Secrets Vol 1

by Hamre-Gaines-Landon-LeGendre

f their hearts, stunned by their passion as she appeared to be.

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  His arousal cooled by slow degrees. The magic of the moment passed, and he could feel the subtle change in her body as she slowly drew away. Once again in control of his all-too-easily inflamed lust, he decided to guide her further down the path of ecstasy. "There is a constellation called Capricorn. Let us try to find it," he said, his voice sounding unaccustomedly hoarse to his ears.

  Sliding the book toward her, Solimon exhaled sharply when she rolled onto her stomach, leaving him bereft of her velvety warmth. He reached out to bring her back, but realized the moment was gone. Tucking an oblong blue pillow beneath his chest, he propped himself up on his elbows, and turned his attention to the sky. He easily spotted the pattern of stars he sought, while the pages she turned rustled gently in the moonlit silence.

  "Here it is." She kept her gaze shyly averted.

  His humor returned with her modesty, and he again cautioned himself to tread carefully. "Can you identify that constellation among the stars?"

  She gazed into the night for a long moment while he admired the finely-drawn outline of her piofile. A strand of hair tumbled over her shoulder, and she swept it behind a perfectly-formed ear, leaving him fighting the urge to weave his fingers through the silken tresses.

  "There." She pointed toward the heavens. "A bit north of the Eagle."

  "You are familiar with astronomy?" Solimon asked, more than mildly surprised.

  She faced him, a grin tipping the corners of her rosy mouth. "You didn't believe me when I claimed to be educated?"

  "No... yes. I didn't doubt your claim, but I wouldn't have thought astronomy of much interest to a woman."

  The lights in her deep violet eyes twinkled. "Aside from enjoying the beauty of the night sky, a lady uses her knowledge of constellations to determine the planting and harvesting schedules."

  "Well defended, fair one." He chuckled. "I concede the point. Now, let me show you another way we use the constellations."

  He guided her into his arms, her bare back full against his chest,

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  rounded buttocks cradling the very heart of his desire. She relaxed in his embrace, and he rested his hand upon the gentle slope of her hip, inhaling deeply of her sweet fragrance while staring out into the black-velvet sky.

  This delicious woman he held in his arms intrigued him as had no other. She denied her suitability as a love slave, yet responded to his touch with a vibrancy that promised extraordinary passion. Gentle-natured and innocent, she was unlike the women of his haremlik who were skilled in the art of pleasure. Her every thought was not to satisfy or manipulate him. Instead, she challenged him to coax her undiscovered desires to life. Was she the woman he had yet to meet, the woman who would be not only lover, but friend—his soulmate?

  He played upon her responses like a musician. His hands trailed along the arc of her waist, and her shuddering intake of breath rippled through the tranquil air. He found her breast. Weighing their velvet heaviness in his hands, his fingers teased the rosy peaks of those pale mounds, and a silken moan escaped her. He pressed light kisses against the line of her cheek, the curve of her neck, the slope of her shoulder until she gasped in shallow draughts. Caressing her breasts with his hands, he gently tugged at their tight tips until her hips arched upward, seeking fulfillment.

  He cradled her against him, flesh against flesh, sinking deep into the pillows. But before too much time had passed, the fluid lines of her body grew taut. "You choose now," he whispered as distraction. He was not willing to give up the newfound intimacy they shared and was eager to see if she would match his choice with courage or retreat with a faint heart.

  She obviously understood the underlying challenge of his request. The tissue of the turning pages crinkled softly as she slowly scrutinized each and every position before finally settling on one—the Swan.

  He met her gaze. Uncertainty was written clearly across her face, her pink mouth deepening in a frown. Solimon smiled, encouraging her choice while excitement seared his blood. Did she understand what glorious part of her anatomy she was offering him? "Shall I find it in the stars for you, fair one?"

