Chapter Seventeen

What in the scalding pits of Droon am I doing?

In point of fact, I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never seduced anyone before. Never done anything remotely like this before. My lips move over his, sinking into their pillowy contours. Sands, they are as soft as they’d looked. Soft and . . . unresponsive.

Roshan is not kissing me back, holding himself rigid.

Renewed doubt surges through me and I rear back in horrified alarm. “Don’t you . . . don’t you want me?”

The heavy groan that leaves him rumbles through his entire body. “Of course I want you. Can’t you feel how much I do?”

I can. He’s hot and hard and big, cradled perfectly against the softest, neediest part of me. I fight the compulsion to roll my hips, to give in to the urge for friction that’s building like a tumultuous tide in my body. I want to rock, to move. To ease this toe-curling, torturous ache. “Then what’s the problem? If we both want this?”

“What happens after?”

he asks softly. “When we leave here?”

I frown. “Nothing happens. We try not to die, just as we’ve been doing every day. If you’re worried that this is going to change things, it’s not.”

I cringe at the small lie. I have no illusions: sex with Roshan will change everything. Despite my burst of spontaneity, I know what this kind of intimacy will mean, especially with someone like him. When Roshan looks at me, I don’t see greed or a devious agenda . . . I see more.

I see friendship and fondness, loyalty and honesty. I see a man with whom I’ve never had to hide who or what I am. I see someone I’ve grown to care deeply about in a short space of time. Someone I can trust with all of me. My body . . . and my heart, at least for now, if not forever.

And what of your soul?

The multilayered growl is so distant in the back of my mind that I barely take it in. Where had that come from? But I’m too distracted to ponder upon it as Roshan’s hips shift dangerously beneath me. My core throbs, and I bite back a moan. Yes, yes. My soul, too. He can have everything I have to give. Even as I think it, I know that’s a dangerous thought, one that stirs a faint feeling of wrongness.

I swallow hard, sudden uncertainty filling me. What would Laleh do?

Laleh would waste no time chasing her pleasure as long as her feelings were reciprocated, that I know. It’s one of the things I love about her. But it’s not a matter of what Laleh would do . . . it’s what I would do. I bite my lip, the delayed sting of Roshan’s reluctance finally hitting me and my earlier confidence dissipating when he doesn’t move or reply.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t . . .”

Heating with mortification, I try to rise, but the hands that were on my waist fall to my spread outer thighs, stalling me.

“Wait, Suraya,”

he whispers, his fingers convulsing on my goose-pimpled skin. “Are you sure this is what you want? There are things about me you don’t know.”

“We all have secrets,”

I say. “But let’s leave those outside. In here, we’re just Ro and Sura. Can we do that?”

“What if those secrets are deadly ones?”

I let out a small laugh and wiggle my hands. “I know all about those.”

He doesn’t reply, but I can feel him thinking. “Don’t take away my choices because you want to protect me.”

“I would never do that. But I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“I won’t be,” I reply.

After a fraught beat, he leans up to close the distance between us—one big palm sliding down my spine and bringing me flush up against him, chest to chest—and gently kisses my lips. They part automatically, welcoming him in. When his tongue slips in to taste me, exploring my mouth and flicking sweetly at my teeth, I sigh in utter relief.

Something deep inside whimpers in protest, but I silence those insecurities with ruthless ease. Shutting my mind off, I just feel.

I register the spicy taste of cloves and cinnamon before my fingers glide down to clutch his shoulders to me and crash us together. I want more. It feels like I want to climb inside of him. To bask in his taste, his warmth, and the honeyed tenderness of this embrace. A groan rumbles through him as he cups my head and his mouth slants over mine. His lips are warm and firm and strong, leaving no part of my mouth unexplored.

Sands, I want to kiss him forever.

“What was that for?”

I whisper to him when we break apart, both equally dazed.

“That’s how I should have kissed you earlier, but you took me by surprise, and I wanted to be a gentleman.”

He shoots me that soft, crooked smile he saves only for me. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since our first dance at the palace, by the way. I just wasn’t sure it was what you wanted.”

