Читать книгу Royal Families Vs. Historicals - Annie West, Rebecca Winters - Страница 56

THE REST OF the reception passed in a fog for Tarek. He had not intended to speak to Olivia with such honesty. He saw no point in infecting her with the darkness that lingered in his past. He scarcely saw the point of infecting himself with it. However, the longer he stayed here in the palace, the more he remembered. The more often he woke, naked and reaching for his sword, his entire body burning with memories of what it had been like to be subjected to the physical and emotional torture visited upon him by his own brother after the death of their parents. It had all been under the guise of strengthening him, but he saw it now for what it was.

The only thing that had gotten him through had been the vision of his people swimming before him. The idea that he might be the perfect weapon raised up to protect them. To prevent what had happened to his parents from ever happening again. It had not then occurred to him that the threat had come from within the palace. That it had been his own brother who had orchestrated their demise. He had only the scribbles of a prince in a private journal, and shattered pieces of memory that sometimes pushed to the fore, piercing his brain with painful, vivid replays of conversations he’d heard. As a boy? During his torture, he couldn’t be sure. They were too broken.

And they were not what he intended to focus on now. But Olivia had shared pieces of herself with him, and he had felt obliged to do the same. Now, though, it was time for them to return to their chamber. It was time for them to become husband and wife in every sense of the word.

A sense he feared he still did not fully understand.

I am what I was made to be. I doubt I will ever be anything else.

His own words, the truth in them, reverberated through him as he and Olivia left the hall to raucous applause and cheers from the guests in attendance.

His body did not know how to feel pleasure. His hands did not know how to give it.

He thought back to the fantasy he’d had a week before, looking down at the book that had held so many secrets to sexual gratification. The fantasy of placing his hands on Olivia’s breasts. Her skin was so soft, perfection, unmarred by the things of the world. His were scarred. His entire body was scarred. Rough. More weapon than man. How could he begin to touch her in a way that would bring her pleasure?

He would have to trust the mechanics. What he had learned in his study. Just as he had learned to trust that drills would suffice when wartime came. That some part of him, instinct, would rise up and take over, join in with what he had learned.

And yet, it seemed rather a large chance to take on such a delicate, easily crushed creature.

They walked on in silence, heading toward his chamber. Neither of them said anything; neither of them touched as they walked inside. Tarek closed the doors firmly behind them, and when he turned it was to see Olivia, slowly removing the bangles from her wrists. She placed the first one on the vanity with a decisive click, followed by a second, and a third. Until she had removed each ring of gold and silver from her arms.

Then she reached up, working small combs from her hair, detaching the veil that had hung over her shoulders. She placed the beautifully adorned fabric across the top of the bangles, her eyes never leaving his.

“I have been thinking,” she said, “about what you told me.”

His stomach turned over. “I am sorry. It is nothing good to think about.”

“Maybe it isn’t. But it happened. I was thinking also about the vows you made to me during the ceremony.”

“I know it was not what was written. But all of those things spoke of love, of clinging to one another. And I do not understand those things. But I understand protection. Possession. Perhaps neither are very romantic concepts, but they are real in my heart.”

She nodded slowly. “I know. It made them meaningful. I understood. But it made me feel that I owed you something of the same. Not just words that were written for me by someone else. Not a traditional sentiment about marriage when nothing about this is traditional. When nothing about the two of us is traditional.”

“And have you decided what they are?”

“I haven’t rehearsed them. But… Yes. I have never been tortured, Tarek. I have never been alone the way that you have. I haven’t known loss as you have done. I promise that when we touch my hands will bring you nothing but pleasure. I promise that I will never send you away. I promise that no matter how long it takes, I will make you see that you are not what he made you. You are a man. And I will do everything I can do to ensure you feel like one.”

As she spoke the final words, her hands went to the belt on her dress, nimble fingers unhooking the tiny catches there, letting it fall free. Then she moved to the tiny buttons at the front of the gown, undoing each one with a kind of purpose that carried great weight.

She parted the fabric, opening the dress at the front and letting it slide from her shoulders, a silken river at her feet.

She was bare beneath the gown. And he couldn’t breathe.

He had never in his life seen a naked woman in the flesh. Drawings, statues, paintings were useless renderings. They did not and could not capture the majesty of what he saw before him. He had to grit his teeth to try to maintain a grip on his control.

