Nalini Singh - Craving Beauty.htm

by Craving Beauty (lit)

  "What about the scars?" he asked bluntly. Painful truth was better than a fantasy like the one he'd built around Lydia. The eventual shattering of fantasies tended to wound a man far more than honesty.

  She ran a slim finger across one of the ragged scars on his chest. "In Zulheil, desert chieftains participate in a ceremony to show their loyalty to our sheik." Her fin­gers floated down to trace the faint lines that ran across his abdomen. "They mark their bodies with pride. You are a hunter like them and these are your scars of bat­tle." She pressed a kiss to the jagged scar that cut across his collarbone.

  He shivered. "I suppose they could be considered battle scars." His childhood had been a battleground and he'd come up against his father's belt and his mother's fist more times than he cared to count. His hand stroked the bare skin of her hip. To his surprise, she cuddled closer. There was a softness to her body that spoke of true welcome.

  "They make you... sexy to me." Her voice was almost indiscernible. "I see the men in your advertising and they are too pretty. Who would wish for a husband who couldn't protect them?"

  Once again, he was reminded that his wife was a woman from another land, a land that for all its sophis­tication, had a primitive core that lay very close to the surface. "And you think I could?"

  She tipped up her head. "Despite your civilized front, you're a hunter at heart." Her hand trailed up his chest, the languid stroking fuel to the slow burn of desire within him. "You see me as your property, and you'd never let anything hurt what is yours."

  Her intuition startled him. Whatever the state of their marriage, in saying vows, he'd made her his and he would die protecting her if it came to that. Clenching his fist in her abundant hair, he tilted her head. "How do you like being my property?"

  Mountain-cat eyes narrowed. "I am no man's prop­erty. I simply said that that is how you view me."

  His lips quirked. "A subtle distinction."

  "A distinction nonetheless. But, I will accept this— as your wife, I belong to you." Then she did something totally unexpected. She gripped the curling hairs on his chest with one hand, making him wince. "And, husband, if we lie together, you become mine."

  Well, well, well, Marc thought, at once amused and intrigued by the possessive interest in his wife's eyes. "The princess doesn't want to share?"

  She pulled at the hairs in her grasp. Hard. "The prin­cess will never share. Decide."

  He untangled her hand, fighting his grin. "My ti­gress." He had no intention of cheating. If he couldn't keep it in his pants, he would've never taken a wife. His father might have been an abusive tyrant but even he'd never sunk that low.

  Ten minutes later Marc decided he was insane. Why wasn't he inside his wife's tight little body right now?

  Because she was naked, wet and slippery, and slowly soaping his thighs. His arousal was blatant, but she avoided looking at that part of him, the possessive ti­gress suddenly turning shy. It was the reminder he needed that he was the experienced party. She'd only go so far before halting in confusion.

  "Enough. I'm clean. Your turn." He took the soap from her, desperate enough to be completely unso­phisticated.

  Her eyes went wide. "That is not custom!"

  "It is in America." He turned her away from him so he could soap her back.' % too, have been shirking my duty.''

  Her body was so lovely that he thought he was dreaming. The slender waist he'd savored outside, flared into womanly hips that would cradle him deliciously when he drove into her. Those long legs of hers could make a man beg for mercy. Thankfully she didn't appear to like wearing shorts or she'd cause traffic accidents.

  "This wasn't told to me in my lessons on American culture." She threw him a suspicious glance over one wet shoulder, water-darkened lashes delineating her tawny eyes even more sharply.

  He grazed her skin with his teeth, deciding he liked the taste of his wife. Later, after she was more at ease with him, he intended to take his own sweet time tast­ing all the secret places of her body. "It's for a husband to teach his wife, not for everyone to know."

  "Oh." She wouldn't look at him, but he let her face the glass wall. The hunger in his eyes was likely to scare her.

  He'd kept his mouth shut when she'd shyly undressed before following him into the shower, though he'd wanted to swallow his tongue at seeing her naked for the first time. Even after her maddening "help," he wasn't going to push her to do something she wasn't ready for, and it had been obvious that getting into the shower with him had taken every ounce of courage she had.

  When he hadn't forced anything on her, letting her become used to his body and his strength, she'd begun to relax. But she was still far from giving him the wel­come he needed if he was going to take her to his bed. As he'd told her, an unwilling woman held no joy for him. However, he had no intention of letting her do all the work in this mutual seduction.

  With her hair pinned atop her head, the vulnerable line of her nape was bared. He pressed a kiss to the ten­der skin, giving her the gentleness she'd accused him of lacking and had the pleasure of feeling her tremble against his hands and lips.