“I wanted, just so we’re clear,”

I say, blushing hotly at my blunt admission and tugging him to me as my fingers wind into the silky strands of his hair. “I also wanted to throttle you, so there’s that, too.”

I grin cheekily at him, then claim his lips with mine.

The last kiss had been gentle and sweet—us getting to know each other. This second one is less so—rife with something deeper and darker as we grind and writhe into each other. Fueled by ravenous need, and desperate to ease the hunger inside of me, I take the lead as my lips nibble across the seam of his, coaxing them open again for the lash of his silken tongue, his breath mingling with mine on a surprised exhale when I graze my teeth over his tongue. He bites my lip in retaliation with a sexy little growl.

Flames explode in my chest as his fingers flex on my nape, tilting my head to deepen the kiss, spangles of heat bursting everywhere. Not the deadly Starkeeper kind of heat, but a hot, tingling sensation that makes every hair on my skin feel like it’s lifting off my body. His fingers tangle into my loosened plait, and for a breathless moment, I wonder what it would feel like for him to hold me like this, firm in his grasp, my braid captive while he thrusts into my welcoming flesh. From behind.

Stars above . . .

I might not have much actual experience, but my imagination has had plenty of practice. Moaning into his mouth at the wicked fantasies taking over my brain, I match his commanding, wet strokes and licks until I’m breathless and weak-boned. When he finally breaks away, he’s panting, staring at me with those mesmerizing golden-brown eyes—pupils nearly blown out with desire.

He leans his forehead against mine. “I didn’t expect any of this,”

he whispers. “Ashes, Suraya, I didn’t expect you.”

“Nor I you.”

He exhales. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

I shift to whisper in his ear before I bite his earlobe. Hard. “I swear to all the desert creatures in existence, if you ask me that again, I will throw you in that pool and drown you.”

“So feisty.”

“As though that’s any great shock.”

I grin and stick out my tongue, which he captures with his mouth and follows with another brain-melting kiss. In one fluid motion he flips us, never breaking the kiss, one hand against my back to protect me from the stone. I gasp as he settles his weight deliciously between my thighs. I wrap my legs around the backs of his calves, feeling the thick length of him grind harder against my drenched center. A ragged whimper escapes me. “Sands, you feel too good to be real.”

With a wicked grin, he shifts downward, nose trailing against my throat. “I’m real, and I’ll prove it to you.”

“What, where are you going—”

But when his hot mouth closes over the peak of my nipple through the thin fabric of my chemise, all thought deserts me. I can only feel as his teeth scrape against my sensitive budded flesh and arch upward when he bites down gently. He tugs at the hem of my shirt. “This needs to come off.”

No objection here!

I start to lift the fabric, but he takes over, relieving it of me in a flash. And then I am lying bare before him, my breasts on indecent display. They’re not huge, and I wonder if he’s disappointed at my lack of fullness. My curves are all in my ample ass and thighs.

My worry flies away when he groans softly, filling his palms with each breast. “By the maker, you’re fucking perfect.”

His thumbs flick over my nipples, the rasp of his bare skin on the tips a new sensation that has my body quivering. He pinches one gently, and I hiss. When he lowers his head once more and his tongue laps at the tight peak, I nearly pass out.

Something wild is winding up in my body, building like a sandstorm over the desert. I’m sure I could climax from him touching my breasts alone. But Roshan is a man with a purpose, and he moves down, trailing hot wet kisses along my trembling stomach, grazing his teeth over my hip bones, and licking the spot just above the waistband of my undergarments. A full-body shiver rolls through me at the swipe of his tongue below the drawstring.

Heated dark eyes meet mine when his fingers hook into the ties of the fabric. “May I, Suraya?”

“Yes. For fuck’s sake, get them off!”

A low laugh leaves him as he does just that, shifting his heavy body so he can undo and ease the wet fabric down my legs. “Patience, my little desert starling. I want you burning.”

My entire body freezes at that. Oh, sands, my power . . . could I harm him without meaning to?

“You’re thinking too much,”

he says, settling between my thighs, his broad shoulders pushing them farther apart. I don’t even notice, so preoccupied I am with my new fears.

I ask the question locking my muscles. “What if I hurt you?”

