Devil's Daughter

by Catherine Coulter

  “You can’t,” she whispered. “You’re too large. You will hurt me.” She felt his body shudder at her words. He stretched beside her, and she felt him pressed against her thigh. “No, you can’t.”

  “Hush,” he said. “I am as other men. You know I won’t hurt you.”

  Kamal rose upon his elbow to look down at her. She lay very still, her eyes dark as midnight upon his face, deep and questioning.

  “Your coloring is fascinating,” he said, stroking his fingertip lightly over her dark eyebrows. “Golden hair, ivory flesh, and eyes as dark as a man’s deepest secrets.”

  Slowly his fingers roved down her throat to unfasten the small line of buttons on the flimsy jacket. She raised her hand as if to stop him, then let it fall again to her side.

  “I’m afraid,” she whispered.

  “Have your other men hurt you? You may be certain that I shall not.”

  “You don’t understand,” she began, only to draw in a sharp breath at the touch of warm air against her bare flesh. She turned her face inward to his chest, to hide her embarrassment. She heard a quick intake of breath, and knew that he was staring at her breasts.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said, and his voice seemed to come from a great distance. She felt his hand cup her breast, and she jumped. “No, little flower, let me enjoy you.” She stilled, closing her eyes, as if it would blind his vision as well. She felt the strange sensation of her breasts swelling.

  “I do not know what—” She felt his mouth close over her, his lips gently tugging at her, his teeth nipping at her flesh, making her shudder, deep, gulping breaths tearing from her throat. He slipped his arm beneath her, arching her back upward to caress her more deeply.

  Kamal raised his head and raised soft kisses on her face as his hands caressed her breasts. To Arabella’s surprise, she heard herself moan. Her eyes flew open and she saw a gleam of triumph in his eyes.

  “Please,” she whispered, “do not shame me.”

  He laughed softly, and she felt embarrassment hold her rigid. She wanted to strike out at him, and at the same time, her body was trembling, turning toward him. She did not understand herself; she felt her control slipping, her mind becoming vague, her stormy thoughts dissolving.

  “I do not want this . . . I do not want you.” She shoved her hands against her chest.

  “Do not lie to yourself,” he said, his hand sliding over her ribs down to her belly. “I believe for the first time you are being honest with me.” His fingers pulled at the thin leather belt about her waist. Then the belt was gone and she felt the trousers sliding down her hips. She bucked against him, terrified. He held her firm, throwing a leg over hers to hold her still.

  “I will go gently with you. Do not fear me, Arabella. Hush—lie still.” His hand lay quietly in the hollow of her belly. She felt the heat of it searing her, but the ache she had thought building in her abdomen was lower. She tried to bring her thighs together, but his leg kept them slightly apart.

  He brought his hand up to hold her face still. He kissed her again, deeply, and when her mouth opened, she accepted him. He sensed it too, and lazily his hand slid down over her breasts, then lower, to rest again upon her stomach.

  “Do not be angry, Arabella. Your body accepts me. In but a moment you will moan again, softly, into my mouth.” But even as he spoke, he found himself wondering at her seeming inexperience. Her fingers clutched at his chest and shoulders tentatively, as if she did not know what would please him.

  His hand slid lower, but she didn’t moan, rather she gasped aloud at the feel of his fingers probing until they found her.

  “Ah,” he murmured, deep satisfaction in his voice.

  “You cannot touch me there, please, you must not—”

  “Your lovers have been so remiss? That is the very essence of your womanness, Arabella. You are pushing against my fingers. Do you not enjoy my touch?”

  “No.” Arabella didn’t understand what was happening to her. There were sharp, almost painful surges that made her legs stiffen, a swirling of need deep within her. The urgent need receded as his fingers left her, and she wanted to cry aloud for him to touch her again. She felt him exploring her, stroking her inner thighs, touching her intimately. She reared up against him when he slipped two fingers inside her. She heard him draw in his breath.

