by Cara Bristol
How was it possible to experience such desire when not in the throes? Inclination to analyze evaporated when he covered her lips with his again, this time slipping his tongue into her mouth.
She moaned, and he pressed harder, delved deeper. She foundered, unsure what to do then decided to follow his lead in the dance. He growled, the low rumble sending an achy pleasure rippling through her.
She hooked a finger into the thong that bound his hair and tugged it loose. Grabbed handfuls of the silken strands.
He plundered with searing kisses before trailing his mouth along her jaw to her ear to her throat. Warm breath seduced. Her head lolled to the side, encouraging his attention. He sucked on her neck, stirring a sting that traveled all the way between her legs to a secret nub and caused it to pulse. Moisture dewed down there.
Garat ravaged her mouth again then sought her ear. His heavy sigh suffused her with warmth. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
She could not use mating fever to explain her desire. But oh, she was tempted. Hadn’t she decided to live for new what ifs? What if she allowed this Lahon of the reluctant smile, rough voice, and plundering kisses to ravish her? “I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered.
“Be sure.”
She was sure of nothing. “I am.”
In a single motion, he rose from the chair with her in his arms and strode to the bedchamber. He kicked the door shut.
Chapter Twelve
Garat pulled the tunic up and over Reena’s head and placed her gently on the bed. Leave. Walk away. This is a bad idea.
Or good one? What was the harm in partaking of the pleasures of the flesh while she was here? At least, she couldn’t become pregnant. Nothing to worry about.
He eyed her body, so different from the other Sharona he’d seen. Where they were lush and rounded with full hips, thighs, and breasts, this half-starved little one had few curves at all, her breasts mere bumps on her chest, her hips as slim as a Lahon’s, arms and legs like twigs. Unattractively skinny, if he were to be objective about it.
Breathtakingly beautiful.
He yearned for the coupling, ached to feel her smooth skin, the sensuous skein of her hair, the tight sheath of her body. And to hear her cry out in genuine need for him, and not because an involuntary, hormone-induced passion demanded her compliance.
When he’d mated with her cousin all those years ago, he’d tried to fight the rapture but couldn’t. With Reena, he could walk away, but didn’t want to.
He desired her. Her body. Her smile. Her spirit. He admired the strength that had enabled her to withstand her cousin’s evil, respected her attempt to escape from him. Even if he couldn’t allow her to succeed. Yes, he lusted for her. Even though she was his hostage. Even though she was his enemy.
Which made her all the more dangerous.
Walk away now.
Garat stripped off his clothing, and she swept her gaze over his body, lingered on his tumescence. She lifted her eyes to his face and licked her lips. Heat burned through him. Was it possible for hunger to drive one insane? Woe to me if she does come into fever. I will be unable to deny her anything.
He slipped into bed.
Awkwardness ensued as unfamiliarity caused limbs to bump and tangle, until he stretched an arm beneath her head, pulled her close, and kissed her. He stroked her cheek with a lingering touch. After tracing her collarbone, he fondled the small mound of a breast and thumbed the protruding nipple. Her moan of enjoyment shot straight to his throbbing cock.
She splayed her palms over his chest. Tentative at first, her caress grew bolder, and she curled her fingers in his chest hair and scraped his skin. His breath caught when one small hand followed the arrow of hair.
His manhood ached, but she stopped.
“Touch me,” he groaned.
A small hesitation then she closed her fist around his shaft. Her touch felt so different from his own. A jolt shot through his cock and into his abdomen, and he sucked in a hiss of air through his teeth.
“I’m sorry!” She released him. “I hurt you.”
“No. It felt good.” He brought her hand back to his cock and showed her how to stroke him.
An eager pupil, she learned quickly. Tension curled. Thoughts shifted. What if? Would she consider… He’d read in The Goddess’s Book of Pleasures…
Reena stilled her motion. “Is something wrong?”
“No, you’re…perfect.”
