The Inadequate Heir, page 16
“You are!” Not even the waterfall was loud enough to drown out the frustration in her voice. “If we met on the battlefield, I’d kill you without thought.”
“Handily, I’m sure. I’m not a particularly gifted fighter.” Sarcasm pushed its way into his voice despite his best intentions because her words stung. “If you don’t want to be here, then why are you?”
“To tell you it’s over. To say goodbye. To give you back your goddamned things so I don’t have to look at them!”
“Well, you’ve said it, then. And the gap between us has grown too large to jump, so feel free to toss said things over the edge if they cause you such consternation. I care not.”
“Fine.” She tossed his coat into the falls, and Keris cursed under his breath because he’d liked that coat. But when she held up the book, clearly intending to throw it next, he found himself stepping forward. Not because of the book itself, for it was neither rare nor expensive, but because of what it represented. A moment that he didn’t want thrown into a spillway to be lost and forgotten.
Valcotta hesitated, withdrawing her outstretched hand to press the book against her chest, the simple action making his own chest ache.
“What is it that needs to end, Valcotta?” he called across the water. “What part terrifies you so much? Because I don’t think it’s me.”
Her shadowy form shivered. “You don’t understand. I need to be a certain way. I need to think a certain way. Because if I don’t, not only do I risk losing everything I’ve worked for, but I risk losing myself.”
“Or maybe you’ll find yourself.” His hands fisted, and he wasn’t sure if he was talking to Valcotta or to himself. “You told me once that if you truly believe in something, you should be willing to suffer for it. To die for it. Well, I think that if you truly believe in something, you should live for it.”
Valcotta stiffened, staring at him, then she twisted on her heel and strode down the dam.
He’d pushed too hard, and in doing so, had pushed her away. Keris shoved his hands through his hair, desperately searching for the right thing to say to get her to come back. “Valcotta, wait!”
She slid to a stop, turning to face him, and his heart leapt. Then she shouted, “Back up.”
Back up? Realization slapped him in the face. “Valcotta, no! Valcotta, it’s too far!” But she was already sprinting toward the gap. A gap a full foot wider than it had been the last time she’d failed to make the leap. “Stop!”
She jumped.
BOOK STILL CLUTCHED in her hand, Zarrah sprinted toward the gap. It drew closer with every step, the blackness seeming an impossible distance to leap, the deadly water rushing through it fighting the volume of her thundering heart for supremacy.
“Stop!”
Gathering herself, Zarrah took one final stride, and without hesitation, she jumped. She flew across the gap, stumbling slightly as she hit the far side. And then his arms were around her, pulling her away from the edge.
“Have you lost your mind?”
His breath was warm against her face, and she tilted her head up to meet his gaze even as she inhaled the scent of spice filling her nose. “An unreasonable accusation, given how often you jump across, Maridrina.”
“That’s different.” He still hadn’t let her go, his grip on her arms tight, their bodies only inches apart. Except those inches felt like miles when what she wanted was the press of him against her. To experience in the flesh what she’d only felt within the confines of her dreams.
“Why is it different?”
He exhaled softly. “Because watching you jump was the most terrifying moment of my life.” And before she could answer, his lips descended on hers.
What her imagination had conjured was a pale shade to the sensation of his mouth on hers, the kiss fierce with terror and desire, the intensity making her knees tremble. Still holding the book, she wrapped her arms around his neck, eliminating those cursed inches between them, her fingers pulling loose the tie holding back his hair, the locks that spilled around his face like silk against her skin.
His hands moved from her shoulders, sliding down to the small of her back even as their lips parted, his tongue delving into her mouth and chasing over hers with soft strokes that Zarrah swore she felt down to her core. Shivers burst over her skin, a tight curling sensation filling her belly, and an aching pulse rising in intensity between her thighs. Then he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. “Not here, Valcotta,” he murmured. “If I’m going to have you, it will be somewhere I can do it properly and without interruption.”