  “You are so small,” he said. “I can feel you stretching for my fingers.” He eased out of her and teased her soft flesh before slipping but one finger inside her.

  She tried to pull away from him, but he held her still, and gently began to caress her rhythmically. She felt her moistness, felt the urgent need to give herself over to him. She fought herself, fought against losing herself in this man and giving him power over her. She shook her head, tangling her hair about her face, but her hands tugged at his arms, moved wildly over him to knead the muscles in his back.

  “Please—oh, God—I cannot bear it.” She felt his fingers as white-hot pleasure, burning into her.

  “Tell me you want me, Arabella.”

  She gazed at him with wild, vague eyes. “I don’t know—please, help me.”

  He closed his mouth over hers again, possessing her, the symbolic thrusting of his tongue driving him wild with his own need. He wanted to claim her with his mouth, but something held him back. There was a disturbing innocence about her that he did not understand, and he sensed that she would draw away from him were he to caress her as he wished to. He deepened the pressure of his finger, and saw a darkening passion in her eyes, felt her hips urgent against him.

  “Do you want me to give you release, Arabella?”

  “I feel as though I am dying.” He lifted his fingers an instant and she cried out as though in pain. She felt her body as liquid, molten sensation, and when he began to caress and stroke her again, she could not control the shimmering surges of pleasure that ripped through her. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, tangled in his thick hair. Then she was beyond herself.

  Kamal felt the intensity of her climax, and he kissed her, smothering her cries of pleasure in his mouth. He raised his head and she arched upward, screaming.

  “Arabella,” he whispered. “I can’t wait any longer.” He thrust his finger deeply into her, easing her for his entrance. She was so tight, so very small. He felt her muscles convulse, and he fought for control as he reared over her. He felt her tense at his probing finger, and realized vaguely that he was hurting her. But that was not possible. Then suddenly his finger butted against her maidenhead.

  He froze, all feeling suspended. Very carefully he withdrew his finger and eased himself down on top of her. He cupped her face between his hands. “Arabella, look at me.”

  She opened her eyes and he saw her tears.

  He drew a deep breath. Many things became clear to him in that instant. She was offering herself to him because of her parents, not because she wanted to pleasure herself with another man. No wonder her fear and embarrassment at seeing him naked, at feeling his man’s body against hers.

  He cursed in Arabic, and rolled off her, over onto his back, trying to still the raging need of his body.

  “You are a virgin, damn you.”

  She smiled sadly at the frustration of his voice. Slowly she placed her hand on his chest and felt the pounding of his heart.

  “Don’t touch me, if you wish to remain a virgin.”

  Her hand stilled. If he didn’t take her, she would have nothing to bargain with. She had lost her innocence all because he hadn’t believed her. And, she knew, it was too late now; he had shattered her, had plunged her into the depths of feelings that she had never known existed. The unbelievable passion she had felt was fading, but she knew she had given him nothing. His pleasure was found, she assumed, in thrusting himself into her. Slowly, as if she were watching someone else, she stroked her hand down his chest to his belly. She felt him shuddering, felt his eyes upon her face.

  “Arabella?”

  She knew he was asking her, knew that he wouldn�
��t force her.

  “Please, Kamal.” She leaned over him and kissed him on his mouth. Her fingers found him, and tentatively, innocently, she touched him. The feel of him both alarmed and excited her. A man, so different from her.

  He lurched up and tossed her onto her back. She felt her thighs parted, felt him probing against her. She stiffened, waiting for the pain. Suddenly he seemed to gain control of himself. He entered her slowly, then stopped.

  “I will try not to hurt you.”

  He paused, watching her closely. When her eyes cleared, he gently eased more deeply into her until he was pressing against her maidenhead. “Arabella.” His voice was a sharp command and she looked deep into his eyes.

  He thrust forward suddenly, tearing through the thin barrier. She screamed and tried to throw him off her. Her fingernails digging into his arms brought him a measure of reason. “Hush, hold still. We will wait a moment until you become used to me and there is no more pain.”