“You stiffened.”
He was plenty stiff. He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“If I’m doing something wrong, you must tell me.”
“You are doing everything right.” He kissed her—a long, wet one with plenty of tongue—and imagined her mouth on his cock.
“You did it again,” she said, when he broke off. “You tensed.”
He hesitated. “Would you...kiss my manhood?”
He did not know what he expected to receive, but it wasn’t such a teasing, seductive smile that his lust almost surged out of control and rendered the request moot. Reena scooted down his body, and he shifted onto his back, hardly daring to breathe. She pressed her lips to the crown of his cock with the briefest of touches, innocent, if such a touch could be.
Another brush. Equal devastation. A flick of her tongue. He twisted the bedclothes in his fists. She drew the entire head into her mouth. Fire. Fire. He gasped.
She sucked on his cock in a long, slow pull, moaning as if the pleasure belonged to her. He fisted her hair, fearful she’d stop. Afraid she’d continue. In its own way, this was worse than being ensnared. The universe contracted to a pinpoint focus: the hot, achy yearning she incited in his manhood.
She traced a trail from crown to base then up again. Took him deep until he nudged her throat. She cupped and caressed his testicles, driving more spikes of need into his body.
A rapture he’d never envisioned.
But he hungered for more.
He needed to hear her gasp in satisfaction. Feel her writhe. Know she achieved the same as he.
What if…
It was written in the Book of Pleasures…
But he’d never…
Garat yanked away. She looked at him with a question in her eyes, her lips parted as if waiting for his cock. He kissed her hard before twisting around and stretching out. He parted her thighs, pulling one over his head, and buried his face between her legs.
She squeaked. He began as she had, with light caresses, grazing the petals of her womanhood.
She moaned.
A growl rumbled from deep inside him, and he parted her folds to seek the source of her wetness. She thrashed her thighs, an encouraging response, so he trailed his tongue from her channel to her clit. Her pleasure center, the book called it. He flicked his tongue over the nub, and she cried out. More thrashing.
But it was his turn to jerk, when she recaptured his cock. The more he teased, the more avidly she sucked. Her chest heaved against his lower abdomen; her hips thrust against his face.
They could achieve release together like this. Perhaps they would—another time. For their first coupling, he had to be inside her. In a flash of rationality he realized he hadn’t finished this encounter and already he planned another.
Garat wrenched away. Spun around and slipped between her thighs. He guided his manhood to her slickened channel. She locked her heels around his waist.
He probed her wetness for a moment then, with a lunge, pushed inside. He broke through a barrier of some sort, and she jerked, emitting a pain-filled cry.
He froze, horrified. He’d hurt her.
“Don’t stop now.” She lifted her hips, wound her arms around his neck, and dug her heels into his buttocks. Her encouragement and the insistent urge in his loins swept away caution. Need conquered control. Want defeated defenses. What power these Sharona had over men, and this one over him.
Her womanhood tightened and contracted, squeezing his cock in convulsive ripples. She cried out in pleasure, and ecstasy bordering on pa
in crashed over him. Together they found rapture.
A gift from the Goddess?
Or a curse?
* * * *
Sweaty, grunting, rutting brutes the Lahon were.
The description had been dead accurate—yet, wrong. Garat had been all those things—yet none of them. Reena lay panting, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Her womanhood pulsed with residual pleasure tingles. Perspiration, most of it his, coated her skin, and her inner thighs were sticky with her moisture and seepage from his essence. A musky scent rose from them both. Her body felt languid, like she could float away on a cloud. Did he feel the same? She peeked at his face. His eyes were closed.
Without any effort, she could drift off, too. But she fought sleep to store memories of the amazing experience, how the needful tension had climbed to a pinnacle of bliss.
