by Tina Donahue
His shoulders and chest grew increasingly taut, his escalating need difficult to ignore. “Raise your arms above your head.”
She looked at the screen. “Is this what a Moor does in his harem?”
“If not, he should.”
She laughed and lifted her arms. He secured her wrists to the screen and stepped back, regarding her nudity, how vulnerable she was to his will and touch.
* * * *
She softened beneath his gaze, eager to have him fill her. They’d careened toward these moments since their first kiss. Rufio had simply hurried matters along. When he’d pressed himself against her, she’d feared surviving his attack more than she had death. A lifetime would never erase the memory of a man mounting her against her will.
She’d escaped the city to avoid such a future.
She couldn’t deny herself or Tomás any longer. Her virginity meant nothing if she had to lie with someone she didn’t love or respect. To live out her life without having known Tomás’s touch, strength, and passion was too awful to imagine. Whatever happened in the future, she’d always have these moments.
Lust flooded his features, along with awe and tenderness. She wasn’t simply a means to an end. She mattered to him. He’d proven himself when he’d fought Rufio, helped Yolanda, tended the garden here, and carried in fresh water.
He’d worked hard to make her happy, giving Beatriz the greatest gift a man could.
She loved him. Foolish, of course. Tradition said she should feel shame for losing her virginity, especially without marriage first. Wonder filled her. Never would she regret this day or any others they might have.
He touched the silk around her wrists and slid his fingers down the insides of her arms. She laughed. “That tickles.”
“Then I must do something else.”
He licked her nipple and eased the tip inside his mouth.
Heaven. She raised her face to the ceiling. Each swirl of his tongue sent warmth surging to her mound, dampening her folds even more.
He suckled her other nipple, his mouth hot, hand between her legs, gliding over her slippery cleft. His growl sounded pleased and aroused.
The most exciting thing she’d ever heard.
He sank to his knees, exposing her sex to his view and touch.
She couldn’t have been more naked or owned more completely. He tongued her opening and licked her nub. Delight erupted within her. Eager to give herself to him, she pushed closer.
He gripped her hips, giving her no peace or release, slowing his licks and pausing, then beginning anew before she’d caught her breath. Whenever she was ready to fall over the edge and soar, he stopped, allowing the feelings to fade.
She burned with frustration, then went soft with submission each time he briefly gave her what she needed. All too soon, she was certain she’d lose her mind. “Please, give me relief.”
“In time.”
She might not survive that long. Abruptly, he pulled his mouth from her sex and stroked her instead. Touch firm, movements quick.
Release whisked through her, her sheath pulsing rhythmically. Her head fell forward, knees bent, every part of her so weak that standing proved a trial.
Tomás shot to his feet, untied her wrists, and swept her into his arms.
She curled into him, her cheek to his shoulder, breath heating his neck.
He lowered her to a mattress draped in gold silk. The fabric shimmered in light streaming across the room. With her wrists cuffed in one hand, he imprisoned her arms over her head and settled between her legs, trapping her further.
She’d never known such freedom, a curious weightlessness, the dark days she’d lived finally in the past. “Fill me, please, before we both burst. Especially you.”
His features were tight with passion, muscles tense, blond tresses falling over his forehead. The image he created was more beautiful than an angel. And as tortured as the damned, his color rising. “Why do you wait?”
“Our coupling may hurt at first.”
“Followed by pleasure, no?”
“More than you can imagine.”
“Show me. Teach me.”
She needed him to love her and pulled back her legs, inviting him to take what she offered.
He regarded her for a long moment, their intimacy reaching her soul. He lifted his shaft to her opening, bathed the crown in her moisture, and entered fully.
She started but didn’t cry out, welcoming the sting, Tomás making her his. He was a large man, his member stretching her sheath to the limit, filling her completely.
He huffed out several breaths, pulled in more, and kissed her shoulder. “Will you live?”
“Will you?”
“I have no intention of dying at this point.” He pulled out of her until only his crown remained inside, then plunged again. Their curls touched for a moment before he pumped once more.
The sting faded beneath new tension building within her sheath. Her opening seemed smaller, congested somehow. On an impulse, she squeezed her channel around his shaft.
He groaned loudly, pumped faster, and stroked her nub.
She shuddered from the intense pleasure. Her sheath tightened around his sex, adding to the friction between them. They rocked in time with his thrusts, breathing ragged, sounds reduced to moans, whimpers, grunts, and growls.
Beatriz yielded first, trembling from the delight he’d delivered. Soaring as she’d never done before.
* * * *
Tomás couldn’t get close enough to her no matter how hard he tried. Coupling with Beatriz wasn’t enough. He needed to be a part of her blood and marrow, so deep within that nothing would ever separate them.
He drove his sex into hers, its tightness and heat precisely what he needed, the same as her response. Her sheath pulsed around his rod, proving her satisfaction. Reaching release a second time, she moaned roughly, caught up in pleasure that overshadowed convention.