It was madness to consider going into the city with him. She was a general and the future Empress of Valcotta, and he was a Maridrinian whose name she didn’t even know. But none of that felt as important as the need to have his lips back against hers and his body between her legs. “Where should we go?”
WITH HER HAND in his, the Maridrinian led her through Nerastis, the people filling the streets paying them no interest, their minds all for their own pleasures. Stopping in front of a building less derelict than most, he took her inside, the main floor dimly lit by a handful of lamps.
“Room,” he said to the greasy man sitting behind a counter eating equally greasy pastries.
“An hour?”
The Maridrinian snorted, then said, “The rest of the night,” and Zarrah’s stomach flipped, a fresh rush of desire making her skin burn hot.
The greasy man rolled his eyes. “Lass like that and you’ll be down in half an hour, but it’s your silver coin.”
The Maridrinian didn’t answer, only sent a piece of silver flipping through the air, catching the key the man tossed to him in return.
Zarrah’s heart pounded in anticipation as he led her up the stairs and then down the hall, fumbling with the lock and nearly dropping the key before he got the door open, the slip making her smile.
The room was large, the walls and floors bare, but the bed beneath the window looked clean enough to justify the ridiculous price, the thin curtains above it blowing on the breeze. A single table held a lamp, and as she watched, the Maridrinian turned the flame up high, allowing her to see him more fully than she ever had before.
He was paler than most of his countrymen, who tended to darken in the sun, his shoulder-length hair a dark blond that reminded her of fields of wheat. His eyes were light, although their exact hue was lost in the shadows that danced across his face. And that face … He was beautiful in a way that defied reason, that made her want to stop and stare. That made her want to touch him again, if only to prove he was real. “You really ought to spend more time in the sun.”
A slow smile rose to his face. “But all the best things happen at night.”
The velvet tone of his voice tightened something deep in her core, suggesting that tonight, at least, he was right.
They circled each other, Zarrah setting the book on the table before unfastening the harness that held her staff to her back and dropping it to the ground, her knives following suit.
With her past lovers, all had been conducted in the dark, for she’d never felt comfortable being exposed. But with him, she felt different. She’d already exposed her soul to him, and Zarrah wanted him to see the rest of her.
So she moved to the buckles of her leather corselet, moving slowly down her chest before casting aside the garment. Beneath, she wore only a thin bodice of purple silk, and with a quick jerk, she pulled it over her head, allowing it to flutter to the ground. Her nipples immediately peaked, and her thighs turned liquid as his hungry gaze moved to them.
But when he took a step in her direction, she clicked her tongue and shook her head, not wanting to rush the moment. “Not yet.”
“You’re very domineering, Valcotta.” His hands went to the buttons of his coat. “And I think quite used to giving commands.”
“And to being obeyed.”
He gave a soft growl of frustration but stopped unbuttoning his coat, his eyes never moving from her as she unlaced one boot and then the other before unfastening her belt, her trousers slipping down to reveal she wore nothing underneath.
She heard his breath catch, felt the tension rise as though he were barely contained. As if she might blink and find him across the room, his hands on her naked body and his tongue in her mouth. The thought of it had her slipping her hand between her thighs, fingertips finding her body wet and wanting. Zarrah used one fingertip to circle the sensitive flesh that was the center of her pleasure, leaning her shoulders against the wall, her eyes never leaving his.
“Valcotta,” he murmured, “if this is the torment you envisioned for me, you could have done it from the far side of the dam.”
She smirked. “But then I wouldn’t have known whether it was fear or self-control holding you in place, and if I am to be satisfied, I demand the latter.”
His chuckle was dark and full of promises. “With me between your thighs, Valcotta, you are ensured satisfaction.”
This wild and wanton side of herself was unfamiliar, and yet … not. Like it had always been there but had never found cause to be unleashed. Now it was free, and it felt like this was who she’d been all along. “Prove it.”
