The Star King

by Susan Grant

  “Perhaps we should sample our beverages,” he said softly. “For in another moment I doubt either of us will be interested.”

  “Interested in what?” she whispered dazedly.

  Grinning, he lifted the bottle to his lips. His golden eyes flashed, and he tipped the bottle for a longer swig. “Ah! This is delicious. Tell me again what you called this.”

  “Beer.”

  “Beer,” he said with reverence. “Salt, bah! This is reason enough to trade with Earth. Does the document you brought me contain a provision to obtain beer?”

  “It sure does. Dan’s beer.”

  “Good man, this Dan Brady.” Rom closed his eyes and swallowed. Fascinated by the sensual pleasure he took in a simple bottle of ale, she propped her elbow on the table, her head on her hand, and watched him until he’d finished. “I want to taste you,” she confessed, to her own utter amazement.

  His Adam’s apple wobbled. “Yes, I want you to,” he said quietly and set aside his empty bottle. “Tell me, Jas: in what ways can I please you tonight? What are your desires?”

  Her face heated. She was not used to verbalizing her intimate needs—no one had ever asked her. Long ago she’d grown used to burying them. But in the spotlight of Rom’s patient gaze, the words came out easier than she expected. “Just make love to me. That’s all.”

  “Know this,” he said quietly. “I do not take your gift lightly. You offer me your woman’s body, your mother’s body. In this I am blessed.” He dragged his thumb across her mouth, tenderly tracing the shape of her lips, immersing her in a kind of intimacy beyond her experience.

  Spellbound, she saw all her tomorrows in his eyes. But she shoved aside the dangerous thought even as goose bumps covered her arms. This was exactly what had gotten her into trouble before. Don’t hope for a future with him, she warned herself. Just enjoy the moment, and you won’t get hurt. But a little voice, silenced for years, tugged on her mental sleeve. This is different, it insisted. This time it’s real.

  He reached into one of the bowls of fruit, plucking out what resembled a glistening black cherry. Holding it with two fingers, he offered it to her. A droplet of juice trembled on its plump underside, and she caught the moisture with the tip of her tongue. Rom’s pupils dilated. Encouraged by his response, Jas placed her hands on his thighs and slid them upward. Hard muscles bunched beneath her palms. She skimmed her lips over the heel of his palm and the inside of his wrist before curling her tongue suggestively under the little fruit, taking playful bites until it was completely inside her mouth. Sweet heat pooled low in her belly, and her pulse quickened between her legs. It was astonishing how arousing food-play could be without further physical touching. Of course, the Vash had figured that out eons ago.

  The tart, crunchy little fruit left her palate feeling clean and fresh. Swallowing, she sorted through the bowl and chose another, lifting it to his mouth. Clearly the expert, he alternately teased his tongue over the glistening taut skin and suckled. Her nipples puckered under the sheer, tight fabric of her bra.

  “I want to do this to you, Jas,” he whispered, his eyes heavy-lidded. “Would that please you? If I kissed you like this? If I kissed you everywhere?” Mortified, she heard a sigh escape her.

  His expression changed to one of satisfaction. Observing her from under his dark lashes, he took her finger fully into his slick mouth. His deft tongue rasped the underside of her finger. Her toes curled. It wasn’t hard to imagine what his tongue could do to the rest of her.

  When she withdrew her finger, he reached over and swirled his own in the dark crimson liquid pooled at the bottom of the bowl of fruit. As he had once done with the star-berry liqueur, he moistened her bottom lip with the sweet juice. “Another berry?” he inquired. She shook her head. “You’ve had enough to eat, then?”

  “Of berries.” She burrowed her fingers in his thick, silky hair. “But not of you.”

  A groan vibrated in his throat and he rose to his knees, pulling her toward him and into a kiss. His tongue was slow and sure, cherishing rather than demanding. She adored the way he took his time exploring her mouth. In fact, she adored the way he took his time doing everything. He so drugged her with his delicious kisses and skillful caresses that the feel of his warm and rough palm slipping under her sweater came as a shock—albeit a welcome one.