  "Will I truly be your only lover?" he whispered close to her ear, his palms flat on the shower walls on either side of her head. She was enclosed but in walls that would break the moment she displayed any resistance. It was his way of teaching her not to fear either his pas­sion-rough voice or his desire-taut body.

  "Yes." Her murmur was as soft as the feel of her skin.

  Taking a chance, he slid a hand down the front of her body and cupped one heavy breast. She gasped, her body going taut. He squeezed gently, his mind whirling at the feel of her, the sensual weight of her in his palm. The things he was intending to do to her sweet flesh would probably curl her toes. "Princess, if we do this, no more separate bedrooms."

  Silence.

  "What? Don't like the terms?" He kept his hand on her breast, proprietary as hell. She'd given herself to him. Now she had to take all of him. No playing by arbitrary rules. Either they were husband and wife or they weren't. "If you don't, we stop right now. Right here." Reining in the possessiveness driving him, he gentled his demand­ing tone. "This is enough for today, if you're not ready."

  The only urgency lay in the desire that had a stran­glehold on his body. And that he could control if Hira was unwilling. She'd shown such courage in coming to him despite his anger that he'd grant her all the time she needed.

  "I... My parents never... Is this acceptable?" It was a hesitant question.

  The flaring possessiveness within him calmed at the innocent explanation. His wife had led a sheltered life, her only example of marriage being what she'd seen be­tween her parents. It was becoming very clear to him that he'd have to fight those memories to claim her as his own.

  Only then did he realize that he'd decided to fight for more than a marriage based on desire and practicality. He wanted the real thing. "I'm your husband and I say it is. Do you doubt me?" Smiling, he kissed the side of her neck.

  A short pause. "No." But she didn't sound utterly con­vinced by his dominance in the relationship. He didn't want her to be. A wife who always agreed with him would be no fun at all. A real marriage included disagreements as much as it did loving, laughter and loyalty.

  Grinning against her, he released her breast and soaped up his hands before putting the soap in the holder. A question shimmered into his mind. "Should I get protection, sweetheart?"

  He felt her blush heat up her skin. "No. I visited a doctor before our marriage."

  Delighted at not having to halt his exploration, he took a step back and ran his hands from her shoulders to the tops of her thighs. Her buttocks tightened under his touch and he stroked up to rub the soap in circles, blocking the spray with his body so that she remained soapy for his pleasure.

  She made a tiny, woman sound. "Am I very dirty?"

  He was fascinated by her smooth bottom, very aware of the heat and silky pleasure that awaited him below the curve he was caressing. Vor
acious and impatient, the rush of need was almost savage, but he controlled it with ruthless force. This time was about teaching his prin­cess that she now belonged to the American she'd mar­ried. Without compromise.

  "Filthy," he whispered against her neck. "The front of you is going to need extra attention."

  She shook her head in desperation. "No, I'll do it."

  "Uh-uh," he disagreed. "My privilege."

  "Husband, what you make me feel may drive me crazy. You do not wish for a crazy wife."

  Her panicked words made him want to tease her some more. Wrapping his arms around her body, he closed his hands over her breasts and then pressed his body flush against her back. In an effort to escape, she squeezed her­self against the glass wall of the shower. He followed. His erection lay between them, hot and throbbing.

  "Husband, please." The husky plea asked for mercy...not for an end to this highly charged game of pleasure but for completion.

  "Don't you like this, cher?" She wiggled her body in response, settling him even more snugly against her.

  "Stop that, unless you want me inside you right here, right now."

  "Okay." She nodded vigorously. "I'm not afraid. You have been very careful of me. I'm ready. Truly, I am,"

  He chuckled. "You're not getting away that easily."

  "Why do you torture me?"

  "Maybe I'm taking revenge for all the bad things you've done to me." He nipped at her neck again, aware that she reacted each time he indulged himself that way. . She was a quiet lover, but he was a man who'd grown up with the whispers of the bayou. He knew how to lis­ten for the softest of his wife's sighs, how to read the sweet tension in her feminine muscles, how to smell the scent of her desire. Hira was telling him what she liked, and he was paying damn close attention.

  "I have not done such things!" She pushed back in rage but he was far stronger.

  Fighting an urge to laugh in delight, he moved his hands until her nipples were between his fingers. At the same time, he nudged one leg between her thighs. She gasped. "Are you wet for me, Hira?" He pinched her nipples gently.

  "I..." Her whole body trembled.

  "Maybe I should check." He slid one hand from her breast down her damp stomach to the curls at the junc­ture of her thighs. Because his thigh was between hers, she couldn't close her legs even if she'd wanted to. He went slowly, watching for any sign that she wanted him to stop, even going so far as to start to slide his thigh out. She squeezed her legs together, not to halt his hand, but his withdrawal. His mouth dry with anticipation, he thrust his hair-roughened thigh between her smooth ones once more, his hand resting below her navel.