Her eyes closed for what felt like only a heartbeat, but when she opened them, he was in front of her. His lips brushed her earlobe, causing a tremor to run through her as he said, “Gladly.”
The ever-present question of who are you? flickered through her mind, only to be vanquished as he lifted her. Her back slid up the wall until she could feel the heat of his breath against the apex of her thighs, the sensation tearing a gasp from her lips.
She was entirely exposed, supported only by the strength of his arms, her sex inches from his face. He was in control, and she should hate that, but instead it made her burn hotter. Made her spread her thighs wider so the folds of her sex parted and he could see all of her, her core pulsing with need.
“Some things I won’t be robbed of.” He kissed the inside of one of her knees, and then the other, making her shiver. “And being the one to make you come is foremost on that list.”
He lowered his face, and a moan tore from Zarrah’s lips as his mouth took the place of her fingers, sucking and teasing her sensitive flesh. Her thighs tensed, but he only pressed them wider, holding her up as though she weighed nothing at all. She gasped, wild aching lust making her body thrum and her skin burn like wildfire.
Then he pulled away to look up at her. “Are you sure you want to do this, Valcotta?”
“Yes,” she breathed, for there was nothing she wanted more. No one she wanted more. “I need …” You was the word she wanted to say, but she couldn’t give that much up to him. “I need it.”
He laughed softly, then lowered his mouth and slipped his tongue inside of her. Tasted her thoroughly before running his tongue up her sex to the knot of nerves that pulsed with need, closing his mouth over it. Zarrah sobbed as he sucked and stroked the part of her that seemed to hold every sensation in her body, her back arching against the wall as his fingers dug into her thighs.
The tension built and built until pleasure washed over her like the breaking of a dam. Zarrah screamed as her body shuddered, as he sucked her flesh hard, dragging waves of pleasure from her. She tangled her fingers in his hair to hold him there, her body bucking in his grip.
Only when her shudders eased did he lower her down, kissing her lips, her jaw, her throat, a soft groan exiting his lips as she wrapped her legs around his body.
“I want more,” she breathed into his ear, rocking her hips against him, inhaling his scent. “I want everything.”
Everything that she’d denied herself for so long. Everything that hadn’t been possible until she’d met him.
“Then everything you shall have.” He carried her over to the bed and laid her on her back, the sheets rough against her skin.
Zarrah’s heart skipped as he straightened, his eyes locked on hers as he pulled off first his coat and then a shirt of expensive linen, revealing a torso that might well have been carved from alabaster, every muscle taut and defined. His boots made soft thuds as he kicked them free, his belt clinking as he unfastened it, and anticipation caused her breath to quicken.
But though his desire was visibly apparent, there he paused, his eyes drifting over her nakedness. “A body to match the voice.”
Was that a good thing? She wasn’t sure. “How so?”
“Beautiful.” Her breath caught as he bent to kiss her navel, then looked up at her. “Something I would gladly lose myself in every night of my life, if such a thing were possible.”
Emotion flooded Zarrah’s chest, making it hard to breathe, because while she’d been many things to many people, no one had ever spoken this way to her. No one had ever expressed such feelings for her. Until this moment, she hadn’t felt the absence of the sentiment, but now she half wondered how she’d live without it. How she’d live without him.
Though she knew she’d have to.
What was happening between them was forbidden. There was no possible future in it. Yet instead of tempering the heat burning through her body, it only made her want him more.
His lips kissed lines of fire up her torso, then his mouth closed over the tip of one of her breasts, making her back arch. She tangled her fingers in his hair, her other hand running over the hard muscles of his shoulders, which flexed beneath her palm as he shifted to her other breast. She whimpered, the sensation of his tongue stroking her nipple spiraling down between her thighs, the need to be filled by him so intense it almost hurt.
Catching her heels around his hips, she pulled him closer, snarling in frustration as she felt the fabric of his trousers instead of bare flesh, but he silenced her with a kiss even as his hips pressed down, his hardness rubbing against her, teasing her with what was to come. What she needed to come.
