Forgotten in Darkness

by Zoe Forward

  She shook her head.

  “Your bochnori could give you the strength to lift it. First, you must learn to trust it.” He leaned close to her earlobe. His breath feathered over sensitive skin. Chills tickled her spine. “Dance with me.”

  The intensity of his gaze drove her nuts, desperate to know what was going on behind his swirling eyes as he pulled her with him. She clumsily tripped along. One thing she knew for certain about him: there were depths she hadn’t begun to fathom. He intrigued her. Good Lord, she didn’t even know how old he was. He might actually remember the past. As in ancient Egypt. Wow. She tripped. He caught her before she fell. Focus on dancing, girl. Try to at least pretend you remember anything from that social dance class you took in undergrad.

  Her cheeks blazed when he bumped full frontal into her. She hadn’t missed the massive hard-on. God, she could handle a repeat of their first meeting right now. Only, her imagination took it to a very different level. She’d do anything if he would alleviate the escalating throb between her thighs. The relentless need was slowly consuming her mind.

  His breathing turned shallow. “Believe me, I want to do whatever it is you’re thinking, but right now I need you to learn how to trust your bochnori. It will save your life, if there is a time when I cannot be there. Put that thought on hold. Close your eyes and dance.”

  “I can’t tango or whatever this is.”

  “Can you feel the beat pounding deep in your abdomen?”

  I feel something pounding. The music is making it much worse. A visual of him naked took over her mind. She suppressed a moan.

  He chuckled low. His gaze reflected frank knowledge of exactly what passed through her mind.

  Although mortified, her body still ached.

  His hips started a slow, enthralling rotation. He led her into a quick spin in time to the music.

  She stumbled into him.

  He pulled her close and whispered, “Stop thinking. Talk to your bochnori. Close your eyes. It helps.”

  Shay slammed her lids closed out of desperation to tone down the sexual fire burning her alive. She struggled to find the music’s beat, allowing him to pull her blindly in circles on the floor. Filled with skepticism, she asked the weird tattoo to help her stop bumping into him.

  The tattoo’s power spread throughout her body. The bochnori didn’t control her as if she was a puppet. She was still herself. Yet, it directed. Her body moved in time with the beat.

  She cracked her lids to see what was going on.

  Dakar grinned a wide told-you-so.

  Her cheeks got even hotter, if that was possible. Had she ever been this graceful? This smooth? This sexy on a dance floor? Hell, no. She was gliding, turning, and doing hip rolls that would make a Latin pro dancer jealous.

  Was he putting her into a dip? Oh God, he was. And she didn’t land on her ass!

  She felt his appreciative laugh as his nose touched her chest just above the neckline of the borrowed sweater. Her nipples puckered, straining for his mouth to travel just a little south.

  He pulled away and gyrated along the floor. Who knew anyone so massive could be this beautiful and erotic. Most men would rather die than be caught doing a hip roll like that. He twirled her so she faced away from him and pulled her tight to his body. He led a leisurely gyration through a slow-down in the evocative music. The arousal in his jeans pressed into her back.

  She bit her lip to suppress a moan as a surge of sexual longing flooded her body.

  The song ended, but he didn’t stop. A flamenco guitar flourish led into a slow song whose chords evoked images of unhurried lovemaking with a lot of the right buttons pushed.

  She drew in a ragged breath. Okay, bochnori, let’s make him lose control. Make him burn hot enough to combust.

  Dakar needed to focus on the objective of this lesson, not on the spectacular curves she was currently rolling against his rock-hard arousal. At this point, he was pretty sure she understood how the bochnori helped. He should stop this madness. Admittedly, he shouldn’t have chosen a song called Gypsy Fire. Gypsies and fires were a mix guaranteed to lead to losing one’s mind.

  Had her hand just caressed his ass? Was it part of the dance or did the maddening desire have her in its grip as much as he? What he wouldn’t give for a mental connection. This was like being thrown back to the dark ages of basic wooing, which he had not attempted in a very very very long time. And he hadn’t excelled at it back then.

