don’t you know? It’s one of the many beautiful, amazing things about being a woman. As many times as I care to pleasure you, you can find release.”
She shook her head, closing her eyes tight. “I would never survive it.”
“Of course you would. Because I would never let anything happen to you.”
Her lashes fluttered, her eyes opening slowly. “Really?”
His chest tightened, unbearably so, the ache rivaling that of the ache in his body. “Yes,” he said, his pledge. His vow. And with him, she would not be alone. He would do more than simply keep her alive. He would give her the life she craved.
He swore that only to himself.
“I believe you.” She looked at him with such trust, and something quite a lot like panic filled him. How long had it been since someone had trusted him? Kairos might love him, might not have disowned him, but he certainly didn’t trust him. Because Andres had not earned his trust. But Zara trusted him. With everything.
He did not deserve it. But he refused to dwell on it. Not now. Not while he was dying to be inside her. Not while his blood was roaring for release.
He tested her, finding her slick and ready. He entered her slowly, inch by agonizing inch, drawing it out to be cautious of her, of her inexperience and any potential soreness. And to torment himself. He deserved a bit of torment for all that he was getting in return.
When he was sheathed to the hilt inside her body, she gasped, her eyes widening. He found he could not look at her face, for fear he would go over the edge before things even began. He didn’t want it to end like that. He wanted to give her more pleasure. Wanted to make sure that he was giving more than he took.
He established a steady rhythm, driving them both toward release. His blood was roaring through his veins like a beast, intent on devouring him whole if it didn’t find escape. If it didn’t find a way to relieve the intense sensation that was building inside him, so impossibly large he could scarcely breathe around it. Zara arched against him, her breasts pressed into his chest, her hands sliding easily over his back thanks to the water from the tub. She flexed her hips in time with his, instinct more than making up for a lack of experience.
She pushed her fingers through his hair, tugging hard as she claimed his mouth with her own, biting his lower lip before taking the kiss deeper. He moved his hand down her waist, beneath her rear, pulling her up hard against him, drawing her up so that she met each thrust. The tighter he held her, the more she fought to brand the encounter with her own mark. He rolled his hips, his grip on her tight, and she wrenched her mouth from his, angling her face, biting one of the cords of his neck. And he knew, she would have left a physical mark in addition to all the other invisible fingerprints she would leave behind.
Her teeth scraped against his skin as she moved her hand down to his butt, holding him to her as she returned the motion with her hips. That, along with the low, husky growl that vibrated through her being, sent him crashing over the edge before he had a chance to stop himself. Pleasure burst through him like a volcano, the hot flow of his blood almost too much for him to bear. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Could do nothing more than surrender to the overwhelming release.
He reached between them, sliding his thumb over her clitoris. His last thought before there was nothing but the sensations writing through his body was that he needed her to feel this too. Needed her with him in every way. He felt her begin to tremble, and then she arched beneath him, her internal muscles squeezing his arousal tightly, bringing up his own release. Then there was nothing. He buried his head in her neck, kissing her, closing his eyes and letting the world fall away. Until he couldn’t remember his own name. Until he couldn’t remember himself. A place of bliss.
All too soon, reality rushed back to him. But at least, when he returned to himself he was with Zara.
“Oh,” she said, the word coming out on a long breath.
“Are you disappointed?”
“No. I just... I didn’t know. I didn’t know it could be quite like that.”
“Neither did I.” And that was true. He had used sex for a great many things in the past. And always, he was in control. If he was seeking numbness, temporary companionship, that was what he would find. A mere distraction, and then he would be diverted for just a while. But he hadn’t claimed the control here. This had been a fight to the finish. And right now he could not confidently say he had come out the conqueror.
At the moment, he felt conquered.
“I will have your things moved back into my room.” He didn’t think the words through before they came out of his mouth, but he meant them. He would reclaim control of the situation. He would have his way. There was no reason for her to sleep in her own bed, not when they had discovered this connection between them.
He hadn’t used a condom this time either.
Rather than cursing himself, he felt a kind of grim determination and satisfaction. If she was with child, she wouldn’t be able to push back against him about the engagement. About the marriage. And while he had a feeling he had managed to talk some sense into her, insurance didn’t hurt.
He ignored the biting guilt that came on the heels of that thought.
“Now you’re having me move back in?” she asked.
“That is what I said.”
“But you threw me out!”
“And now I am throwing you in. Things have changed.”
“The sex, you mean.”
“Between men and women there is very little else.”
She frowned. “Is that true?
“In my experience. Though what we have is very good sex. As I said, it is not always like that. It has never been like that for me.”
“Yes,” she said, climbing up the bed, pulling the covers back and burrowing beneath them. “Because you have vast experience.” Her voice was muffled by the blankets.
“What are you doing? Are you burrowing?”
“I am not.” She shifted beneath the covers. “I’m cold.”
“I think you’re hiding from me.” He pulled the covers back and she made a sharp, short sound of protest. He slipped beneath them, alongside her, and covered them both back up. “Do not hide from me.”
He didn’t know why he cared. Didn’t know why it mattered. Only that he had felt connected to another person for the first time in longer than he could remember, and he didn’t want anything to disturb that. He didn’t want her hiding from him.
“This is very new.”
“I know. You wanted to experience things.”
“Well.” She shifted, moving away from him slightly. “Now this, and you, are things that I have experienced.”
He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her up against his body. “This was not a onetime thing. You are going to be my wife. That means you will share my bed.”
“If...if I am your wife, and I share your bed, that means you will not share it with other women.” It was not a question; her tone was fierce.
He had not intended that. Not at all. But this was a test of his control. He clenched his teeth. “Yes. I swear it.”
She looked straight ahead, her dark eyes unreadable. “Then...yes. Yes, we will go forward with the wedding.”