Twisting her body, she rolled him onto his back, abandoning his lips to taste the lobe of his ear, her heart speeding as his fingers interlocked with hers, knuckles digging into the mattress as he allowed her to hold him down.
She heard the rapidness of his breath, felt the thunder of his heart against her breasts as she moved, her tongue flicking over the pulse at his throat before moving down, exploring the hard planes of his chest and the tensed muscles of his abdomen.
Her hands drifted to the top of his trousers. He lifted his hips beneath her, allowing her to pull them down, revealing the hard length of his cock. While he kicked away the garment, it was her turn to look up, knowing hers was the smile of a devil as she met his gaze. Then Zarrah lowered her face, taking as much of him in as she could.
He groaned as she moved, her tongue circling him until he gasped, “You’re going to break me, Valcotta, and my pride can’t take passing that front desk with less than an hour gone by.”
Zarrah didn’t stop.
Instead, she lost herself to the rhythm, to the pleasure of feeling his body shudder beneath her touch, his breath coming in rasping gasps. And only when she sensed he was at her mercy did she shift her weight upward, knees to either side of his body, not hesitating as she drove her hips down, his cock plunging into her.
Whether it was him or her that cried out, Zarrah couldn’t have said, only that the world spun sideways as she rocked against him, his grip on her ass driving her downward with more force with each stroke.
He let go of her to push himself up, capturing her mouth with his, her breasts crushed against his chest, the ferocity, the passion, unlike anything she’d ever experienced.
Tension built again in her core, rising and rising, and then his hand shifted between their bodies, his thumb finding that knot of pleasure between her legs, stroking her with the same rhythm.
Zarrah screamed, her head falling back as he drove her need for release to the point of agony.
Then her body shattered, pleasure lancing through her and bright spots of light filling her eyes. Over and over, her core convulsed so that she could barely draw a breath. She felt his body shudder as he climaxed, the pulse of him filling her, the moment seeming to last an eternity and yet be over in a heartbeat, the Maridrinian collapsing back against the bed and taking her with him.
Her softened body molded against him, her cheek pressed against his chest as they lay in the light of the flickering lamp, too spent to do anything but breathe.
Only when her heart finally slowed did Zarrah lift her face to regard him. “You could probably get half your coin back, if you wanted.”
He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek, then coiled one lock of her hair around his finger. “What I want,” he said, “has nothing to do with silver,” and he rolled her onto her back. Smiling, Zarrah closed her eyes, allowing him to draw her back down into the depths of pleasure.
AS IF BOTH of them recognized this would be their only night together, they slept little. Wrapped in his arms, Zarrah drifted off only a handful of times, but always the need for more would wake one of them, and they’d begin anew.
Though she’d had her share of lovers, it had never felt like this. Like she’d been made for the man whose lips consumed her, and he for her. Never had she felt such an insatiable desire that cared not for sleep or obligation or the rising threat of dawn, only for having his body against hers, in hers, his tongue, his fingers, his cock pulling her over the edge so many times she lost count.
No matter that it might be to her own ruin.
A sliver of sunlight spilled from beneath the thin fabric of the drapes, casting a line of gold across the Maridrinian’s back. Resting on her elbow, she traced her finger over a scar illuminated by the light. A knife wound, was her guess. It looked like the blade had missed the gap between his ribs, slicing through muscle instead of into his lungs. “Who stabbed you in the back?”
He exhaled a slow breath, his eyes still closed, cheek still pressed against the mattress. “One of my brothers.”
There was no emotion in his voice. No indignation or outrage or hurt that a family member had tried to kill him. Which she supposed wasn’t surprising. He was clearly of noble birth, which meant whoever his father was, he likely had a harem full of wives and more children than he could count. More sons than could reasonably be given any inheritance, which meant siblings ridding themselves of one another in order to have a chance at wealth and title upon their father’s death. “Your people don’t understand the meaning of family.”