She was bathed in golden light, the soft halo provided by the candles in the room conforming to each curve and contour of her figure. He was transfixed by every part of her. The shadow of her collarbone, her round, full breasts, tipped with dusky, pale nipples. The slope of her waist that narrowed then widened again for lush hips and thighs. The dark shadow at the center holding his focus above all else.

She was, now and forever, the epitome of a woman to him. And for all of his days, this was the image he would see when the word was spoken.

Everything else, everyone else, was a pale shade in comparison with her.

“I think now we’re past time for discussion,” she said, luminous eyes meeting his. “Perhaps it’s time we do something other than talk.”

The book had not mentioned this. That he would scarcely be able to breathe. That he would be so hard it would be a physical pain. That his hands would shake. That he would be nearly immobilized with his desire, while also fighting the urge to pull her hard against his body, to lay her down and push deep inside her with no preliminaries whatsoever while he chased a release that was sure to surpass anything he had ever known before.

He thought that he had learned more than the mechanics. But he saw now that there was more still. And that theory would scarce be helpful here.

Because he had not taken into account what she might do. And what it might make him feel. He had made it all about her. Her pleasure. Meeting her expectations of the husband so that he would not be remiss in his responsibilities.

He had fancied his own control so iron that he needn’t consider it.

He had been a fool. And now he was a fool standing before a naked woman.

She began to walk toward him, each step creating a slight wave through her soft body, her breasts keeping rhythm with each movement. She looked down, her eyes clearly following his own line of sight, then looked up at him, a slight smile curving her lips. “I’m glad you’re pleased.”

“Go to the bed,” he said, his voice barely recognizable to his own ears. Though that wasn’t unusual. Sometimes, out in the desert, he had gone long enough without speaking that when he did so again, it was a surprise.

Her shoulders stiffened, one pale brow arching. “I didn’t realize you were one to give commands.”

“Neither did I. Go to the bed.”

He had to seize control here. There was no other option.

She turned away from him slowly, and he allowed himself a long moment to admire the view of her from behind. The enticing dimples low on her back just above the rounded curve of her bottom. The gentle sway of her hips as she walked away from him, complying with his demands.

Fire shot through his veins with a crack. This beautiful, fierce creature was obeying his commands. Soft, naked, lovelier than anything. Following his instruction. She had been the aggressor when it came to physical interaction between the two of them in the past. Tonight, the control would be his.

It was how it must be.

She sat on the edge of the mattress, her eyes watchful.

“Lie back.”

Her expression held many unspoken questions, but she complied. She breathed in deep, her breasts rising and falling. She was the picture of supplication, and yet he knew better. Because he knew Olivia.

“Raise your arms above your head,” he said.

She complied with that, as well. He admired her ease with her body. Her lack of nerves. She had confidence in him. Of course, she didn’t know the truth.

If things went well, she never would. It would be unnecessary.

He moved to the end of the bed, to a vantage point that provided him with an optimum view. Her legs hung over the edge of the bed, her knees pressed together, her eyes still on his. He took a step toward her, each step increasing the tightness in his chest, his difficulty in breathing. He paused at the edge of the mattress, leaning forward, pressing his hand into the soft bedding. Then he raised his other hand, tracing her cheekbone, the lovely curve of her upper lip, down to her chin. Her lids fluttered closed, her mouth relaxing, a sweet sigh escaping.

So his touch hadn’t harmed her. Wasn’t too rough.

He moved his fingertips across her throat and down lower between the valley of her perfect breasts. He watched as her nipples grew tighter, watched until the temptation to touch became too great. He let his fingers drift over her, brushing his fingertips over her sensitized skin. Satisfaction rocked him as she shivered, as he fulfilled that fantasy of his. She was softer than he had dared imagine. Softer than he had believed anything could be.

He let his exploration continue downward, stopping at the patch of curls between her thighs. He was shaking. From the inside out. Faced now with the full brunt of the desire he had spent fifteen years suppressing.

He was not stone. He was a man. A man who greatly desired the woman before him. Desire such as this had been stripped from him, a necessity for his survival he had told himself. A necessity for his mission.

Protection. Against corruption, against distraction.

But now, with Olivia before him, all he could think was that he had been missing a part of himself, and it had been returned to him.

He almost feared touching her. Fear that he could not meet the need within her. That the need within her did not match his own. That he lacked the skill to bring her to satisfaction.

He knew he lacked skill. All he had was desire.