Thank you, Goddess. She murmured a silent prayer for all she’d received. A new lease on life. The rapture of mating. Not to mention satisfaction of her curiosity about the Lahon. Garat’s manroot lay flaccid now. Nothing in her imagination had prepared her for its tumescent grandeur. The incredible rigidity of its long shaft. The smoothness of its massive crown. The way he had felt in her hands, in her mouth, inside her.
Her pleasure center pulsed. I want him again. She studied his face. In slumber, he displayed a vulnerability one would not expect from a man with chiseled cheekbones, square jaw, stubborn chin, and bristly skin. From a man who’d had his face buried between her legs.
Confused embarrassment flooded her with heat.
She squeezed her thighs together. Perhaps it won’t be so bad if I stay awhile. Perhaps there were other pleasures to be discovered. It was said the Goddess had inspired a tome of hedonistic delights. Unimaginable until now.
However, she could not indulge her carnal desires at the expense of her mother’s well-being. Ellynna would be frantic with worry or grief. What would Honna tell the queen? For that matter, what did she believe had happened? Did she assume Reena had died? Nothing else could account for why she’d left her in the clutches of one of the Lahon, whom she hated so fiercely. Garat had turned out not to be a threat, but Honna hadn’t known that.
She watched from the bank while you nearly drowned.
No, she’d panicked in a crisis. All that proved was she didn’t have nerves of stone. That didn’t make her a bad person. A murderess. Garat was wrong.
The truth was that Honna was missing. Reena had only assumed she’d had gone to the palace. Maybe she’d been captured by the person who had shot her and Garat—another reason to necessitate a prompt return. She should check on her cousin. Maybe she didn’t leave me. Maybe I left her.
Perhaps Honna had found a mate she did like. Other male tribes besides Lahon existed on Shalondia. Perhaps, at this very moment, her cousin was curled up next to a warm, slumbering male.
Not likely. Honna hated mating, while Reena, who’d never experienced that hormonal boost had reveled in it. Unless—
She lifted her wrist. Clear as…crystal.
A hand closed around her arm. “How are you doing?” Garat asked. His thumb caressed her skin.
“Fine,” she answered.
“I didn’t hurt you?”
“No.”
He raised her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips over her pulse point. Sharp sensation sizzled. Her womanhood spasmed.
She stared, unable to speak.
“You’ve never been fevered?”
She shook her head.
“So you’ve never been with a Lahon before?” He pressed another kiss to her wrist and settled her hand on his chest.
“No,” she croaked and cleared her throat. “Have you ever been with a Sharona?”
He tensed. “Once. Many years ago.”
“It did not go well?” Her heart fluttered.
“No.” His face hardened as if he’d thrown up a barricade. No admittance. Keep out.
Locked inside him was the key to so many questions. She intended to push to see if she could breach the wall, but he expelled a heavy sigh.
“You have been living under the certainty of death, yet you believe me, a stranger, a Lahon, when I tell you, you will live.”
“You would not lie about such a thing.” She had read the certainty, the honesty in his gaze, as if he’d channeled the Goddess herself when he’d relayed the information. And if she needed verification, her strength had improved, her fatigue had lifted. And inside, that presence of the illness was gone.
“If you believe me about that, why can’t you accept the other things I told you?”
She tried to leave the bed, but he hung onto her.
“Let me go! You’re wrong! I refuse to believe such a heinous accusation. Honna is like a sister to me! She is my best friend. How would you like it if I told you your brother had attempted to kill you?”
“I would be devastated, but if he had tried repeatedly, I would be forced to believe you.”
“There have been no repeated attempts!” She twisted her arm, and he relaxed his grip, allowing her to free herself. Tears stinging her eyes, Reena grabbed the tunic she’d been wearing and put it on. He’d ruined everything! The wonderful memories, the lassitude. Her hope for another mating. Ashes all.
She could smell the smoking vestiges. She sniffed.
Something burned for real. “Do you smell something?”
“No, what—breakfast!” He leaped out of bed, pulled on his pantaloons, and flung open the door. An acrid cloud billowed in.
