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He stood up and walked around the perimeter of the tent, dropping the heavy panels, making the soft sheer silk curtains flutter in as the outside covers fell. “Different places I can kiss you.”
Jemma held her breath as he continued to walk around the tent, closing them off from the night, and his staff, tying the cords on the inner panels, sealing them into a private world.
Soon the tent was a cocoon, and darker, with the loss of moonlight.
Mikael reached for a lantern and moved it, hanging it a little behind her. “Different places you might want me to kiss you.” He moved another lamp, bringing it closer to the table next to her. “The lamps are so I can see you,” he said. “I want to see you.”
Her insides wobbled. She bit down on the inside of her lip to hide her flurry of nerves.
“I want to see you as I make you come,” he added.
Her lips parted, shocked. She sat up taller, her hands going to her knees.
She shouldn’t like it when he talked to her like this, but she did. He was untamed. “You think I’m joking?” he asked.
She didn’t know how to answer, wasn’t sure what to do or say, so she simply looked at him, chewing on the inside of her lip, nervous. Anxious. Excited.
This was his night. His game. He held the power.
“I have waited all afternoon for this,” he said, prowling around her again, dark eyes burning, emphasizing the high hard lines of his cheekbones, jaw and chin. “Waited to see you naked. Waited to taste your skin.”
A funny pang pinched her heart. She struggled to breathe.
He was frightening, arrogant, headstrong.
He was also overwhelmingly powerful, physical, and sexual.
She’d never met another man like him and she shouldn’t be drawn to him, but she was.
For some reason she responded to him, to his edges and complexity. She was intrigued by his harsh justice, as well as his sensual nature.
She craved the sensual side of him. She wanted the sensation and pleasure of being bedded by him. She wanted to sleep with him. Wanted him naked against her, wanted his bare hands on her breasts and his mouth on her body. Wanted to be pinned beneath him and feel him thrust hard and deep, burying his body inside hers.
He moved in front of her, crouching before her, and tilted her chin up to look into her eyes. “I want you,” he said, his deep voice velvety soft. “But I want your pleasure more.”
And then he kissed her, deeply, the kiss so slow and so erotic that it immediately torched her senses, making her head spin.
He pressed her back against the soft carpet, and stretched out over her. She could still feel the press of his arousal through his robes. He was long and thick and hard.
His hand found her breast through her thin gown, his fingers rubbing and pinching and kneading her taut nipple. She trembled and sighed as he focused on one breast, and then the other.
She was hot and wet and aching for more.
Jemma pressed her thighs together, craving satisfaction.
“Don’t come,” he murmured against her mouth. “Relax. Let me enjoy your beautiful body.”
“You’re turning me on,” she answered.
He shifted his weight, his hips grinding against hers.
The head of his arousal pressed against her pubic bone. His warmth made her want to open to him. She wanted him inside her, not on her. “This is torture,” she whispered.
“Good torture,” he said, drawing away, and placing a kiss on her chin, and then her neck, and he kissed his way down to her breastbone, and then lower, over the fabric of her gown covering her belly and then lower still, kissing the V of her thighs, his breath heating her skin, making the silk gown warm and damp. Making her warmer, damper.
She groaned as his teeth lightly nipped her. “Please,” she whispered. “Be nice.”
“I’m being very nice,” he said.
And then he shifted his weight off her completely, and he reached for the hem of her gown.
Her heart slammed into her rib cage as he pushed her skirt up, and carefully tugged her lace panties down, sliding them off her ankles, over each of her jeweled shoes. Then he parted her thighs, pushing them wide, and settled between them to kiss the inside of her knee, and then continued kissing her inner thigh, slowly working his way to her most intimate place.
Jemma gasped as his warm mouth settled on her, his tongue sliding up and down, stroking her.
She shuddered with pleasure, overwhelmed by the intense sensation. His mouth and touch made her feel so many different and disorienting emotions and sensations, filling her head with pictures and colors, all intense and vivid, electric and erotic.
The eroticism exposed her. The eroticism challenged her.
Who was she? What was she? What was true?
Jemma cried out as his tongue pushed deeper, his mouth cool where she felt so warm, his tongue circling provocatively across her taut, sensitive nub. At the sound of her cry, his hands pushed her thighs wider, his thumbs pressing against her bottom, holding her open.
It was shocking. Shocking because it was him, doing this to her.
She’d been raised to think for herself, raised to be independent, successful, and her brain told her she shouldn’t enjoy this...being handled, managed, seduced. But her body liked it, and she was beginning to realize there was another side of her, a side she found rather frightening.
It was darkly sensual, and wanton. Illicit, too.
It was almost like an erotic dream...sexy, and sensual, and intense...
So intense, especially when he sucked and there was no holding back. The tension and pressure grew, electric sensation shooting through her. She couldn’t resist it, couldn’t resist him. With a cry she climaxed, shattering from his expert tongue and the intimate kiss.
For a moment after, Jemma didn’t know who she was, or where she was. For a moment, she was just part of the night and the diamond studded sky. She felt endless, and open and free.
And then little by little she returned to herself, and him.
Opening her eyes, she looked at him, unsure as to what his reaction would be.
His dark eyes were hooded, his expression watchful. But protective. Maybe even a little possessive.
“Say something,” she whispered.
“You’re beautiful.”
Her cheeks burned. “I don’t even know how...or why....” She licked her upper lip, her mouth dry, her heart hammering. “Or what happened.”
“I do.” He crouched next to her, lifting a strand of hair from her warm, flushed face. “I wanted you to feel good. Did I make you feel good?”
“Yes.”
“Then I feel good.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
AN HOUR AND a half later, back at the Kasbah, Jemma lay in the center of the enormous bronze jeweled bed in the Topaz Chamber, and watched the blades of the fan turn overhead, hearing but not listening to the hum of the fan, seeing the orange silk panels at the window stir. The cool air felt good against her heated skin.
The soft whir of the fan’s blades and the caress of cool air soothed her.
She was panicking. But there was no need to panic. Everything would be okay. Nothing terrible had happened, nothing life changing. He’d kissed her. Touched her. Brought her to an orgasm. It wasn’t the end of the world, and it was not as if she hadn’t ever indulged in oral sex before. Damien hadn’t loved to do it, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy it.
And yet it was all so confusing. Her feelings. Her desire. And that rush of guilty pleasure, after he’d brought her to a climax.
Why had she felt guilty? Why should she feel bad for feeling pleasure? Was it because his lovemaking lacked love? Was it because his lovemaking had been so erotic?
She wished she knew. She wished she understood. She wished she wasn’t alone now, in the bed, feeling this way.
Mikael had said he’d return soon. He’d told her after he escorted her back to the chamber, that he needed to make a phone call, and promised to come back as soon as he could, but it’d been an hour. She was still waiting.
“What’s wrong?” Mikael’s voice sounded in the doorway.
She sat up quickly, startled, and yet also relieved.
“You’re back,” she said, drawing the sheet closer to her breasts. She’d changed from the evening gown into the peach satin nightgown with the gold straps that had been left out for her.
“Yes. Disappointed?” he drawled.
“No. I’m glad.”
“Are you?”
She nodded, feeling strangely undone. Her throat ached. She swallowed around the lump. “I...missed...you.”
He turned on a small golden lantern in the corner; the soft light illuminated the wide gold and orange stripes on the walls, this room as exotic as the tent earlier in the desert.
He’d showered and changed into black silk pajama pants and a black robe that he’d left open over his bare chest. His skin gleamed, gold. “I was gone longer than I intended,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his robe. “But I’ve come bearing gifts.”
