Page 60 of Black Sea

Amlach opened his mouth on my exposed neck, sucking the bulging tendon, kissing it, nibbling at it. Prey of the lust he was unleashing in me with such mastery, I covered the hand he was using to touch my breast with mine and lifted my other arm out of the water to run my fingers through his hair.

Amlach rocked his hips forward, and I instinctively stood up on my toes to feel his erection rub against my buttocks. The pressure of his fingers, moving up and down, grew more intense, making me moan uncontrollably. And when his finger slightly entered into me . . .

I came to my senses.

35

In a split second, catching him by surprise so he wouldn’t fight back, I elbowed him in his side and then used all my strength to push him away. Before he could grab me again, I pulled myself up onto the edge of the tub and jumped out, nearly slipping on the floor.

“For fuck’s sake!” Amlach shouted, slapping the water.

Without worrying about my nakedness, I marched angrily toward the bench where the towels were.

“ Nauriel.”

I abruptly stopped, overwhelmed by Amlach’s voice. It was too deep. Too menacing. Filled with a dark desire that I felt creeping not only through my body but also into my mind.

I felt his gaze travel all over my body, burning like a flame and furious and possessive and lethal. “Come back here,” he ordered.

Every part of me wanted to do it. Yet, I couldn’t turn around. It felt like I was frozen, my heart beating wildly, as if it might break through my chest or implode. As if it might scream Almach’s name along with my soul.

Feeling terrified and upset by that realization, I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my torso, leaving the thermal bath without looking back.

36

I glanced in annoyance at the black, blue, and gold pigments accentuating my appearance, at the powder that flushed my cheeks, and at the red hue applied to my lips. My hair was arranged in several braids pulled back at the nape, embellished with a large gold bay leaf clip that stretched across the back of my head from ear to ear.

“By the gods, enough with that oil,” Lotte suddenly snapped, and the two servants massaging it on my arms and chest obeyed.

My brow cinching, I gazed at the tiny golden flecks shimmering on my skin—thankfully immune to the sunlight—so light and smooth in contrast to the complexions of the two girls who had prepped me for the last few hours.

“Now, the sandals,” the housekeeper said curtly.

I stood up from the stool in front of the narrow dressing table, which had a mirror and was filled with various hairbrushes, creams, and scented oils, brought into our room for me soon after we had arrived at the house. I lifted my skirt and allowed the slaves to tie my shoelaces.

In that moment, the door swung open, and Amlach hesitated at the threshold, with only a white towel hanging around his hips. His eyes followed the lines of my blue dress, highlighted by a gold belt that hugged my waist and a long stole flowing gracefully behind my wounded shoulder—stitched by the healer. His expression darkened ominously as his gaze rested on my made-up face.

“Finally,” Lotte exclaimed in a harsher voice than usual, shattering the heavy silence that had settled in the room. “Prepare him, quickly!”

The girls turned away from me to pick up the blue tunic adorned with gold embroidery they had placed on the bed—next to our collars and handcuffs—and grab the matching leather sandals. Then, they approached Amlach, both intimidated and captivated by his magnetic presence.

He did not pay the slightest attention to them, his eyes so anchored to mine that it felt like he wanted to invade my thoughts.

“Where have you been?” I asked him in a hard tone.

“I needed to calm myself down,” he replied, and a spiteful smirk curved his lips as he removed his towel and tossed it away.

I maintained eye contact with him as my imagination started to race unbridled, showing me images of Amlach giving pleasure to himself, his big hand wrapping around his hard sex, his head tilting backward with a sensual sound.

Showing me images of the curvy young woman who had offered herself to Amlach in the servants’ bathroom going down on his erection, again and again, him holding her by her hips and setting her rhythm as she moaned and screamed.

Which one was the truth?

Amlach’s expression dared me to question him, to give vent to my jealousy. To keep denying the desire I felt for him.

The two slaves’ embarrassed giggles interrupted the duel of stares between us.

That’s when I realized that he was completely naked. And I had not turned around. I was facing him without shame. Without fear. As if he were my . . .