Chapter Thirteen
Garat dumped the charred, smoking pot into a basin and poured a ewer of precious water over the breakfast remains. His emotions rose with the steam. Heated. Angry. He glanced at Reena hovering in the doorway. Why wouldn’t the stubborn woman believe him? And why was he such a fool that it mattered?
Because, when he was done using her, he would deliver her to the palace, and she wasn’t safe there. He jerked his head at the table. “Sit down,” he growled. “Breakfast will be bread and cold meat.”
She padded to the table and planted her butt in the chair to which he’d had her tied earlier. He wouldn’t hesitate to restrain her again if she refused to cooperate. Keeping her hostage was the easy part. Convincing her of the truth would be much harder.
If you won’t believe me, believe the evidence before your eyes. Didn’t Honna’s disappearance after the attack seem too coincidental? Who else could have shot them? Didn’t it strike her as odd that the longer she’d taken the medicinal tincture, the sicker she’d gotten?
If only he could shake the truth into her.
Kiss her and take her to bed.
Ensnared once again. He couldn’t blame Reena. She hadn’t sought him out—he’d kidnapped her. Hauled her over his shoulder and into the bedroom. Mating had been different this time—voluntary…yet, not. Ecstasy had been more intense. Participation mutual. Yet the crystal remained transparent. He’d caught her staring at her wrist, and he guessed the lack of change surprised her also.
He sliced some bread and cut off a chunk of cold mutton and placed a plate in front of her then settled opposite. “I didn’t think Sharona mated unless they were in fever.”
She blushed to the roots of her hair, and her gaze flew to her amulet. “I didn’t either.” Her confusion, her lack of artifice wound around him, drawing him closer to her, threatening to make him her captive instead of the reverse. He needed to extricate himself as soon as possible.
Perhaps his original plan to invade was best—except then Reena wouldn’t have a home. She’d be forced to wander with her sistren, at the mercy of her cousin. How long before the she-devil struck again?
“Eat,” he said. “You need to build strength.”
Reena tore off a piece of bread. He forgot about his meal as he watched the food pass her pink lips. How soft they were. How tightly they had sealed around his cock. How could he consider eating when all he could remember was how she had tasted? He stifled a groan. She ate a piece of meat next, her white te
eth biting into it, and he remembered how she’d nibbled on his skin.
“You’re staring at me,” she said.
“Sorry.” He dropped his gaze to his plate and clenched a fist. Strength, give me strength.
In the process of delivering another tidbit of bread to her mouth, she halted. “You’re not eating?” Alarm lit her gaze.
She doubted him while refusing to reconsider her cousin’s actions? Her suspicion lodged like a barb beneath his skin even as he reminded himself she had reason not to trust him. Though he wouldn’t harm her, he would use her until he didn’t need her anymore and then hand her to over the one who would kill her. He was an accomplice. His reluctance didn’t change the facts.
He took a deliberate and large bite from his slice of bread. It filled his mouth like cotton, and it was all he could do to force it down. He ate a much smaller bite of meat, but that, too, went down with difficulty. It was worth it, though, because the mistrust vanished from her eyes and she resumed eating.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” he asked.
She hesitated, and he hoped she thought of the herbal tincture her cousin had prepared. Perhaps all she needed was time to weave all the threads into the correct tapestry.
And what then? What if she does come to believe?
She’ll be safe.
No, not safe, but safer. She’d return to her people armed with knowledge instead of disarmed by ignorance.
Awareness provided scant protection against an EID.
Reena nodded. “Thank you.”
Garat rose, measured out water, and set it to heat on the stove.
“How long has there been a shortage?” she asked.
“Since the earthquake two years ago, we think. Last year, the main well ran dry. We intended to drill a new one, but Meloni witched it and said it wouldn’t do any good.” Garat held up empty hands. “We’ve been rationing ever since.”
“Can’t the Lahon move?” she asked. “The Sharona’s pools are—oh—”