So he would give her that. All of it. Everything within him.

He pushed his fingers lower, and she gasped as he met with slick flesh. Her knees fell open, allowing him greater access. Heat rose in his face, his breath coming in hard, short bursts, his heart beating so hard he feared it might burst from his chest. He fought to maintain his control, to ignore the ache building between his own thighs.

He stroked her gently, closing his eyes and letting the pages of the book fill the space in his mind. He did exactly as those pages had instructed him to, touching her just where they had said. Using the evidence of her desire to ease the motions. She made sharp, soft noises, her stomach pitching with each breath. She raised her hips off the bed, pressing herself more firmly into his touch.

“Please,” she whispered, “Tarek, please.”

He didn’t know what she was asking for. His mind went blank, the instructions he had placed there dissolving like sand through an hourglass.

She lowered her hand, placing it over his, pushing his hand down farther, pressing his fingertip into the entrance of her body. He looked up, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were bright, the color in her cheeks high. She pressed her hips into his touch yet again, and he answered her silent request, pushing his finger deep inside her.

A harsh, raw sound was wrenched from her lips and he withdrew from her, afraid he had done something wrong.

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t stop.”

She put her hand back over his, guiding him back to where he’d been.

He reclaimed his position, continuing to stroke her gently with his thumb as he entered her again.

She let out a shivering breath, his name on her lips. It struck him in the chest like an arrow, warmth spreading outward like blood. Arousal such as this felt like an injury. So acute it was almost pain. But beneath that, a deep, unending pleasure unlike anything he’d ever known. He knew the ultimate goal of something like this was climax, and yet he found he wished to delay it for as long as possible. Wanted to extend the exploration of Olivia.

She continued to work her hips along with his motions, and he didn’t stop. Because she didn’t ask him to. He simply watched her, watched and tried to match his rhythm to her own, to learn her. Because she was teaching him, with each breath, each sound, each gentle roll of her hips.

He slid his thumb back and forth over the bundle of nerves he’d been teasing and a gasp shook her body, her internal muscles pulsing around him, her entire being trembling.

He knew what that was. He had read about it.

And he had helped her achieve it.

Satisfaction that surely rivaled any orgasm broke over him.

At the same time his pride roared around inside him like a beast, a sense of overwhelming humility overtook him. His hands, these hands that had endured so much pain and caused so much pain, had done that to her.

He was not worthy of the gift.

Her eyes opened again, a sleepy look in them now. “You didn’t even kiss me.”

He withdrew from her body, leaning over and pressing his mouth to hers. It was slow, exploratory, and he allowed her to lead now. She cupped his face, her soft hand resting on his cheek. She shifted, bringing her body into full contact with his.

She lifted her head, a half smile on her lips, and then she lowered her hand, pressing her palm to his hardened arousal. “I think it’s your turn.”

She curled her fingers around him through the fabric of his pants, heat cracking over him like a whip. And he couldn’t pretend this was all about her anymore. These appetites had always seemed a weakness to him. A part of his brother’s corruption; a part of man’s corruption. And yet, he could feel no corruption here in this.

Not here in this room that had become their sanctuary. No one else was invited; no one else and nothing else could gain a foothold here. A storm could be raging outside and the two of them would never know, shielded here, buffeted by the thick walls of the palace. This concerned only the two of them, and for the first time he understood that corruption crept in when the door was left open. But with it closed now, barred, in their own private refuge, he felt he was gathering strength rather than losing it.

That in fact, this might be the safest place for him to lose control, so that he might better rebuild it when he was outside these walls.

He would put up no argument to that conclusion at all. He was incapable.

He looked down at her, at the gleam in her blue eyes. Wicked, provocative. She squeezed him gently and a wave of desire moved through him.

He was a man after all. For surely stone could not feel these things. She sat up, getting onto her knees, leaning into him, increasing the pressure of her touch.

His throat tightened and he swallowed hard, his chest aching. Being stone, he imagined, was in many ways easier than being a man. But a stone could feel no excitement at the touch of Olivia’s hand. And that meant he had no desire for the ease that might come with life as a rock.

She surprised him then, not going to the closure of his trousers, but to the buttons on his shirt. He stayed motionless while she set about her task. Removing his tie, pushing his jacket to the floor, followed by his shirt. And then her hands went to the closure of his pants. Her movements were deft, certain, as she divested him of the rest of his clothing.