  Her hand slid around his neck in a slow motion that drew her to him and then pushed away. Was it a real suggestion or just the dance? Hell if he cared right now. She was touching him.

  A smile played at her lips. The woman enjoyed the power he’d just given her a little bit too much. And, goddamn, if his heart didn’t just snap in half.

  He’d long ago memorized every nuance of her. And right now, the way her lips parted and the subtle once-over glance she threw southward meant she was turned on.

  Their pelvises pressed together tightly in a roll through a swell in the music. He couldn’t suppress the groan when pure electric need shot down his abdomen. His head dipped to her neck. He licked the smooth, graceful arc and nipped the junction of her neck and shoulder. Cheating, he knew, but he couldn’t help it.

  She moaned.

  Before he could take it further, they were back in formal dance position moving down the floor until the music halted and went slow. Bloody hell. She was dry humping his thigh in rhythm to the music. He could feel the moist heat at the junction of her thighs beneath the gauzy cloth she wore as a skirt.

  He couldn’t keep this up. Okay, maybe some parts of him could stay up. But this dance went way beyond torture.

  Pelvis to pelvis they rolled. Electric sensation tore through his nerve endings. A gasp escaped his lips. He slammed his eyelids closed, fighting the raw desperation to be inside her.

  The first move was not his to make, considering he had threatened her with death and then almost forced her over an hour ago. For that he was ashamed, but knew not how to apologize.

  After a sharp turn they moved slowly, no longer twirling but face-to-face. Shay licked her lips in a mesmerizing, hungry movement that had him throbbing.

  “Dakar, please,” she begged in a husky voice.

  “Please what?” he whispered back. They no longer danced.

  She moved her left hand off his shoulder to touch his cheek and then around to the back of his neck, giving a gentle tug in her direction. “Haven’t we waited long enough? Kiss me. I want to feel what the gods or this curse have given us before I die. Just once.”

  “Once will not be enough. It never is.”

  Dakar pulled her tight to the length of his body. His mouth clamped down on hers. His hands slid down her spine, coming to rest on her waist. And then glided up underneath the sweater and over her trembling belly.

  Her hands worked under his shirt, exploring. Sensation exploded over his skin as if his nerve endings were on fire. The sensations were sharper, more focused than he ever remembered. Maybe the intensity was ramped up because he needed to pay rapt attention to everything, unable to hear her in his head. Somehow she managed to get his shirt off. He maneuvered her sweater off and shoved the scrap containing her breasts above the magnificent orbs. A little bit more than a handful. Perfect.

  He found the clasp for her skirt, and with a flick it landed in a pool on the floor.

  Her nails raked his abdomen down to the buttons of his jeans. With each button, she released the pressure, making him throb so hard that he was shocked he didn’t come the second her hands closed around him. He clenched his teeth as her slender, cool fingers caressed him.

  “Bloody hell, Shaiani, I cannot continue this much longer.”

  “Poor thing,” she whispered as her tongue made a circular path around one of his nipples.

  The woman of his past would’ve said that. The woman in that fantasy behaved this way. This was the Shaiani he knew. He detected the amusement in her voice, which spurred him to
act. No more waiting. He needed to be in this woman. To claim her as his. He lowered her to the blue floor mats.

  He halted to examine the scrap of dark lacy fabric hiding her folds from him. A slow hiss of air escaped through his teeth…now that was way fucking erotic. His fingers pressed into her cleft, aching to rip the scrap and plunge in. She squirmed, as if needing more. “Hold on, sesen,” he murmured.

  “Please, Dakar…please.”

  “That’s what I needed to hear.” He slid two fingers beneath the lacy scrap straight into her core.

  A cry tore from her lips as her swollen heat milked his fingers.

  She freed his hair from its tie. Her petite hand cupped the back of his head and pulled him to her lips. He knew this woman heart and soul. The gods and curse aside he still loved her. Her soul would remember. It had to. He needed to believe or he would gladly die right now.

  Her tongue stroked against his, spreading the sweet nectar of her mouth against his tastebuds.