  Whimpering, she let his fingers slide through her curls and into the delicate folds between her legs. So un­bearably soft that she made him feel incredibly male, she shuddered as he stroked her sensitive flesh in search of heat. When he found it, he gently pushed a single fin­ger inside her, just enough to tantalize, to tempt. She cried out, her slender frame racked by tremors. His own body went taut with desperation.

  "Yes, you're wet." Voice beyond rough, he removed his hand and her body tried to follow. Chuckling hoarsely, he drew back and turned her in his arms, let­ting the water wash over her. "Wet all over."

  Eyes almost blind with desire met his. "You must fin­ish," she ordered.

  "In a while." He had no idea how he was remaining in control. Perhaps it was the fact that despite her nat­ural sultriness, she was an innocent and didn't know how to push him to the edge.

  Then she made a sound of utter frustration and her hands clasped his erection. "Now!"

  Pleasure splintered through his body as her hands held him with expertise that belied her claim of virgin­ity.

  Experience he could accept, lies he despised. Growl­ing, he thrust a hand through her hair, scattering the pins to the floor and sending that black-and-gold waterfall cascading down her back. "Who else have you held in your hands?"

  She scowled at him. "No one!" Then to his shock, she leaned forward and bit his lower lip, a sharp little snap

  that rocked him. "You have made me crazy as I warned."

  It was the edgy remark that calmed the hunter. Perhaps he had pushed her to take this bold step. Hira, he was be­ginning to learn, was a very strong woman. A woman who went after what she wanted. A woman who acknowledged her mistakes and called on him to explain his own actions.

  Reaching down between their bodies, he removed her hands, though she didn't go quietly. Moving them up above her head, he pinned them against the glass with one hand. She tried to escape, her eyes wild as she watched him soap up his free hand. Dropping the soap to the floor, he began to lather her breasts.

  Her body shuddered. "Marc..."

  "That's it, baby, say my name." He moved enough that the spray washed away the soap on her breasts. Then he leaned down and took her nipple into his mouth.

  She bucked and screamed. "Marc! Please! Please!"

  He wanted to give in to her, his body aching for release, but he knew the importance of seducing her prop­erly. Once he had her, he'd want to taste her passion again and again, and she had to want him just as much. He released her hands and lifted her by the hips. She wrapped her legs around him, clasping him to her and opening herself to his penetration.

  "Not yet, cher." When she parted her lips to protest, he kissed her.

  Because her mouth was already open, it began as a much more carnal kiss than the one they'd shared out­side.

  But despite that, he didn't ravage her. Instead, he teased her with short strokes and licks of his tongue that barely ventured beyond her lips. Her hands clenched in his hair. For a few moments she didn't respond, then her tongue shyly stroked his lower lip. He couldn't stop his body surging into her.

  He was inside her before he could breathe, lodged just barely in her heat. '

  She tried to push forward and impale herself. He clasped her hips and kept her still, though sweat was pouring down his face, mixing with the shower spray. "Kiss me, cher. Kiss me like you want me deep inside you, touching you in a place no one else has ever breached." It was a sensual demand that pushed at her innocence but he needed her with him all the way, needed her to feel the same raging fire that was scorch­ing him. His hunger would be satisfied with nothing less than her utter and complete participation, followed by her absolute, unflinching surrender.

  She gasped, tawny eyes almost swallowed by dark pupils. Then she leaned just a tiny bit forward, held his face in her hands and kissed him. It was the tenderness of her hold that rocked him. Before he could find his feet, she was obeying his order, kissing him with such passion that he felt her desire all the way to his toes, a sizzling heat that made every nerve ending he had fire in rapid sequence.

  Her tongue stroked his, shy but determined. "Hus­band..."

  The single trembling word shattered his control. En­twining his fingers with hers, he pressed their joined hands to the glass wall and slid another inch into her. Her whole body shook, but she didn't break eye contact.

  "Ready?"

  "Yes." Sensual determination was stamped in her features, her lips lush and just barely parted.

  He rocked against her, giving her time to get used to this absolute intimacy. She shuddered, and the tight sheath of her body gave way. "More?" he whispered, re­leasing her hands to stroke his over her buttocks while his body held hers pinned to the wall.

  It didn't surprise him that she understood. Her breasts heaving against his chest, she swallowed. "I'm sure, husband... Marc, I want you." No prevarication, no hes­itation, just the truth of her desire.

  He read that truth in her exotic gaze. Though her pu­pils were hugely dilated, she was still with him, riding passion's currents. She was, he realized, his perfect match in this arena. Fire rippled through him, urging him to surge forward and brand her with his possession.