  His mouth muffled her sigh. The kiss deepened with an increased mutual urgency, and he slid his hands upward to cup her breasts, lifting them, skimming her taut, sensitive nipples with the pads of his thumbs. “Beautiful,” he whispered. “Beautiful woman.”

  Drinking in his words, she arched forward until she felt the ridge of male flesh beneath his pants pressing into her. Instinctively she rubbed against him, as much as their kneeling position would allow. His breath came faster and his arousal strained even more beneath his snug trousers.

  “Inajh d’anah,” he murmured. “My sweet Jasmine.” He tugged her sweater over her head, distracting her from the sudden vulnerability by kissing her throat and that wonderfully sensitive hollow just below her ear. By the time he lifted her to her feet and led her to his bed, she was putty.

  Dazed and almost painfully aroused, she sat perched on the plump, silken coverlet while he crouched between her legs. He removed her pumps, then her skirt, leaving her dressed only in her lace underwear as he struggled out of his boots and pants. She glimpsed his arousal jutting against his undergarment—a flap of shimmering ivory silk wrapped low on his narrow hips—before he came to her again. More kissing, incredible kissing.

  Running his hands appreciatively down the long, bare length of her legs, he spread his hands wide under her knees, stroking her, kneading her muscles, appearing to derive an inordinate amount of pleasure from the simple caresses. She leaned back on her arms, savoring the singular joy of this man’s clear enjoyment of her body.

  “So incredibly smooth,” he said, massaging the long muscles under her calves. “Like Nandan silk. I’ve never known a woman to remove the hair here.” Bending forward, lowering his head, he nuzzled, nipped, and tasted his way up her legs. Her eyes drifted closed with the pleasure of it, and she curled her toes behind his back.

  She felt the slight roughness of his cheek on the tender skin of her inner thighs, then his thumbs slipping under the waistband of her panties. He eased off the garment, but did not touch her where she so desperately wanted him to, the moist place thrumming for his touch. She whimpered in need, and he seized her wrists, pulling her to a sitting position. He kissed her hard, and her thighs fell open to accommodate his swaying hips, setting up an exquisite friction against her sensitive flesh.

  Her fingers clumsy with urgency, she unfastened the remaining closures on his shirt, slipping it off his broad, sinewy shoulders to revel in the feel and the scent of his hot, bare skin. He shrugged off the shirt, wadded it, and tossed it aside.

  An ugly, jagged-edged scar marring his chest caught her off guard. It arched from his right nipple to where it ended below his ribs on his left side. “My God, Rom, what happened?” Embarrassed by her shocked reaction, Jas felt heat rush to her face.

  He gripped her arms, his golden eyes burning bright. Sweat glistened on his forehead and chest. “Touch me.”

  Barely breathing, she lifted trembling fingers to the old wound, tracing the cool, bumpy flesh, an appalling contrast to the rest of his smooth, bronzed skin. He had so little body fat on his torso that every muscle, every tendon, every vein was clearly defined, perfectly sculpted, making the scar that much more out of place.

  “What do you see?” he whispered.

  Something tugged at her subconscious. She blinked, trying to decipher what she sensed she was supposed to remember. “You were wounded in the war…”

  His fingers pressed into the bare skin of her upper arms. “Yes.” He appeared poised for some revelation. But it seemed she was incapable of supplying it.

  “This should have killed you,” she said as frustration swelled inside her.

  “But it
didn’t, Jasmine. It didn’t.” His mouth came down over hers, hard and hungry, desperate and wanting, and his lithe, powerful frame drove her backward onto the mattress.

  Chapter Eleven

  He kissed her with the fierce tenderness of a warrior returning home to a lover. Jas’s arms closed over his shoulders as she met his urgency with a consequences-be-damned hunger of her own. By the time his mouth moved to her bra, she had sunk into carnal oblivion.

  She heard a muttered curse, then came a slight tugging at her bra. “I’ve never seen such an undergarment,” Rom lamented irritably.

  Her eyes flew open. Wearing a look of intense concentration on his face, he was fumbling with the front clasp. She swallowed a laugh of crazy relief and joy—even for this man of galactic experience, apparently there was a first time. “What do Vash women wear to support their breasts?”