  Everything he did, every stroke, every touch was torture to Shay. God, the taste of him...hot, male. Never had her body felt more alive or in tune with another person.

  Broad hands removed her panties and then forced her thighs wide. He paused. Her eyes flew open as if searching for the reason the ecstasy of his touch had stopped.

  “See me.”

  “I see you,” she replied.

  He angled her hips upward. His mouth was on her folds. His tongue speared into her core. Deliberately with teasing licks and sucks, he built her need. One more teasing suck to the bundle of nerves and her core clenched. Her hips jerked, but didn’t yet release. She sat at the precipice. “Oh…please.”

  “We’ll be together this time.” He came to his knees and drew her legs to his sides. Her feet naturally linked around his back. His mouth caught hers. His tongue seduced, teased, and then he breached her folds. But paused before releasing that surge she wanted.

  “What’s wrong?” she choked out.

  “Are you…have you before?” His facial muscles pulled tight with restraint.

  He was about to have a case of morality, if she’d been new at this? “I’m not a virgin.”

  He released a pent-up breath.

  Shay’s core stretched as each short, surging stroke brought the breadth of him inside her.

  “Ah, sesen,” he murmured as his thick, heavy flesh sank deeply.

  The pleasure in his voice had her frantic for him to move. Her nails dug into his shoulders, frustrated and desperate to find that denied repletion. She bit his collarbone, leaving a mark the world would see.

  He hissed. With a war-like howl, he moved as if a dam of control had been breached. Heavy strokes quickened, lengthened.

  She could barely keep her eyes open through the pleasure, but she did so in order to hold his gaze. To watch the swirling irises that gave a glimpse into the depth of his emotion. Pleasure began to build, and build, until she could no longer hold back her moans. She writhed. She couldn’t get close enough to him. He wasn’t moving fast enough.

  And then he did, as if he read her mind. Her arms tightened around his chest.

  His teeth rasped hard over a nipple. The pain was just enough to send her over the edge. Ecstasy detonated. He thrust deeply and cried out as he spasmed, locking her tight to him.

  So weak, she trembled. All she could manage was to cling to him as he rolled to his side, taking her with him.

  Her brain could process no more than awe over what had just happened and the man surrounding her. Emotion bloomed in her chest, deep and confusing.

  As he held her tightly against him, the inferno that was his body against hers, the sum of her life was in the worth-it category. Even though she faced it ending. Soon.

  She wanted this. Being in his arms. Forever. But there will be no forever.

  He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Love comes first.” His index finger pushed hair from her face. “Next comes hate.”

  She shook her head, denying.

  “’Tis beyond our control.”

  “I am not going to kill you.” Love? Oh, hell, no. This gut-clench moony madness that had set up shop in her brain couldn’t be love. Didn’t everyone feel love after orgasm? She’d read that somewhere.

  He kissed her lightly on her lips. “I do have a request, this time. Please, no drowning. You know I have nightmares about the water.”

  “No, I don’t know about the nightmares. But if I feel the need to kill you, then no water. I promise. Actually, I’ll ask the moving mark to prevent me from using it, should I be tempted. Can I ask it to prevent me from killing you?”

  “No. It is useless against the curse. I tried asking mine to aid me to kill you, but it could do nothing.”

  “If I turn homicidal, then I think you should kill me this time. It’s worth a shot to end this thing.”

  He nuzzled her neck. “I will not.”

  “Have you ever killed me in the past?”

  “Never.”

  “Then, think of it as self-defense. Strike back.” She frowned when he shook his head. “Maybe I’ll die before we have to face mutual homicide.”

  “Nothing can kill you other than me, unless the gods have changed the rules this time. It is such with me. Nothing but you can take me out of this life.”

  “Then, why are we worrying about me seeing this Djoser guy again?”

  Dakar rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “He and his peons may not be able to kill you, but they can hurt you.”

  She shivered.

  He pulled her tight. “This is a bad idea. I have never allowed you close to him in the past.”

  “Don’t forget the kid.”

  “I know.” His voice was soft. Resigned. With a gentle pull on her chin, he forced her to meet his gaze. “Tell me of this man you were with. Did you feel great love for him?”