“Handily, I’m sure. I’m not a particularly gifted fighter.” Sarcasm pushed its way into his voice despite his best intentions because her words stung. “If you don’t want to be here, then why are you?”
“To tell you it’s over. To say goodbye. To give you back your goddamned things so I don’t have to look at them!”
“Well, you’ve said it, then. And the gap between us has grown too large to jump, so feel free to toss said things over the edge if they cause you such consternation. I care not.”
“Fine.” She tossed his coat into the falls, and Keris cursed under his breath because he’d liked that coat. But when she held up the book, clearly intending to throw it next, he found himself stepping forward. Not because of the book itself, for it was neither rare nor expensive, but because of what it represented. A moment that he didn’t want thrown into a spillway to be lost and forgotten.
Valcotta hesitated, withdrawing her outstretched hand to press the book against her chest, the simple action making his own chest ache.
“What is it that needs to end, Valcotta?” he called across the water. “What part terrifies you so much? Because I don’t think it’s me.”
Her shadowy form shivered. “You don’t understand. I need to be a certain way. I need to think a certain way. Because if I don’t, not only do I risk losing everything I’ve worked for, but I risk losing myself.”
“Or maybe you’ll find yourself.” His hands fisted, and he wasn’t sure if he was talking to Valcotta or to himself. “You told me once that if you truly believe in something, you should be willing to suffer for it. To die for it. Well, I think that if you truly believe in something, you should live for it.”
Valcotta stiffened, staring at him, then she twisted on her heel and strode down the dam.
He’d pushed too hard, and in doing so, had pushed her away. Keris shoved his hands through his hair, desperately searching for the right thing to say to get her to come back. “Valcotta, wait!”
She slid to a stop, turning to face him, and his heart leapt. Then she shouted, “Back up.”
Back up? Realization slapped him in the face. “Valcotta, no! Valcotta, it’s too far!” But she was already sprinting toward the gap. A gap a full foot wider than it had been the last time she’d failed to make the leap. “Stop!”
She jumped.
BOOK STILL CLUTCHED in her hand, Zarrah sprinted toward the gap. It drew closer with every step, the blackness seeming an impossible distance to leap, the deadly water rushing through it fighting the volume of her thundering heart for supremacy.
“Stop!”
Gathering herself, Zarrah took one final stride, and without hesitation, she jumped. She flew across the gap, stumbling slightly as she hit the far side. And then his arms were around her, pulling her away from the edge.
“Have you lost your mind?”
His breath was warm against her face, and she tilted her head up to meet his gaze even as she inhaled the scent of spice filling her nose. “An unreasonable accusation, given how often you jump across, Maridrina.”
“That’s different.” He still hadn’t let her go, his grip on her arms tight, their bodies only inches apart. Except those inches felt like miles when what she wanted was the press of him against her. To experience in the flesh what she’d only felt within the confines of her dreams.
“Why is it different?”
He exhaled softly. “Because watching you jump was the most terrifying moment of my life.” And before she could answer, his lips descended on hers.
What her imagination had conjured was a pale shade to the sensation of his mouth on hers, the kiss fierce with terror and desire, the intensity making her knees tremble. Still holding the book, she wrapped her arms around his neck, eliminating those cursed inches between them, her fingers pulling loose the tie holding back his hair, the locks that spilled around his face like silk against her skin.
His hands moved from her shoulders, sliding down to the small of her back even as their lips parted, his tongue delving into her mouth and chasing over hers with soft strokes that Zarrah swore she felt down to her core. Shivers burst over her skin, a tight curling sensation filling her belly, and an aching pulse rising in intensity between her thighs. Then he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. “Not here, Valcotta,” he murmured. “If I’m going to have you, it will be somewhere I can do it properly and without interruption.”