When he was naked before her, she pressed her palm against him again, her breath hissing through her teeth. He had no idea what expectation females might have of the male body. And he had never had a reason to cultivate modesty. So he found himself now standing before her, not nervous, but assessing.

A small sound escaped her lips that was akin to a whimper.

“Tell me your thoughts,” he commanded.

Perhaps this was not the best time to be talking, but he found that he needed to know what was on her mind. And he had no experience of reading people. Not like this.

“I’m impressed,” she said, her voice thick, husky. She traced the ridge of his erection with the tip of her finger, her eyes never leaving his. “You are most impressive.”

“Am I?”

She blinked. “Surely you know. I cannot be the only woman to praise your natural endowments.”

“You are.”

Her eyes widened. “Then, the other women you’ve been with have very bad manners.”

“I have never been with a woman before.” The admission broke past his lips and his best intentions to keep this a secret.

She jerked her hand back as though she’d been burned. “What?”

“I told you. I had taken a vow to cast off earthly pleasures. I had to keep my focus. I could not be allowed to be distracted, even for a moment.”

“Somehow I didn’t imagine you meant you had cast off everything.”

“Is it so unusual?”

Something in her expression softened. “In my experience, that would be the last thing a man chose to discard.”

“I can see that. My brother was consumed by his lusts. For power. For women. I thought it best not to taint myself with those needs.”

“And now?”

“My responsibilities have changed. They now include you.”

A crease formed between her brows. “I’m not sure if I like the idea of this being a responsibility.”

He reached out and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, drawing her palm back to his arousal. “Does this feel like a responsibility?”

“No. It certainly doesn’t.”

“I want this,” he said, barely able to force the words through his throat. “But I know very little about what I’m supposed to do to ensure your pleasure. I read a book.”

“You read a book?”

“Yes. To better learn how to please you.”

Color heightened in her cheeks. “Well, you’ve done a good job so far.”

He took hold of her chin with his thumb and forefinger and tilted her face upward. “Have I? Have I pleased you?”

“Yes. You couldn’t tell?”

“I felt you. I felt you climax around my fingers.”

She blushed. Somehow he had made her blush. He found that near as heady a rush as making her climax had been. “You’re a good study.”

“I am a thorough man. In all things.” He swallowed, looking down at her body. “And you are far too precious for me to approach this with no skill. With no control.”

“I had no complaints about your skill.”

“Perhaps I have been too honest.”

“No.” She pressed her hands against his chest, bracing herself against him. “I’m glad you were honest.”

She looked up at him, then focused in on his torso, pressing a kiss there. He closed his eyes, doing his best to maintain his hold on his control. What control he had. Dimly, he thought back to his earlier realization that allowing her to have his control here, in this place, might make him stronger outside of it.

She angled her head, kissing him lower, and he reached back and grabbed hold of her hair, working his fingers through the soft blond strands. She wrapped her fingers tightly around the base of his shaft, squeezing him as she curved her lips around the head.

He tightened his grip on her, flexing his hips toward her. She widened her mouth, taking him in deeper. White light exploded behind his eyes and he gritted his teeth hard to keep himself from reaching his release then and there. He had never conceived of such pleasure. Never imagined the intensity that might come from wrapping something other than his own fist around his body. Certainly, there had been times when he hadn’t been able to transcend the ache, that knot deep in his gut late at night. Then he had dealt with it quickly, as efficiently as possible. But this wasn’t about efficiency. This wasn’t about simply satisfying the ache. This was about relishing it. Enjoying every pass of her tongue along his length, every sweet jolt of pleasure wrapped up in pain.

He recalled then the pain he had experienced at the hand of his brother. Pain designed to break him.

He looked down at the soft, beautiful woman pleasuring him with her mouth, subjecting him to a new kind of torture. He was as out of control now as he had been then. At the mercy of his captor. But he had never had such a beautiful captor.

Her gentle hands on the most male part of him were more powerful than any whip brought across his skin had ever been. He had a feeling she could turn the tide inside him with a flick of her wrist. Or rather, a skilled turn of her tongue.

She took him in deeper, and he could think no more. There was nothing, nothing but a blessed blankness, carrying him through the darkness on a wave of sensation. He had, at points in his life, been filled so full of pain he had been afraid it would burst forth from him in an endless torrent. That it was too much for his physical being to contain. A knife plunging into his skin, deeper and deeper, until he was certain it would hit something vital and end him forever.