Beatriz enjoyed coupling as much as a man did. She was more than perfect. She was a miracle.
He lost himself completely between her legs, lust consuming him. Her breasts shook with his powerful thrusts, the faint slap of their bodies the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard. He fought release as relentlessly as he’d battled the Moors, wanting this to last forever.
His passion betrayed him at each step. Pressure built within his shaft and sac to an unmanageable level, pleasure wanting its due. He tightened his shoulders, squeezed his lids, and surrendered, roaring like an uncivilized beast.
Seconds later, he trembled like a newborn, his strength drained fully.
He sank down and supported his weight on his elbows to avoid crushing her.
She smoothed back his hair and tightened her sheath around his shaft once more.
He shuddered. “Squeeze again and I may die.”
“Forgive me. I had no idea how fragile you are.”
He laughed tiredly and lifted his head with great effort. “Have I shown and taught you well?”
Her smile was luminous. “I may need more lessons.”
Chapter 7
Beatriz hadn’t believed Tomás could surprise her more than he already had. She was wrong. “You and I will go to Hell for this.”
He grinned at her from across the narrow pool, his elbows resting on the edge, legs stretched out. Beneath the water, his shaft looked even thicker and longer, his sac luscious.
“I see no sin in bathing.” He gave her an innocent look. “Do you?”
She arched one eyebrow. “Is that what you call this?”
He’d posed her quite indecently, her legs parted and bent at the knees, sex displayed, breasts skimming the water.
He sighed noisily. “I call this heaven.”
Even paradise couldn’t match the splendor of this moment or place. A soft breeze flowed through the airy room, ruffling the silk hangings, delivering sweetness from flowers, freshness from vegetation. Birds sang. Water slapped gen
tly against stone.
Tomás’s peaceful mood matched her contentment.
She breathed deeply. “How can we return to work after this?”
“We always have your nights dusting.”
“Reading too and writing an epic poem about your grand adventures.”
“Are you glad we became friends?”
Her spirit would have died without him. Even with her newfound freedom, she’d found her future difficult to face. Having nothing to look forward to except toiling endlessly without hope for true happiness, constant worry about losing her position and not finding another, someone discovering who she really was and returning her to a man she loathed.
Tomás had changed everything for her, at least during this brief slice of time. When they finally parted, she’d have to move on alone, though she would be richer for having known him.
She pushed melancholy aside. “Indeed, I am. After being in service to you, I will never look at dusting the same way again.”
He laughed heartily and slapped the water, sending a wave in her direction. She squealed and did the same to him. They played like children, each trying to make the other wet, finally wrestling in the pool, their behavior boisterous and silly. She was no match for his strength. However, she did know how to pinch and twisted the skin on his ribs.
He yelped and pulled back, hands lifted. “I surrender before you draw blood.”
“A wise choice.” She clawed wet hair from her face. “Though I must say, you were an almost worthy opponent.”
Tomás hugged her fiercely. “You have to stop making me laugh so much.”
“Would you like another pinch?”
“A kiss.” He fitted his mouth to hers, his desire surprisingly tender and exploring, seeming to stop time.
Beatriz embraced him with love, her tongue stroking his, the noises they made pleasant and happy.
When he broke free, he rested his face against her neck, lips skimming her skin, his breath heating her more than the sun ever could.
She burned these moments in her mind and eased her fingers through his damp hair.
“That feels good.” He sighed. “You must always tend to me like this.”
She couldn’t imagine doing anything else during the time they had left. “Of course. What are friends for?”
“Some might say to get to know each other better.” He stroked her nipple.
The tip hardened, halo constricting, pleasure coursing through her. “I may be wrong, but bathing as we are should mean we crossed the line from reserve to familiarity.”
“Not in every way. I want to know about you.”
Her stomach clenched.
He kissed her jaw. “Tell me why you were unhappy until we met.”
A chill ran through her, the tepid water suddenly seeming cold, the breeze icy.
“Was your mamá difficult to care for during her illness?”
She recalled her mother, the real woman, not the fiction she’d created to convince Señora Cisneros to hire her. Those rare times her mamá had laughed were unbelievably precious to Beatriz, even though her mother had always put on a brave front, smiling despite the sorrow in her eyes. No matter how bad their home life had become, she’d tried to make Beatriz’s days pleasant.
She was only fourteen when her mother had fallen gravely ill. The physician claimed a bad case of the fever had taken hold. Beatriz knew better. Her mamá had finally given up on living and welcomed peace.
On her deathbed, she’d embraced Beatriz as much as she could, given how frail she’d become.
“Always remember how much I love you and wanted you to be happy.” She’d spoken haltingly, no louder than a whisper. “Never let him destroy you. He is not what you think. Be stronger than I was and win against him.”
Beatriz had witnessed her father’s cruelty firsthand, had finally learned the full extent of what he’d done to her mother, and realized exactly what he was. She shook her head in answer to Tomás’s question. “She had never been any trouble. I tended to her gladly.”