It was madness to consider going into the city with him. She was a general and the future Empress of Valcotta, and he was a Maridrinian whose name she didn’t even know. But none of that felt as important as the need to have his lips back against hers and his body between her legs. “Where should we go?”
WITH HER HAND in his, the Maridrinian led her through Nerastis, the people filling the streets paying them no interest, their minds all for their own pleasures. Stopping in front of a building less derelict than most, he took her inside, the main floor dimly lit by a handful of lamps.
“Room,” he said to the greasy man sitting behind a counter eating equally greasy pastries.
“An hour?”
The Maridrinian snorted, then said, “The rest of the night,” and Zarrah’s stomach flipped, a fresh rush of desire making her skin burn hot.
The greasy man rolled his eyes. “Lass like that and you’ll be down in half an hour, but it’s your silver coin.”
The Maridrinian didn’t answer, only sent a piece of silver flipping through the air, catching the key the man tossed to him in return.
Zarrah’s heart pounded in anticipation as he led her up the stairs and then down the hall, fumbling with the lock and nearly dropping the key before he got the door open, the slip making her smile.
The room was large, the walls and floors bare, but the bed beneath the window looked clean enough to justify the ridiculous price, the thin curtains above it blowing on the breeze. A single table held a lamp, and as she watched, the Maridrinian turned the flame up high, allowing her to see him more fully than she ever had before.
He was paler than most of his countrymen, who tended to darken in the sun, his shoulder-length hair a dark blond that reminded her of fields of wheat. His eyes were light, although their exact hue was lost in the shadows that danced across his face. And that face … He was beautiful in a way that defied reason, that made her want to stop and stare. That made her want to touch him again, if only to prove he was real. “You really ought to spend more time in the sun.”
A slow smile rose to his face. “But all the best things happen at night.”
The velvet tone of his voice tightened something deep in her core, suggesting that tonight, at least, he was right.
They circled each other, Zarrah setting the book on the table before unfastening the harness that held her staff to her back and dropping it to the ground, her knives following suit.
With her past lovers, all had been conducted in the dark, for she’d never felt comfortable being exposed. But with him, she felt different. She’d already exposed her soul to him, and Zarrah wanted him to see the rest of her.
So she moved to the buckles of her leather corselet, moving slowly down her chest before casting aside the garment. Beneath, she wore only a thin bodice of purple silk, and with a quick jerk, she pulled it over her head, allowing it to flutter to the ground. Her nipples immediately peaked, and her thighs turned liquid as his hungry gaze moved to them.
But when he took a step in her direction, she clicked her tongue and shook her head, not wanting to rush the moment. “Not yet.”
“You’re very domineering, Valcotta.” His hands went to the buttons of his coat. “And I think quite used to giving commands.”
“And to being obeyed.”
He gave a soft growl of frustration but stopped unbuttoning his coat, his eyes never moving from her as she unlaced one boot and then the other before unfastening her belt, her trousers slipping down to reveal she wore nothing underneath.
She heard his breath catch, felt the tension rise as though he were barely contained. As if she might blink and find him across the room, his hands on her naked body and his tongue in her mouth. The thought of it had her slipping her hand between her thighs, fingertips finding her body wet and wanting. Zarrah used one fingertip to circle the sensitive flesh that was the center of her pleasure, leaning her shoulders against the wall, her eyes never leaving his.
“Valcotta,” he murmured, “if this is the torment you envisioned for me, you could have done it from the far side of the dam.”
She smirked. “But then I wouldn’t have known whether it was fear or self-control holding you in place, and if I am to be satisfied, I demand the latter.”
His chuckle was dark and full of promises. “With me between your thighs, Valcotta, you are ensured satisfaction.”
This wild and wanton side of herself was unfamiliar, and yet … not. Like it had always been there but had never found cause to be unleashed. Now it was free, and it felt like this was who she’d been all along. “Prove it.”
Her eyes closed for what felt like only a heartbeat, but when she opened them, he was in front of her. His lips brushed her earlobe, causing a tremor to run through her as he said, “Gladly.”