Now it felt as if the blade had turned. And it was still too much. Still too deep. But it was pleasure he was drowning in rather than pain.

He gritted his teeth, so near the edge he wasn’t certain how long he could hold himself back from going over. But the idea of finishing like this horrified him. He couldn’t subject her to that. Her lips were on him. Surely that was not acceptable. Even he with his limited experience knew that.

He tightened his hold on her hair, tugging her backward. “Enough,” he said, “I cannot endure any more.”

“Good,” she said. “I want you inside me.”

Her words made his stomach pitch. “I’m not sure I can withstand it.” His voice was rough, his words honest.

“We can only try,” she said. Smooth, perfect Olivia. As always. She never seemed ruffled. Never seemed at sea.

He felt certain that he must make it a goal to see her as lost and desperate as he was.

He growled, pressing her back into the mattress, gripping her wrists and holding them above her head. Much like the voluntary position she had assumed earlier. He parted her legs roughly with his own, settling between her thighs. “I will do more than try,” he said.

He might be a virgin, but he was also a warrior. Was a man who led troops into battle. Toward death, and yet ensuring they never in fact met that darkest of demons.

Surely if he could march into a line of enemy soldiers, he could breach a woman’s body.

He kissed her neck, because she looked delicious and he wanted to, and she arched against him, her breasts pressing firmly into his chest, her hips tilting upward. The head of his arousal met against her slick entrance. Yet again it was as though a blade had twisted inside him, a new brand of pleasure and pain bursting through him.

He wanted nothing more than to sink into her. The promise of all that heat, so sweet and slick, sheathing his body, pushed him to the brink.

“Say you want this,” he ground out, his lips still pressed against her neck.

“Yes. Tarek. I want this. Please.” She lifted her hips off the bed, pressing herself more firmly against him.

And he couldn’t hold back any longer.

He pressed against the opening to her body and entered her slowly, gritting his teeth as she surrounded him. Inch by excruciating inch.

He trembled, burying his face in her neck as he tried to hold back the orgasm that was threatening to end this before it even began.

He thought back to his long years in the desert. Barren, dry years that stretched before him as far as he could see. Blank, pale sand meeting a washed-out sky.

He thought of all the years he’d been without touch. Without anyone to speak to. Anyone to hold him.

He was here now. And so was she. And he would be damned to hell if he let it end now.

This was his due. For every slash in his skin made by a blade. For every lash of the whip. Every moment he’d gone without food or water. So much deprivation. And here he was submerged in sensation. In her.

Now, for the first time, he would maintain control, not for the sake of anyone else. But for himself. Only for himself.

He lifted his head, looked down at her. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, cheeks flushed. He lifted his hand, traced her lower lip with his thumb. Could feel his body respond, pulsing deep inside hers.

He kissed her mouth, relishing her flavor, relishing the moment.

And then his control slipped its leash. He couldn’t stay still any longer. He withdrew, before thrusting back in deep. Repeating the motion when she moaned, the sound spurring him on.

She wrapped her legs around his hips, arching against him, urging him on. She whispered in his ear. Pleas, cries. All in English. His brain lost the ability to translate, her words losing their meaning as he moved with her.

She met his every thrust, pressing hard against him when he was sheathed fully within her. She shook in his arms, coming apart completely, her internal muscles tightening down hard on him as she gave herself over to her release.

And then he let go. And he was falling over the edge.

Blood roared through his ears, howling like a beast as he lost himself in his climax. In her. Olivia.

He opened his eyes, cupped her face, met her gaze. Her eyes were wide, shocked. Until she closed them. Looked away.

“Olivia,” he said, his voice rough. Unrecognizable.

She shifted beneath him, a small squeak escaping her lips. “Could I just…?”

“Sorry.” He rolled to the side, allowing her space. She sat up, drawing her knees to her chest, and he stayed where he was. On his side, his head propped up by his hand.

He gazed at the lines, the curves of her body. He couldn’t stop staring. She was beautiful. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Just looking at her was like water on parched earth. Healing. Reaching deep, untouched places inside him. Bringing them life.

She placed her hands on his arm, slowly letting her fingertips drift along his bare skin. “Tarek…you are so beautiful.” She touched a scar on his arm. “So fierce. So caring. That was… I have no words for it. Why have you never been with anyone? Why do you deny yourself?” She took a shuddering breath. “Tarek, what did he do to you?”