"You are not my master," she hissed through gritted teeth.
"Yes," he replied almost as fiercely, "I am your master, my proud beauty. And it is long past time you were taught that lesson."
Alysson stared at him, a new fear dawning on her. "What . . . do you mean to do?"
His eyes held hers in the darkness. "Aren't you woman enough to know?"
His whisper, harsh yet sensual, sent a strange thrill quivering down her spine. Yet seeing the smoldering coals in his eyes, feeling the masculine arousal of his body that pinned hers down, she could have no doubt as to his meaning. Tonight, he would become her lover. It was to be her punishment for defying him.
Alysson went pale with shock. "No . . ." she pleaded as she began to struggle ineffectually against him.
He caught her flailing arms, pressing his body harder
against hers. "Yes, my fierce tigress. You will learn to obey me. Now. Tonight." Jafar hesitated, gazing down at her. "And before the night is over," he said, lowering his head slowly, "you will learn about pleasure."
"No!" she cried again, just before he covered her defiant lips with his own.
It was a stunning assault. It was a seizure that punished, that dominated her mouth with a dangerous and cruel sensuality. His tongue, like a hot dagger, stabbed past her lips to invade the recesses of her mouth, thrusting deep to overwhelm her resistance.
Shaken, dazed, Alysson could scarcely find the strength to fight him. If a woman could be ravished by a single kiss, that was what Jafar was doing to her. Completely and irrevocably, he claimed her, in an invasion that held such intimacy she found it hard to breathe. With almost practiced detachment he set about subduing her, mastering her. Ruthlessly he learned the taste of her and forced her to learn the taste of him. She could feel the anger making his body taut, yet in some dim recess of her mind, she knew he was using her not only to vent his fury, but also because he desired her.
In turmoil, Alysson whimpered, as much in fear of the fierce sensations he was making her feel as in protest of his harsh treatment. Abruptly Jafar gentled his assault. Tenderly now, as though trying to kiss away the hurt hed inflicted before, he moved his mouth over hers in a tantalizing display of controlled passion. Coaxing. Careful. Alysson felt the first stirring of a familiar response that shed learned to deplore, the sweet awakening of desire. No, her mind screamed, and yet her body, her traitorous body, reacted so differently.
She was panting for breath by the time Jafar finally lifted his head. When he gazed down at her, she could see the dark light of desire in his jeweled eyes.
"Ehuresh," he whispered. "My lovely defiant one."
Her lips parted in protest as he reached up to loosen the drawstring of her chemise, but he forestalled her by pressing his fingers gently against her lips.
"Don't fight me. You cannot win." His voice was a low rasp as he slowly drew down the bodice of the garment to bare her breasts.
Alysson closed her eyes, feeling sharne, both at the possessive intimacy of his heated gaze, and the traitorous yearning it aroused in her. But she obeyed; she didn't fight him as his hand roamed downward.
Deliberately, with the slowest of seductive movements, he captured her breast. Alysson drew a sharp breath, then went rigid as he caught her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. His bold fondling dredged another gasp from her lips. She hadn't expected the brutal rush of feeling as her nipple tightened unbearably, or the hard, rebellious ache that flared quickly between her shivering thighs.
She should struggle, Alysson told herself as he molded the satin flesh of her breasts with his long fingers. She should resist him with every ounce of strength she possessed. She should try to escape his vengeful lovemaking. Yet she couldn't summon the will. Besides his superior strength and overwhelming masculine vitality, she was also fighting the dazing sense that what would happen between them was inevitable. They were meant to be lovers. He had told her so, and she, God help her, believed.
She remained trembling and still when he divested her of her chemise, not pulling away as he tossed the garment aside. Helplessly, Alysson lay naked to his gaze, to his touch, her heart pounding.
His eyes swept slowly over her body. "Beautiful," he murmured, the French word a husky rasp. Alysson could feel herself quivering at the seductive promise in his tone.
Without leaving her side, he drew back to quickly shed his trousers. In the darkness, she glimpsed the beautiful, sculptured perfection of his male form—his body lithe as a cat's, as sleek and powerful as his favorite stallion's. Then he returned to gather her in his arms.
His naked skin was hot to the touch, Alysson realized with an acute sense of awareness. Every angle of him fit intimately against her, making her feel the thin dusting of his leg hair stroking her own smoothness, the hard wall of his muscled chest meeting the yielding swell of her naked breasts, the shocking evidence of his desire pressing against her abdomen. Alysson stiffened at that hard, vital ridge of flesh. Startled by the enormous size of him, by his very maleness, she shivered with fear and an unaccountable thrill of longing. Dear God, what was happening to her? She couldn't allow him to continue.
"No . . . I can't let you . . ." she whispered. His eyes glittered with heated promise as he gazed at her. "Yes . . . you can, ma belle," His gentle reply held no margin for negotiation.