The ever-present question of who are you? flickered through her mind, only to be vanquished as he lifted her. Her back slid up the wall until she could feel the heat of his breath against the apex of her thighs, the sensation tearing a gasp from her lips.
She was entirely exposed, supported only by the strength of his arms, her sex inches from his face. He was in control, and she should hate that, but instead it made her burn hotter. Made her spread her thighs wider so the folds of her sex parted and he could see all of her, her core pulsing with need.
“Some things I won’t be robbed of.” He kissed the inside of one of her knees, and then the other, making her shiver. “And being the one to make you come is foremost on that list.”
He lowered his face, and a moan tore from Zarrah’s lips as his mouth took the place of her fingers, sucking and teasing her sensitive flesh. Her thighs tensed, but he only pressed them wider, holding her up as though she weighed nothing at all. She gasped, wild aching lust making her body thrum and her skin burn like wildfire.
Then he pulled away to look up at her. “Are you sure you want to do this, Valcotta?”
“Yes,” she breathed, for there was nothing she wanted more. No one she wanted more. “I need …” You was the word she wanted to say, but she couldn’t give that much up to him. “I need it.”
He laughed softly, then lowered his mouth and slipped his tongue inside of her. Tasted her thoroughly before running his tongue up her sex to the knot of nerves that pulsed with need, closing his mouth over it. Zarrah sobbed as he sucked and stroked the part of her that seemed to hold every sensation in her body, her back arching against the wall as his fingers dug into her thighs.
The tension built and built until pleasure washed over her like the breaking of a dam. Zarrah screamed as her body shuddered, as he sucked her flesh hard, dragging waves of pleasure from her. She tangled her fingers in his hair to hold him there, her body bucking in his grip.
Only when her shudders eased did he lower her down, kissing her lips, her jaw, her throat, a soft groan exiting his lips as she wrapped her legs around his body.
“I want more,” she breathed into his ear, rocking her hips against him, inhaling his scent. “I want everything.”
Everything that she’d denied herself for so long. Everything that hadn’t been possible until she’d met him.
“Then everything you shall have.” He carried her over to the bed and laid her on her back, the sheets rough against her skin.
Zarrah’s heart skipped as he straightened, his eyes locked on hers as he pulled off first his coat and then a shirt of expensive linen, revealing a torso that might well have been carved from alabaster, every muscle taut and defined. His boots made soft thuds as he kicked them free, his belt clinking as he unfastened it, and anticipation caused her breath to quicken.
But though his desire was visibly apparent, there he paused, his eyes drifting over her nakedness. “A body to match the voice.”
Was that a good thing? She wasn’t sure. “How so?”
“Beautiful.” Her breath caught as he bent to kiss her navel, then looked up at her. “Something I would gladly lose myself in every night of my life, if such a thing were possible.”
Emotion flooded Zarrah’s chest, making it hard to breathe, because while she’d been many things to many people, no one had ever spoken this way to her. No one had ever expressed such feelings for her. Until this moment, she hadn’t felt the absence of the sentiment, but now she half wondered how she’d live without it. How she’d live without him.
Though she knew she’d have to.
What was happening between them was forbidden. There was no possible future in it. Yet instead of tempering the heat burning through her body, it only made her want him more.
His lips kissed lines of fire up her torso, then his mouth closed over the tip of one of her breasts, making her back arch. She tangled her fingers in his hair, her other hand running over the hard muscles of his shoulders, which flexed beneath her palm as he shifted to her other breast. She whimpered, the sensation of his tongue stroking her nipple spiraling down between her thighs, the need to be filled by him so intense it almost hurt.
Catching her heels around his hips, she pulled him closer, snarling in frustration as she felt the fabric of his trousers instead of bare flesh, but he silenced her with a kiss even as his hips pressed down, his hardness rubbing against her, teasing her with what was to come. What she needed to come.