“Would you like to have her here with you?”
“What?” Blood drained from her face, leaving her dizzy. “In the castle?”
“Where else?” He eased damp hair off her cheek. “You can keep an eye on her here, rather than making infrequent visits to the village. She may even like a position, something easy to avoid burdening her.”
“No. Impossible.”
“Why?”
The woman he spoke of didn’t exist. “She would never leave the village.”
“Not even to be with you?”
“She likes her home. Women her age grow set in their ways. Besides, what would the other servants think if she were here?”
“I hardly know and care even less.”
“Because you never have to deal with them on their level rather than as their patrón.”
He grew thoughtful and nodded. “Was your sadness because of your papá? Was he a brute to you?”
Not when others could see. He was unfailingly decent in public, his reputation stellar. He’d saved his rages and true nature for when he was behind closed doors. Beatriz couldn’t count the times her friends had said how much they’d envied her for having such a sweet papá.
Her mother had lived the awful truth and had died to get away from him.
“We were never as close as I would have liked.” She held Tomás more tightly. “Perhaps if I had been a son…”
With his hand beneath her chin, he lifted her face to his. “Is that why he taught you to read and ride? He wanted you to be like a boy?”
“I suppose. I never asked.”
“Why not teach you to bake too? I suspect if he had, everyone in my castle would be eating your bread.”
Caught in another lie, she searched for an answer. “Only a son would do in the shop. Business is a man’s right, not a woman’s. Most likely he thought me too stupid to follow even the simplest recipe.”
“Forgive me for saying this, but he was a fool not to have worshipped you.”
She laughed sadly at such an impossible notion. “What of you?” She ran her finger around his flat nipple and the scar nearby. “Are you and your mamá close?”
“She died when I was a boy.”
“Oh no. Forgive me for bringing up such a terrible moment.”
“No need. I remember her fondly, cherishing the times we did have. Tell me more about you.”
She tensed again. “I have nothing else to share. My life was simple and tedious until I met you.”
“What of the dreams you had for the future?”
There hadn’t been any except for her desire to escape. “Dreams are for those who can afford such luxuries. As long as I had a bed to sleep in and enough to eat, I was content.”
“You want nothing more now?”
She wasn’t certain what he meant and wouldn’t ask, risking more lies. After what he’d done for her, he deserved better than her continuing deception.
“You mean other than this?” She gestured to the lovely room. “A meal would be nice.”
He glanced at their untouched basket. “I forgot to feed you.”
She trailed her fingers down his neck, liking how the ridge in his throat bobbed with his swallow. “You were busy making me a woman.”
“Are you sore?” He cupped her face. “I should have asked but forgot. Are you?”
“If I die from hunger, what will a little stinging matter?”
He threw up his hands. “Again, I forgot our food.” He pointed. “Stay where you are as I serve you.”
He left the pool. Water coursed down him, leaving puddles as he padded to the basket. He glanced over twice.
Checking to see if she’d obeyed and stayed put?
Feeling playful, she waited until he’d dug through the basket before she slipped beneath the surface.
Water filled her ears. She waited. He didn’t shout with worry no matter how long
she stayed down. When her lungs burned for air, she finally surfaced and gasped.
Tomás was on one knee at the edge, his expression sour.
She affected an innocent look. “I swooned from hunger.”
He made a disbelieving noise and pushed a piece of bread at her. “Eat.”
She licked his thumb.
His shoulders trembled with laughter. “Will you never learn to obey?”
“You have much to teach me.”
* * * *
Tomás fed her on a mattress covered with dark blue silk, numerous pillows behind her shoulders. He’d posed her as a sultan might have done with an odalisque, her nudity exhibited for a man’s pleasure. Water dripped from her hair, beaded on her nipples, and sparkled on the curls between her legs.
His shaft was hard and aching for her.
Ignoring his discomfort, he slipped orange slices, boiled eggs, crispy white bread, and roasted beef between her lips. She ate the fare quickly, then lingered on his fingers to lick away sweet juice and stray crumbs.
After he’d given her half the food and offered still more, she grabbed his wrist. “You need to eat too.” She pushed his hand to his mouth. “You need to maintain your strength if you intend to keep up with me.”
He threw the bread to the side. “Is that so? You think me frail?”
She regarded his shaft, so rigid his crown pointed at her cleft. “How can I say until you prove your strength?”
Ah, she sought to challenge him. He pushed the basket off the mattress and flipped Beatriz on her belly, her buttocks exposed.
She looked over, eyes rounded. “What are you doing?”
“Proving my vigor. On your hands and knees, legs spread, back arched. Present your sex to your master for him to take, use, and enjoy.”
She grinned. “I think I like this.”
He stifled a laugh. “Did I say you could speak?”
“No, my lord, forgive me. I shall be quiet from here on out.” She achieved the position he wanted and looked over. “Is this about right?”