She watched the play of light and darkness in his eyes as he began to caress her. His movements were slow, so slow. And incredibly stirring. Caught by the wonder of it, Alysson remained completely still, until his fingers glided between her thighs.
"No!" she gasped again, clutching at his arm to prevent him from proceeding further.
"Yes," Jafar bent his head to kiss the coreer of her mouth. "Open for me, Ehuresh. Let me take you to paradise." His fingers threading in the curls hiding her femininity, he lowered his mouth to hers again, its warmth moving hotly over her lips.
She made one last frantic attempt to break away, but his mouth kept hers captive. He wouldn't let her go. His kiss was hoi and deep and long, his hands hard and skilled on her body, arousing her in ways she had never dreamed possible. Desperately, she fought the tightening of her body, trying to hold herself aloof, but it was no defease against his warm mastery. She found herself clutching at. his shoulders, even as she opened her mouth further to his thrusting tongue and arched her spine to meet his caressing fingers, Feeling her involuntary yielding. Jafar slowly parted her thighs, opening her to his caress. When his fingers touched a dewy warmth, Alysson inhaled a sharp breath.
"See, your honey flows for me," Mar murmured, his voice stroking her as his rough fingers were doing, A soft shock of shameful pleasure rippled through Aiyssoii,
She wanted desperately to pull away, but she could oaly tighten her grip, feeling the muscles of his powerful shoulders coil and slide uacier the satiny shift, In a dim comer of her mind, she was aware of the tension thrumming through Jafar, the iron control keeping his. body rigid, but the hungry plundering of his mouth, the drugging heat of his body, was making her senseless. She was a willing captive.
She shuddered under the intoxicating influence of his lips and hands. For long minutes, he never let up, his tongue pressing into her mouth in an erotic mimicry of his finger's rubbing, thrusting rhythm. In response, she could manage only small, sultry cries of shock and confusion as she writhed against her will, in rhythm with his passion.
A moment later she tensed, suddenly afraid of the white- hot heat building inside her. "No . . ." she gasped in English.
"Yes," Jafar replied harshly in the same language, relentlessly driving her on.
And then the unbelievable things he was doing with his hands and mouth pushed her to the brink of insanity. A scream of pleasure and shame ripped upward through Alysson's throat. Fire streaked through her body, followed by a moment when reality splintered into a thousand sensual fragments of sensation.
Reveling in her heated response, Jafar held her shaking form and whispered her name triumphantly against her
mouth. Her intense climax had brought him fierce satisfaction. Her body had surrendered to his, overwhelmed by blind desire. He had brought her to a state of sweet sexual arousal, had given her pleasure, whether she willed it or no.
As her cries faded away, he held himself still, his forehead pressed to hers, his face contorted with pleasure and pain. He wanted to bury himself in her silken heat, to drive into her endlessly. But while he might claim her innocence, while he might make her a woman and teach her the delights of her own body, he wouldn't take her maidenhead.
Forcing himself to move, Jafar eased away from Alys- son's shaking body. Frustration screamed through him. He ached with need. Yet he wouldn't take her. It had become a matter of pride. She must come to him willingly.
Willingly.
The image of Alysson giving herself to him, lying beneath him wild and willing, was more than he could withstand. No longer able to control his need, Jafor gave a growl, raw and primitive. "Merciful Allah . . ."he gasped as his body tightened and convulsed. Twisting his hips, he spilled his seed onto the bedcovering.
When it was over, he lay there, his breath coming in harsh pants, his skin covered with a fine sheen of sweat.
Next to him, Alysson lay curled on her side, her face averted, her body weak and spent and throbbing. She was still trying to comprehend what had happened to her—and still unwilling to face herself for what she had allowed Jafar to do. She would have liked to forget it entirely, to obliterate all memory of the past half hour. Yet she couldn't disregard the hard, vital man lying beside her, or the naked awareness of intimacy that pulsed between them. Nor could she dismiss the fact that she had failed in her attempt at escape.
She doubted Jafar would dismiss it either.
"How did you know?" she asked finally, in a tone so low he could barely hear.
He realized without asking that she was speaking of the dagger. Jafar gave a sigh of regret for the intrusion of reality into the sensual moment.
"You are not good at hiding your feelings, chérie. Every time you dared look at me this evening, I could see you measuring your chances. I have fought too many men to misunderstand that look."
When Alysson didn't respond, Jafar suspected she was cursing herself for not taking more care to disguise her intentions. But it was not only her assessing glances earlier, or her nervousness, that had aroused his suspicions, but his sharply honed instincts for danger. He had spent half a lifetime guarding against attack and the threat of assassination. In this ruthless country, a man who was not prepared for treachery and violence did not live long.
As for his young captive's actions this evening, he wasn't sure he believed her claim that she hadn't intended to use the knife to kill him. He had expected her to try. Certainly he would have done the same had their positions been reversed, had he been the captive. But then he was not as softhearted as a woman. His heart had hardened to stone seventeen years ago.
Still, Jafar was surprised to realize he didn't blame her for trying to escape. Indeed, he would have admired her less had she not.