  “What? For Troy?” She shook her head.

  “It was an arranged affair?”

  “Definitely not. They don’t do that much these days.”

  “Then, why would you be with him?”

  “In this time we do a lot of dating, and if things work out there, we do a trial run. Live together. That’s what we did. But it didn’t work out well. Have I never had another man in my life in the past?”

  Dakar’s face clouded. In a dark, territorial tone he replied softly, “There was a time or two. I need to understand why.”

  “Troy was very charming in the beginning. He gave gifts, seemed sincere. Hid the snaky parts well. Pretty much sucked me in with his charm. I think I needed a real relationship, a chance at a family. Once we moved in together, everything fell apart.” Her vision went cloudy as the pain of the past year welled up, but she fought not to let the tears spill. No more tears for Troy, she begged herself.

  “He hurt you?”

  “Not physically. But…” She choked back a sob.

  “I will kill him.” His eyes were flat, sincere. And deadly.

  Emotion welled up, complex and mystifying. The warmth of Dakar’s body and his tender embrace helped her feel safe. Protected and valued. Then the tears came. He pulled her to his chest. She pressed her face into the column of his throat and silently released the pain she’d held inside for too long.

  When the storm subsided, he kissed her forehead. “Why do you doubt yourself? You are beautiful. I promise you I will make him feel pain, if we ever cross paths.”

  She kissed him deep, teasing him into an open-mouth tongue dance. He pulled away when her tummy growled. “Hungry?”

  Sheepishly she nodded.

  ****

  Shay rummaged around the über-modern kitchen, settling on a sandwich. The complicated digital convection oven intimidated her. She piled together two sandwiches and pushed one toward him. “I’ll never claim to be a good cook.”

  “What is this?”

  “PBJ.”

  “What would that be?” He rotated the sandwich and sniffed.

  “Peanut butter and jelly. It�
��s a classic…okay, for me it is.”

  He bit into it and closed his eyes, finishing it in a few seconds.

  “Good, huh?”

  “Quite. Thank you.”

  She smiled and chewed a bite. Excitement vibrated through her. Across from her sat a bonafide expert on the subject she’d spent years studying. “So, you remember ancient Egyptian times?”

  He arched an eyebrow and nodded.

  “Can I ask you the meaning of a particular symbol?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why the inverted triangle? Why is that the magi symbol and not a regular upright triangle? And what exactly does the inverted triangle mean to Egyptians? And to you…well, you guys?” She paused for breath, her cheeks heating in reaction to his smile. She had to grip her hands together to contain her excitement.

  “You can ask anything of me, and that is what you wish to know?”

  “The inverted triangle has been the center of heated debate for a long time in Egyptology circles. The symbol appears in just about every religion around the world. There was a full-day session at the international conference last spring on that topic alone.”

  “On the triangle? There must be more remarkable subjects to debate. Tell me what history specialists theorize.”

  She tucked a rebellious strand of hair behind her ear. “Renfro, who is this absolute turd from England, proposed the inversion of the triangle simply reflects the sacred feminine. I mean, it does look like a…womb. Then there’s Jonas Shav who’s like the supershit of hieroglyphs. He thinks it reflects a metaphysical concept referring to transcendent unity…I can see I lost you. So, there are three sides to the triangle which together reflect the steps consciousness goes through to reunite will on the path toward godliness.”

  He frowned and shook his head.

  “Yeah, whatever on that one. Then there’s this grad student from Italy who is convinced it indicates something from the underworld or hell.”

  Dakar’s eyes sparkled. “So, I am marked with a giant womb, or as a minion of the underworld? You’ve called me many things over the centuries, but an underworld fiend…” He laughed hard. “And you? Do you have a theory?”

  She couldn’t help but smile. Her stomach clenched at this delightful lighthearted side to him. This guy… she could fall for him in a heartbeat. Maybe already had. Carefully, she said, “I don’t know. I feel like they’re making it too complex. Does it mean this world versus the gods’ or something like that?”