  He closed his eyes, not wanting her to see the naked feelings in his. He felt her arms about his neck and she began to relax beneath him. She had absorbed the sensation of him. Slowly he eased more deeply. She tensed in pain, and he stilled immediately, waiting.

  “Do you know how you feel to me, Arabella? How warm you are? How tightly you are holding me inside you?”

  “The way I feel—it pleases you?” She moved slightly beneath him, inadvertently drawing him deeper inside her.

  “I cannot,” he gasped. He groaned, throwing his head back, and Arabella felt her body explode in pain as he thrust his full length into her. He was surging inside her, beyond himself. Vaguely, through the pain, she realized that if he felt as she had at the height of her pleasure, he would not, could not stop himself. She hugged him to her, biting her lips to keep the cries to herself. She felt him suddenly tense over her; then she felt him flooding her, filling her with his seed.

  His head was beside hers on the pillow. She could feel the fierce pounding of his heart against her breast. The tremors that had shaken his body began to subside and he quieted. It suddenly occured to her that she now understood passion. She felt him raise himself slowly on his elbows and gaze down into her face.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  She studied his face. “The first part was nice. But you are so large. I didn’t like the pain.”

  “Arabella, the next time I enter you, there will be no pain. All will be pleasure, you will see.”

  She read the questions in his eyes, and turned her face inward, against his shoulder. She began shaking at the intimacy they had shared.

  “Arabella?”

  His voice was gentle, and she felt his hand smoothing back the tangled hair from her face. “You were inside of my body. I never before imagined—”

  Surprisingly, he didn’t push her to continue. He moved slowly from her and rose to stand beside the bed. She looked up at him questioningly, and rose to her elbows. His voice stopped her.

  “Lie still.”

  He brought a soft cloth and a basin of water, and sat down beside her.

  “No. You cannot.”

  He laughed, a deep, rich sound. “Of course I can. Now, close your mouth and your eyes and lie still.”

  She felt the damp cloth move between her thighs, and grew rigid.

  Kamal frowned at the splotches of blood smeared on her thighs, remembering her cries of pain. Gently he bathed her, then pressed the wet cloth against her to ease her soreness. He knew he must talk to her, but his eyes traveled over her, and no words came to his mind. Her legs were beautifully shaped, long and straight. He felt himself grow hard again. He leaned over her, unable to help himself, and gently began to caress her.

  At the touch of his mouth, Arabella jumped, trying to pull away from him. “You cannot. Please, Kamal.”

  He heard the panic in her voice. He drew up to lie beside her. “In time, Arabella,” he said, drawing her against him, “in a little while, I will love you as you are meant to be loved. My mouth will give you greater pleasure than my fingers, and your pleasure, Arabella, gives me pleasure.”

  He pressed his fingertips against her lips. “Hush. Sleep now.”

  He gently held her against him, stroking his hand down her back to calm her and soothe her. Arabella sighed deeply, and nestled closer to him, unwilling at the moment to question what had happened to her.

  Chapter 22

  Arabella kept her eyes tightly closed, even as she arched upward to deepen the pressure of his caressing tongue against her breast.

  “I know you are awake, Arabella,” she heard him say, laughter lurking in his voice. “Your body won’t let you hide from me any longer.”

  “I’m embarrassed,” she said, her eyes still firmly closed.

  “I know, but it will pass quickly.” His hand moved over her ribs and waist to knead her belly.

  She still fought to hold herself away from him, but his fingers moved lower and she couldn’t swallow the gasp of sharp pleasure.

  Her eyes flew open and it took her a few moments to make out his face above hers in the darkness. She knew she should talk to him, make it clear to him that she came to him only because of her parents. She had to bargain with him. She had to—She moaned and she vaguely heard him draw in his breath at the sound.

  He moved on top of her, and she felt the heat of him, felt him hard against her closed legs.