  “Not this.”

  “It’s easier to open than a bottle of beer.” That made him chuckle. “I’ll show you,” she said softly. They unfastened her bra together, and then her breasts were heavy and free, every flaw, every stretch mark exposed to his hot scrutiny. Suddenly she wished the lights were lower—a lot lower.

  But he was gazing at her breasts in awe.

  Awe?

  This was crazy.

  When he skimmed his fingertip over one of the faint silvery lines emanating from her right nipple, she wanted to die. She tried rolling into a position where she wouldn’t be so exposed. He snatched her wrists and pushed her back down. “Don’t look at me there,” she pleaded.

  His voice was husky and thick. “Please don’t deny me this pleasure. These attest to your motherhood. You are a woman, a beautiful woman.” And then he kissed her…

  There.

  And there. Every silvery line.

  This wasn’t happening. She couldn’t possibly be with a man who was turned on by stretch marks. Shifting position, he leaned over her, the sinewy muscles in his arms flexing as he took her nipple into his mouth.

  The gentle, insistent suction reignited the heat between her legs, and a moment later two long, agile fingers slid inside her. She let out a strangled gasp. He rotated the heel of his hand over her sensitive core, bringing her swiftly to the verge of release. Mindless with need, she clutched at his shoulders, rolled her hips. Then her insides clenched.

  At the first tremor, he almost stopped stroking her. She made a whimper of protest, but he murmured in her ear, “Not yet, not nearly yet,” soothing her with kisses and lyrical words in his native language. Again, he worked his erotic magic and she climbed higher than before. Each time she was about to peak, he backed off until the moment had passed, then started all over again.

  The hot, aching pleasure-pain built until it was almost too much, and she fumbled for his wrist to hold him close. She couldn’t bear it if he stopped again.

  “No, Jas,” he whispered tightly, his breath hot on her ear. “We will go together.” He knelt between her legs, his arm supporting one thigh, and raised her leg over his back.

  Laser-light illuminated his golden brown hair and shadowed his face. As she clung to his broad shoulders, he began to push into her, thick and hard. Every muscle in her body went rigid. He sensed the change and paused.

  She wanted him—oh, God, how she wanted him! But this would all go wrong; despite her desperate state of arousal, her muscles would clamp closed, as they had frequently during the last years of her marriage. If Rom managed to penetrate at all, her pain would ruin it for them both.

  Eyes squeezed shut, she panted in both fear and embarrassment. The past had caught up with her—every bad memory. She’d thought she could run away, but it had kept pace with her every step of the way.

  “Jas, open your eyes.” Rom was whispering to her; maybe he had been for some time. “Come now, my angel, look at me.” He kissed each eyelid in turn. “It’s me. Rom. I won’t let another man’s misdeeds keep us apart. It will be good with us,” he promised, stroking her hair. “You’ll see.”

  “I’m sorry,” she began, mortified for him, for her.

  “Hush. Put your hands over my shoulders. That’s it. Hold me. If at any time you don’t like what I’m doing, tell me, and I will stop.” He waited for her nod, then spread his hands on the rumpled sheets, supporting his weight, his shoulders rigid and gleaming with sweat. Then he dipped his head to kiss her, deep, incredibly erotic kisses, as he rubbed her intimately with the tip of his penis. Once again, the pleasure began to build. She pushed her hips against him, moaning softly.

  “Trust me, Jas,” he murmured, his gaze knowing, expectant, as if he understood every nuance of the doubt and desire warring inside her. “Let me love you.”

  At her barely perceptible nod, he slipped his arm under her left thigh, his splayed hand supporting her bottom. Then he tipped his pelvis and entered her.

  Her body resisted him at first, but he drove slowly forward. There was an exquisite stretching, a delicious pressure; then he filled her completely, pushing until he could go no farther. They stayed like that for long heartbeats, his face buried between her neck and shoulder, her arms twined around him. She felt his heat, every ridge of his deeply seated flesh. Then he began to move.