Slowly he shifted his weight, rolling onto his side to face her. His anger had cooled, though his blood was still fever- hot. His searing release had left him temporarily sated but totally unfulfilled.
But the night was not over yet.
Before it ended, she would learn what he had always known. The attraction between them could not be denied or banished simply by willing it so. He would teach her a lesson in desire.
Deliberately he reached out to stroke her bare shoulder. Alysson flinched, but Jafar didn't draw back, instead running his hand over her silken skin with a skilled sensitivity. In only a moment she was quivering.
With gentle insistence, Jafar turned her to face him. His eyes glowed with a molten intensity as he drew her full and tight against him, his manhood intimately knowing the cradle of her femininity. His boldness drew a startled gasp from her.
"No . . . don't," Alysson said in a breathless plea.
"No? But I won't do anything you don't wish me to do, ma belle." His gleaming golden eyes held amusement, as if he knew he could make her want him.
You will call me master. The day will come when you beg for my caresses.
The promise echoed in Alysson's mind as Jafar bent to her breasts and began a dizzying, lazy seduction.
"I mean to kiss you here," he murmured against her skin, . . . and here . . . and taste you with my tongue . . ." His hot mouth moved in deliberate provocation, teasing, coaxing, arousing. "Don't deny me this pleasure, chirie. Don't deny yourself . . ."
Alysson trembled. With acute dismay, she realized she didn't want him to stop. She wanted him to touch her this way, to kiss her again with tender savagery . . .
Surrendering, she closed her eyes. And when his fingers found that point of hot pleasure that had driven her wild before, she gave a hushed moan and let her head fall back.
That, however, was before he trailed a path of searing kisses down her body and let his mouth replace his hand.
His scandalous action startled a cry of shock and embarrassment from Alysson; her cheeks flamed scarlet as her body gave a sudden jerk, trying to escape.
"Be still, my sweet tigress," Jafar commanded in a husky voice as he caught her flailing hands. He held them at her sides, while his probing kiss invaded her, exploring the yielding, feminine flesh with sure mastery. In only a moment he forced a shuddering moan from her. Then, very slowly, he thrust his tongue into her waiting, honeyed warmth.
Alysson thought she might die of the exquisite pleasure. "No . . ." she whimpered once more, with the last vestiges of reason. "I . . . don't . . . want . . ."
Jafar didn't seem to hear. Instead he laughed. Softly. In arrogant satisfaction. As if he knew her protest was merely to save her pride.
Part Two
Love distills desire upon the eyes, love brings bewitching grace into the heart of those he would destroy. I pray that love may never come to me with murderous intent, in rhythms measureless and wild.
Euripides
Chapter 10
Sunlight filtered beneath the edges of the tent, scattering dreams and flooding consciousness with harsh reality. Alysson groaned and buried her head beneath her pillow. She didn't want to face the morning, yet memories of the scandalous events of last night assaulted her, stimulating emotions that were too humiliating to contemplate.
She had challenged Jafar and lost.
Yet that didn't explain her capitulation. How could she have submitted to Jafar so wantonly? How could she have failed to put up the least resistance? How could she have disHonoréd Gervase so? She felt self-disgust and shame—because she had surrendered so easily, and, more damningly, because she had felt such profound pleasure in Jafar's arms. She wished now that she had never tried to escape, had never given him reason to force the issue of his power over her. She wished . . .
The thought shriveled abruptly as Alysson became aware of a lean finger stroking her bare shoulder. Raising her head, she looked directly into a pair of lazy-lidded golden eyes. They were calmly watching her, glinting, catlike in the gray light.
"Good morning, ma belle," Jafar murmured in a husky voice, the same voice she'd heard whispering endearments and bold persuasions in her ear much of the night.
Alysson shut her eyes tightly. She hadn't dreamed last night. She was lying here naked beneath the blanket, next to Jafar, who was just as naked. Her pride was in tatters, her composure shredded. She wanted to flee, to hide. And yet she couldn't even force herself to move as Jafar trailed his finger languidly along the line of her collarbone.
"There is no need for you to feel shy with me," Jafar
said calmly. "Or to blame yourself. What happened between us was natural . . . and inevitable, as I've told you before."
A flush of hot color rose to her cheeks. He knew exactly how she felt—which made him all the more dangerous. If he could read her mind and predict her reactions, then how much more easily could he bend her to his will?
&n
bsp; "I don't blame myself in the least," Alysson retorted stiffly. "You are entirely responsible for what happened last night."
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "If it comforts you to pretend that I forced you against your will, then do so, but we both know differently.''
Deliberately, then, he bent his head. Alysson lay rigid and unmoving as he pressed his lips against the corner of her mouth, then lower, along her throat, brushing aside the hair that tumbled over her naked shoulders to allow him better access. She didn't respond until he drew the blanket down, exposing her breasts to his warm breath.
Lord of Desire Page 20