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  She nodded, rolling onto her stomach and out of his arms. Solimon breathed a sigh of relief for this brief reprieve, a chance to check his own passion. His unbridled responses amazed him, and there was no doubt he would need every ounce of his usually-formidable control to survive this next position without the promise of easing his own desire. But he would not make love to her this night. They did not yet share the most precious of intimacies, and he would not risk their progress by behaving like an untried youth when he was a man of thirty and learned in the ways of pleasure. He would restrain himself no matter how he longed to do otherwise.

  Gazing up at the tiny pinpricks of silver that flickered and glowed against the obsidian sky, he said, "There it is, nestled between the Dragon and the Dolphin. Do you see it?"

  She tilted her head back and looked into the night. Her gilt hair, studded with jewels, shimmered as it fell in a heavy wave over her bare shoulders and back. "I see it," she said breathlessly.

  Solimon bade her roll over and pressed her into the pillows. She lifted her arms as though to shield her breasts, but managed to resist the urge. Her slender white fingers curled into fists, revealing her struggle, and her whole being seemed to tense with expectation.

  Did she think he would bite her? Stifling a grin at the thought, he rolled over, wedging his hips between her thighs and bracing himself above her. Her eyes flew open in astonishment. He held her gaze while sliding down, his chest raking across her nipples, his hips forcing her legs to part as she drew her knees upward to accommodate him.

  "Oooh," she gasped aloud when he buried his face in her lush breasts.

  He could not help but smile as her whole body tightened in response to his touch. "Do you like this?" He gently tugged at the rosy tips with his teeth.

  She arched against him, her black lashes flying upward as she stared at him wide-eyed. He chuckled, resting his weight on one elbow and freeing his hand to join in the sensual game. "You look so surprised," he murmured against her gleaming flesh. "You were made for love, my fair one, made to share these pleasures." His tongue swirled lazily around first one nipple, then the other. He blew softly

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  against the moist flesh, delighting when they hardened in response.

  Her lips parted and a sigh escaped. She lifted her hands to stroke his shoulders, and a surge of desire shot through him at the mere touch of her cool hands. He traced the curve of her waist, then his fingers plucked apart the silken knot that held her trousers together.

  "Grand Seigneur!"

  He did not need to see her face to know of her shocked resistance. As she tried to pull away, her hips rocked within the limited confines of his body's embrace. "Do not be frightened, fair one. I would never harm you." He brushed the silk-gauze trousers from her hips and eased them down the length of her, revealing pale, shapely limbs to his appreciative gaze. "You have the power. Simply tell me to stop and I shall." His mouth trailed over her breast and down the soft skin of her stomach. "Would you like me to stop?" Her violet eyes glowed with a sultry inner light. He pressed languid kisses along the rounded line of her hip. "And now?"

  "No."

  His mouth found the place where her thighs met, his lips moving over the mound of her arousal. Her low moan echoed through his entire body. She was so sweet. His tongue traced her honeyed warmth, passion making her unfold like the dew-kissed petals of a blossom. His own need rose to frenzied heights as he found the center of her woman's desire and nipped at the turgid little bud. "Should I stop yet, fair one?"

  Her thighs trembled, the soft flesh caressing his cheeks. He could feel her desire mounting, cresting as he drew on the tiny jewel. Her fingers twined into his hair, urging him on, and she gasped. "Don't stop."

  With
a surge of triumph, he abandoned himself fully to his tender ministrations, feeling every ripple, every shimmer that pulsed through her. He caressed her moist cleft with his thumb, drawing her to the edge and back, guiding her to even greater heights until she melted against him in ecstasy, crying out her rapture. A bolt of unleashed passion rocked him. He rested his face against her thigh until he found some relief from the turbulence of his own raging emotions.

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  He finally rolled onto his side and pulled her into his embrace, marveling at how quickly she scaled the heights of pleasure and at the intensity of his own response. She had risen valiantly to his challenge, but he would retreat to the safety of a position named Libra, giving the blood a chance to cool in his veins.