  And, oh, Lord, did he move: withdrawing halfway, he glided deep inside her, then out, angling himself so that he created friction over the precise center of her pleasure. She caught his hair in her fists, heard herself moan his name. Ecstasy washed over her with each roll of his hips. The heat and tension built…until at last she gave a shuddering cry and helplessly convulsed around him.

  “Squeeze me hard,” he said in a gasp. “It will delay you and bring you more pleasure.” Eagerly she gripped him with her inner muscles. A ragged groan escaped his lips. “Yes, my Inajh d’anah. Yes.” He ground himself against her, rotating his pelvis as they kissed, their embrace primal and raw.

  She clung to him, overwhelmed by the force of their passion, the coming together of bodies and souls, an experience so new, so intense, that it brought tears to her eyes. Trembling inside and out, she ached for release. When she could hold back no longer, she pushed hard into his thrusts, throbbing around him, and found the most joyously vivid climax of her life.

  Light exploded around her.

  Enveloping her in a litany of exotic words—lyrical sounds infused with love and praise—Rom hugged her close and rolled them over. She landed on top of him, breathless and still dazed. He covered her mouth in a lush, openmouthed kiss, guiding her hips, coaxing her into a sensual, swaying dance that matched his continued thrusts.

  “Jas,” he said on a burst of breath. And then, as he gripped her upper arms, heat pumped into her—his essence, his glorious release. In that endless moment, the tension melted from his body. Amazingly, he didn’t roll to his side and away from her. Instead, still inside her, he cradled her head in his hands and took his time exploring her mouth, then her face, affectionately nipping kisses along her nose and chin and brows.

  She smoothed her fingers through his damp hair, enjoying its fragrance. “Inajh d’anah,” she said languidly. “What does it mean?”

  “It’s difficult to translate Siennan to Basic. Siennan is a language of love. Basic is the language of trade.” Concentrating, he caught and twirled her hair in his fingers. “The best I can do is, ‘flesh of my flesh.’ It’s an endearment. Like ‘beloved.’ But more than that.”

  “It’s a beautiful word, either way,” she said softly. She eased off him to lie on the mattress, tucking her head in the scented hollow between his shoulder and chest, absently caressing his abdomen, the softness under his navel, the only softness on his entire upper body. She murmured, “Omlajh anah,” recalling more of the words he’d said during their lovemaking.

  His chuckle grew into a full-fledged laugh. She leaned over him. “What’s so funny? I’m sure I heard you say that a few minutes ago.”

  He wiped his eyes. “The phrase is said to a woman, not a man.”

  She pretended to glare at him. “Why? Is it condes
cending?”

  “Not in the least. Omlajh anah. It describes…how good I feel when I’m inside you.”

  “You actually have words in Siennan that describe that?”

  “Yes, and more, many more.”

  She cuddled closer. “What should I have said to you, then? When you were inside me and making me so crazy?”

  Even without seeing his handsome face, she knew he smiled. “Omlajh dah,” he replied, lightly caressing her back.

  “It almost sounds the same.”

  “Many of the words do. Siennan is a language of subtle differences.”

  “Must be difficult to learn.”

  He kissed her hair. “It was my first language, so I wouldn’t know. I’ll teach it to you. Would you like that?”

  She lifted her head. “If the rest of the lessons are as good as this one, you bet I would.”

  He pushed himself up to a sitting position. Mesmerized by his muscled torso gleaming in the laser-light, Jas watched him wedge several cushions between his back and the bedside wall. Then he beckoned to her, arms wide, his mouth curved into a grin that was inviting, devilish, and very male. “The rest of the lessons will be better,” he said.

  The safety and trust she felt in his presence brought out her playfulness. “If not, we’ll have to repeat them.”

  He laughed softly. “One by one.”

  “Deal,” she said, and smiled, wondering briefly when she’d last thought of sex as fun. Simmering with anticipation, she caught his outstretched hands and eased herself astride him.

  A familiar chiming dragged Jas half-awake. Then she felt Rom’s comforting heat slip from her arms. She groped sleepily for him, but when she opened her eyes, he was already sitting on the opposite edge of the bed, facing the viewscreen on the wall. According to the bedside clock, they’d been asleep for only a few hours. Who’d be calling this early?