But I want to take it. I want all of it, all of him. His aggression and even his pain. It may hurt, but it reminds me that I am still alive, against all the odds. That despite everything which has happened between us, I am here, in his arms. Breathing his air, inhaling his scent. Oh! The scent of this man! That intoxicating combination of leather and steel and . . . yes, blood. There’s always a trace of blood about him, this warrior whom I love. This man of action and danger and death. But I do not fear it. Nor do I fear him. Because I know I am safest here in his arms.
My quickened senses can still hear it—the thrum of virulium deep, deep down inside his veins. I block it out, refusing to listen. Did I not recently sing in a triumphant three-part harmony with him and his licorneir? Surely a man capable ofsuch song could not truly be lost to darkness.
No, he is mine. And whatever other sorrows await us out there in the world, they cannot reach us in this moment.
So I open my mouth to him, welcoming his tongue between my teeth. The taste of him thrills me, and I drink greedily of his kisses. My teeth find and tease his lip, hard enough to make him growl.
He pulls back at last and looks down at me. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, his voice rough with need.
“I’m not afraid of a little pain,” I answer and wriggle beneath him. Excitement quickens between his legs. My breath comes hard, and the laces of my bodice feel suddenly too tight.
Taar shakes his head. Long strands of inky black hair fall over his shoulders, framing his cheeks. “If this is too much—”
“It’s not.”
“But you’ll tell me if it is?”
“Probably not.”
My fingers slip from his shoulders and pull at the front laces of my bodice, loosening them. The movement draws his eyes downward. His mouth parts, and he breathes out a single word:“Shakh.”
Then he rolls off of me, sits upright, and pulls me into a seated position before him. It’s a little rough for my newly-healed abdomen, but I refuse to acknowledge any small aches or pains. I focus instead on the heat of my husband’s breath, on the way his forehead presses against mine as he stares down at my rising and falling bosom. The way his hands shake as he tears the lacesloose and pulls my bodice open. The moment it’s free, he yanks the wide neckline of my chemise to one side.
Suddenly his mouth is hot against my bare skin, wandering up and down the curve of my neck to my jaw and back again. His hands are busy as well, one firmly supporting my back while the other slides up the front of my torso, grasping my breast through the thin cloth. I brace myself, both hands planted firmly on the makeshift bed, my body arching into his kisses, into his touch.
His mouth slides from shoulder to collarbone, down to the swell of my bosom. I feel his teeth scrape against that place on my chest where theruehnarmark burns. It glows brighter, hotter, as though his kisses are calling it back to life. The cord which binds us wraps around us in an endless, complicated, but never-snarling knot. So real, I could almost believe my mortal eyes could perceive it. But I don’t open my eyes; my other senses are far too awakened now.
Taar slips the chemise down from my other shoulder, tugs the whole front of the garment lower, exposing my breasts. His mouth explores down between them, then his tongue emerges, licking up the slope until it reaches my nipple. There it dances, tasting and teasing, as I move my body in rhythm to the song he ignites in me.
A deep groan vibrates in my throat. His mouth twists into a smile of pure delight at the sound, just before he takes my nipple between his lips, sucking vigorously. Sparks of light seem to explode in my mind. My elbows buckle, and I fall backonto the piled-up cloak and skirts.
“Will you sing for me, myzylnala?” Taar growls, his kisses wandering from one breast to the other, eliciting little mewls from my lips. “Will you sing that song which is mine alone?”
“I don’t know,” I pant, then break off with a little “Ah!” of pleasure. When I can summon words again, I murmur, “You must earn your songs, warlord.”
He runs a line of hot kisses up my throat. “You’ll find I am eager to the task,” he says, even as his hands fumble with the waistline fastenings of my skirt, pulling them apart one after the other.
I lift my hips, giving him room to drag first my overskirt away, followed soon after by the chemise. I wear only the delicate lace drawers now, and his hand glides eagerly down between my thighs, thumb trailing along the seam of that soft silk. I catch my breath. “Oh! Oh, Taar!” I gasp. “Taar, you know what I need!”
“I know,” he smiles. Then his strong arms grip me, roll me over, and pull me flush against his chest. “I know,” he rumbles again, his breath tickling the sensitive skin behind my ear. He plants a kiss on the curve of my neck, sending sparks of light shivering through my senses. My body arches, and I moan, pressing my buttocks against the hard swell of his manhood. I’m fairly certain he’ll drive me mad, so great is the heat mounting inside me. Mounting and mounting, but still no release.
A pathetic whimper escapes my lips.
“What a sweet melody that is,” Taar says. His tongue toys withthe shell of my ear. “Will you embroider the theme?”
I whimper again. My hand reaches back, grasping at his cheek, while he cups my breast, massaging vigorously, before sliding his fingers back down between my legs. This time he slips under the drawers to touch me directly, and I gasp, heat pooling fast to my center.
With a sudden twist, I turn my head and catch his mouth with mine, kissing him long and sensuously. My tongue plays across his lips, parts them, glides into his mouth. Now it’s his turn to moan, his voice a deep, gorgeous timbre.
He lingers over that kiss, unable or unwilling to escape me. But he pulls back at last and rasps, “Now, Princess, is it not my role to serve you?”
“I like to play my instruments,” I respond with a wicked smile.
“And play you shall, to your heart’s content. But only once I’ve earned that song.”
He flips me onto my back again, cages me between his powerful arms, and kisses me deeply, once more taking control. His hand cups my breast, thumb teasing at my nipple, but all my awareness is on his mouth and on that roiling heat in my core, the desperate, growing need for release. I groan in an agony of pleasure.
His kisses begin their downward progression. Slow, unhurried, all aggression given way to this lingering savor. I revel in it even as moans of impatience pulse from my throat. To be loved like this, enjoyed like this, worshipped like this . . . surely this is what I wascreated for. His mouth lingers over myruehnar, and I feel again that sensation of ignited glow, shining from inside me.