  ******************

  Solimon stood unseen behind the stone-worked wall of the harem bath. Below him, several of the women strolled through the bathing chamber, pausing at wall fountains or grooming themselves, while others frolicked in the pool. His fair one appeared in the doorway, draped in a flowing caftan. The sapphire blue fabric swirled and shimmered around her slender frame like a waterfall. He could not drive the memory of the past night from his mind. Visions of her, soft and yielding, distracted him so he could think of nothing else.

  At her appearance, the women's chattering quieted before resuming in an agitated fervor. The fair one straightened her back and entered the chamber, but as she passed by the edge of the pool, the women made unkind comments, laughing and splashing water at her. With her head held high, she ignored them and walked past, sitting on a low stone bench to comb the tangles from her glorious hair.

  "It has been thus since her first night with you," the Kislar Agha explained. His voice betrayed no hint of emotion, but his obsidian eyes glowed accusingly.

  Solimon ignored the pointed glare, unwilling to debate the topic again. The chief eunuch had warned him repeatedly about neglecting the haremlik. But that choice had been made long ago and he could only look to the future now. He had a favorite, and the women would adjust.

  Yet he could not contain his disappointment as the scene unfolded below. The women could be kind and gracious. He had brought only the best behaved from his father's palace, and any troublemakers were quickly sent to plague some other man's household. Their jealous behavior was unforgivable, especially since his fair one already

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  struggled to understand their way of life that was so different from her own. Even more unsettling was the possessiveness he felt toward her. He wanted to protect her from this hurt, wanted her to find acceptance and companionship in the haremlik.

  "Her uncle sold her to Ibrahim Pasha," Solimon said. The blast of rage that seared him was a physical explosion, like the fury that overtook him in battle. Stunned by the intensity of the emotion, he could no longer deny the truth to himself. The fair one was more than a favorite—he had lost his heart to the violet-eyed beauty.

  The Kislar Agha watched with a knowing expression. "I've heard, Grand Seigneur."

  "Is there a breath of air I draw without your knowledge?"

  "No, Grand Seigneur."

  Solimon could not help but laugh, and his spirits lightened considerably. He gazed down again at the fair beauty whose fate he held so precariously within his grasp. Allah had brought her to him for a reason. They were fated to be together. No matter that their backgrounds and expectations differed, they could learn from each other. Above all she wanted love, and he had that in abundance for her.

  She stood, sweeping the glimmering-gilt tresses behind her shoulders while unfastening the ties of the caftan. As the garment slipped from her shoulders, falling into a silken puddle at her feet, the blood surged through his veins. She was ravishing. The graceful lines of her body were still love-flushed from their night of passion.

  "Bring her to me at sunset," he told the Kislar Agha, then strode from the room, suddenly certain of what he must do.

  ******************

  Alessandra's emotions were in a wild swirl. Was she frightened or excited to spend another night with the Sultan? He was not at all what she had expected, and after the past night, she realized just how badly she was losing the battle—and just how much she didn't mind. For the first time in her memory, she felt special. The Sultan would bind her to him as slave for a lifetime, yet he made her feel

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  so.. .cherished, desired, as if being his slave was more than she had ever aspired to be. He was a legend throughout Christendom, a mighty warrior and lusty ruler with an insatiable appetite for women. But when he encircled her in his powerful arms, he was a gentle teacher, a tender lover, a man honorbound by his word.

  Her emotions swung like a pendulum between excitement for the unknown future and fear of the very same. The Sultan wielded her own innocence as a weapon against her, but instead of resenting him, she found herself yearning for the glorious sensations his touch evoked. He had discovered some wild, impulsive fire smoldering inside her and had expertly stoked it until every inch of her flesh burned for him. Even the passing hours of daylight had not doused the flames.

  And Alessandra faced yet another night of his ardor. Pleasure, hunger, desire suffused her. But most disturbing was that all fears paled in the swirling memories of his lips upon hers and his strong hands caressing her bare flesh. She wanted him, wanted him to make love to her. To love her. Did she love the Sultan?