  She felt his thighs press against hers, easing her legs open, until he lay between them. She knew but a moment of fear before he drew her with him into a world of raw sensation. She whispered his name, as if to taste the sound of his name on her lips.

  She sighed deeply, and he felt her surrender. The sweetness of it made him wild with desire to possess her, to make her cry out his name at the moment of her climax.

  When he moved down her body, he felt her tense but a moment, then she was open to him, her hips arching upward to meet his mouth. The softness of her, the heat of her flesh, made him tremble with pleasure. He felt her hands digging into his shoulders, and the innocence of her touch made him slow, taking exquisite care with her so she would know the full sweetness he could give her. He felt her legs stiffen as she neared her release.

  He left her, and without pause moved over her and eased himself into her. He pulled her close to him and kissed her deeply. He felt her stretching to hold him, but he could feel no tensing of pain, no resistance in her. Slowly, with extreme care, he pushed his full length into her. He raised himself until his belly was pressed against hers, heightening her pleasure, and he began to move slowly.

  “Is there any pain?” he asked, watching the shadows on her face.

  Arabella could find no words. She shook her head against his throat, her arms clutching his back. When he eased his hand between them to caress her, her climax was so powerful she thought she would die.

  He felt her muscles squeezing him, felt her stiffen beneath him. He let himself take his own pleasure, her cries mixing with his.

  “We’re sweating.”

  He raised his head to smile into her dazed eyes. “Yes,” he said. Just the sound of her voice made him want her again. He shook his head, wondering at himself. He felt a surge of protectiveness so powerful that he sucked in his breath. “No,” he said.

  “No what?”

  He started, unaware that he had spoken aloud. He didn’t reply, feeling her sliding away from him into sleep. He rolled onto his back, bringing her with him, and pulled up the light cover over them.

  The gentle pink sunlight of dawn flickered into the chamber. Arabella stirred, felt Kamal’s arms tighten about her, and snuggled against him.

  But sleep didn’t come again. She breathed in the salty male scent of him, and felt intense satisfaction. Then she realized exactly what she had done, what a fool she’d been. She didn’t know how she would face him in the light of day, seeing in his eyes his triumph over her.

  Oddly enough, it wasn’t her offering of herself that brought her shame. Indeed, she felt oddly philosoph
ical about the loss of her virginity. She would do it again, if it would save her parents. No, she thought, it was her own passion, feelings unknown to her until Kamal, that made her want to die of shame. She was a lady; surely a lady wasn’t supposed to feel so consumed.

  Twice she had given herself to him. Twice. He had known her for a virgin. Surely now he had good reason to question the story his mother had told him. She felt him turn more closely against her in his sleep. Slowly she tried to pull away from him. She felt a nagging soreness between her legs. It occurred to her for the first time that she had lost what her husband—that vague, mysterious man who was somewhere in her future—would expect on their wedding night.

  “Arabella?”

  Quickly she turned her face away, unable to face him. She felt his warm breath against her temple. “No, do not touch me.”

  Kamal came fully awake. He could not recall ever having felt so complete, so very satisfied before, until her voice broke through.

  “What is the matter?” His fingers tangled through her hair and gently kneading the back of her neck. He heard her swallow a sob and raised himself on one elbow over her.

  “Arabella, look at me.”

  She turned her face toward him, and he saw the desolation in her eyes. “I must talk to you,” she said.

  He felt a cold knot begin to grow in his belly, and anger at himself, at her, at the miserable situation that had forced them together. He laid his hand lightly on her breast.

  “No, you cannot touch me, not again.” She rolled to the side of the wide bed and came up to her knees, drawing the cover upward to cover herself.

  “I see,” Kamal said, his voice utterly controlled. “What you mean is that I cannot touch you until I have agreed to your terms.”

  Had she been so wretchedly obvious? She got a grip on herself and forced her eyes to his face. It was impassive, and she did not know what was in his mind. “Yes,” she said. “What I did, I did for my parents. Surely now you cannot carry through your mother’s revenge.”