Twisting her body, she rolled him onto his back, abandoning his lips to taste the lobe of his ear, her heart speeding as his fingers interlocked with hers, knuckles digging into the mattress as he allowed her to hold him down.
She heard the rapidness of his breath, felt the thunder of his heart against her breasts as she moved, her tongue flicking over the pulse at his throat before moving down, exploring the hard planes of his chest and the tensed muscles of his abdomen.
Her hands drifted to the top of his trousers. He lifted his hips beneath her, allowing her to pull them down, revealing the hard length of his cock. While he kicked away the garment, it was her turn to look up, knowing hers was the smile of a devil as she met his gaze. Then Zarrah lowered her face, taking as much of him in as she could.
He groaned as she moved, her tongue circling him until he gasped, “You’re going to break me, Valcotta, and my pride can’t take passing that front desk with less than an hour gone by.”
Zarrah didn’t stop.
Instead, she lost herself to the rhythm, to the pleasure of feeling his body shudder beneath her touch, his breath coming in rasping gasps. And only when she sensed he was at her mercy did she shift her weight upward, knees to either side of his body, not hesitating as she drove her hips down, his cock plunging into her.
Whether it was him or her that cried out, Zarrah couldn’t have said, only that the world spun sideways as she rocked against him, his grip on her ass driving her downward with more force with each stroke.
He let go of her to push himself up, capturing her mouth with his, her breasts crushed against his chest, the ferocity, the passion, unlike anything she’d ever experienced.
Tension built again in her core, rising and rising, and then his hand shifted between their bodies, his thumb finding that knot of pleasure between her legs, stroking her with the same rhythm.
Zarrah screamed, her head falling back as he drove her need for release to the point of agony.
Then her body shattered, pleasure lancing through her and bright spots of light filling her eyes. Over and over, her core convulsed so that she could barely draw a breath. She felt his body shudder as he climaxed, the pulse of him filling her, the moment seeming to last an eternity and yet be over in a heartbeat, the Maridrinian collapsing back against the bed and taking her with him.
Her softened body molded against him, her cheek pressed against his chest as they lay in the light of the flickering lamp, too spent to do anything but breathe.
Only when her heart finally slowed did Zarrah lift her face to regard him. “You could probably get half your coin back, if you wanted.”
He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek, then coiled one lock of her hair around his finger. “What I want,” he said, “has nothing to do with silver,” and he rolled her onto her back. Smiling, Zarrah closed her eyes, allowing him to draw her back down into the depths of pleasure.
AS IF BOTH of them recognized this would be their only night together, they slept little. Wrapped in his arms, Zarrah drifted off only a handful of times, but always the need for more would wake one of them, and they’d begin anew.
Though she’d had her share of lovers, it had never felt like this. Like she’d been made for the man whose lips consumed her, and he for her. Never had she felt such an insatiable desire that cared not for sleep or obligation or the rising threat of dawn, only for having his body against hers, in hers, his tongue, his fingers, his cock pulling her over the edge so many times she lost count.
No matter that it might be to her own ruin.
A sliver of sunlight spilled from beneath the thin fabric of the drapes, casting a line of gold across the Maridrinian’s back. Resting on her elbow, she traced her finger over a scar illuminated by the light. A knife wound, was her guess. It looked like the blade had missed the gap between his ribs, slicing through muscle instead of into his lungs. “Who stabbed you in the back?”
He exhaled a slow breath, his eyes still closed, cheek still pressed against the mattress. “One of my brothers.”
There was no emotion in his voice. No indignation or outrage or hurt that a family member had tried to kill him. Which she supposed wasn’t surprising. He was clearly of noble birth, which meant whoever his father was, he likely had a harem full of wives and more children than he could count. More sons than could reasonably be given any inheritance, which meant siblings ridding themselves of one another in order to have a chance at wealth and title upon their father’s death. “Your people don’t understand the meaning of family.”