  The idea jolted her from her thoughts. No matter how thoughtful and considerate he had been, he still considered her no more than a pleasure-giver. She only had one more night. One night to convince him she was much more than a slave. Retrieving the amethyst-encrusted bottle, which had arrived that morning, Alessandra told the Kislar Agha, "I am ready."

  She was led through the corridor to the Sultan's private bathing chamber. The chief eunuch prodded her into the disrobing room. "Your arrival needs no introduction this eve. Go to him, my lady, and may Allah be with you." He slipped out the door, and the clink of a key turning the lock sent a shudder through her. The final night of the challenge—there would be no turning back.

  Passing through the finely-wrought gilt door, Alessandra stopped short in the entry, stunned by the luxuriance of the chamber. The entire room was paved in white marble, from the endless expanse of floor to the smooth dome of the ceiling and every narrow column in between. A beautiful cascade fountain bubbled and splashed like a waterfall on an op-

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  posite wall. The square pool in the center of the room caught her attention, for it was there the Sultan sat, in the midst of all this bright opulence, evidently so deep in thought he had not heard her enter.

  He ran a hand through his hair, tousling the glossy black waves into dishevelment. Alessandra was suddenly struck by how solitary, how alone he seemed in the vast chamber. She remembered their conversation during the first night when he pointed out how isolated a lady could be with no one to share her responsibilities. Was he lonely sometimes? Even with a palace full of servants and a harem full of slaves, he was a man. And not just any man, but one with the weight of an empire upon his shoulders. With that realization, a wave of tenderness flowed through her. "You would have me believe the contents of this bottle somehow resemble a scholarly device?"

  Her softly-spoken words disturbed the bubbling quiet of the room, and the Sultan's head snapped up, recognition softening his features. He approached her so suddenly that she did not have time to pay him homage with a bow. But he did not seem to notice as he grasped her hand firmly and seated her on the wide ledge of the pool. He took the bottle. "I can only plead for tolerance, fair one." The warmth of his smile echoed in his voice. "I wanted to tempt you with something truly special on our third night together."

  His long fingers worked the amethyst-topped stopper from the bottle. Kneeling beside her, he poured its contents into the steady stream of water propelled into the pool by some hidden pump. The scent of lavender filled the air, and to her surprise, a froth of white bubb
les spread along the surface in an ever-widening circle. She could not hold back the squeal of delight that slipped from her lips, and he watched her, clearly amused. "It's beautiful. What is it?" she asked.

  He skimmed a handful from the pool and blew it at her. "Bubbles."

  "Mmm. Smells wonderful." She wiped the foam from her nose and blew it back at him.

  He brushed his own face clean, bowing his head deeply. "Lavender- In your honor."

  Alessandra smiled, captivated by the boyishness of his gesture. "Another ancient form of Turkish art?"

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  "No. But only a person of true intelligence can appreciate relaxation and enjoyment."

  "Like Ciclazade and Safiye perhaps?"

  "No... well, yes." The Sultan laughed, a rich, deep sound that sent tingles through her. He came to his feet, strode to the disrobing chamber, and disappeared. "Since you so graciously indulge me, fair one, I will allow you to choose our topic of debate this eve," he called from the other room. "What would you like to discuss?"

  She ran her fingers through the frothy confection swirling along the pool's surface, then blew the bubbles from her fingertips. "You. Tell me about yourself and your upbringing."

  He reappeared in the entry, and the breath solidified in her throat. He was naked. Like a Greek statue of a god come to life, he strode toward her, muscles shifting with each step, bronzed skin in sharp relief against the stark whiteness of the chamber. She could not tear her eyes away and admired the set of his powerful shoulders and the smattering of black fur across the stony ridges of his chest. His flat stomach and trim hips brought memories of his flesh beneath her hands, the feel of his rigid arousal nudging her. Her gaze riveted to the very spot where his manhood nestled against the dark thatch of hair between his legs.