His answer is a slow, decadent lick of his tongue . . . right up the soaked, aching center of me. I can’t help the guttural moan that climbs up my throat. Oh. Oh. Writhing, I let out a sound like a creature in the throes of heat and instantly need him to do it again. I don’t even have to ask as he obeys my wordless plea, a rumble of pleasure vibrating through him. “Fuck, Sura, you taste like nothing I’ve ever had before.”

“Stop talking. More of the tongue thing.”

Laughter tumbles out of him, but he acquiesces, and my head falls back when he sets his mouth fully to me, teasing the bundle of nerves at the top of my sex, then slipping lower to tease my entrance. He varies his speed and his movements, driving me to distraction and delaying the release I need until I’m breathless, on edge, and nearly sobbing with pleasure.

And then he adds a finger, thrusting in and out to the sinfully talented rhythm of his tongue. Sands, how is he so good at this? A second thick finger follows the first, the delicious stretch in my untried passage a new sensation. I realize that he’s preparing me for something much bigger, and the thought of that sends me into near delirium.

When his fingers start to pump faster with delicious intent, I writhe and buck beneath him, shoving my hips up for more. “Please, Ro.”

As if he can sense that I’m teetering on the knife’s edge of bliss, he sucks.

My spine bows and I scream the instant the pleasure crests, roaring through every nerve and muscle, tightening and exploding into fragments of languid euphoria. I feel the orgasm everywhere from my fingertips to my hair follicles, crashing over me in endless waves.

When my brain clears from the haze, I stare down at him in complete amazement.

“Did I please my lady with the tongue thing?”

he asks playfully, pressing a kiss to my sensitive inner thigh.

“The lady is attempting to come back to Endara,”

I reply in a daze.

He chuckles. “Good.”

Seeing him down there with such a look of primal satisfaction on his face does something to me. “Come here.”

Arching a brow at my command, he takes his sweet time, continuing to lap and kiss my shuddering flesh until the last of the tremors subside. After one final lick that leaves me wanting again, he rocks to his heels. “Delicious.”

He crawls up my body, and I kiss him, tasting my essence on his lips. He’s right—it’s nothing like I’ve ever tasted, either: silken and sweet, with a hint of saltiness from the water. I wonder idly what he would taste like, but then my thoughts drift elsewhere when he stands to remove his own underclothes, and suddenly I can’t breathe.

There’s no way that’s the same size as his fingers.

It doesn’t change the fact that I still want him desperately, but it does make me wriggle with nervous anticipation. Roshan doesn’t come back to me right away, instead staring down at me like the magnificent god he is. Me . . . the woman he just pleasured to oblivion with that sinful, skilled mouth. Embarrassed at being splayed so boldly, I bring my knees together, heat gathering through me again.

“Don’t hide from me, Suraya,”

he says, his voice rough. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

His lips tilt up into a devilish smirk. “I could stare at you and I could eat you forever.”

My flush is instant. Stars on fire, I love hearing such filthy words from him. He’s usually so controlled and proper, so much the gentleman, that this feels especially wicked. Stifling my sudden burst of shyness, I let my legs fall apart and arch slightly, drifting a hand down to my breasts. “Don’t stop there. Tell me more. Scandalize me, my prince.”

A low growl of approval leaves his chest. “I like the way you say that.”

His hand flicks down his taut, water-slicked abdomen. “The scent of you could rival the most honeyed fruits. You taste like the nectar of the gods, and when you come, your entire body blooms with pleasure.”

He captures his thick length at that, nostrils flaring, and I am mesmerized by the slow, purposeful motion of his hand from root to flared crown.

“Do that again,”

I say hoarsely, capturing my bottom lip between my teeth. My core throbs in response.

“Stroke myself?”

he asks, and I give an eager nod.

I stare in awe as he stands there, legs splayed, those muscular hair-covered brown thighs flexing at each pass of his hand. Stars, he’s the sexiest display I’ve ever seen. From the damp curls falling over his brow to his sharp cheekbones and generous lips, from his broad shoulders to his taut abdomen and tapered hips, he’s the one who embodies perfection.

And his sex . . . there are no words. Suffice it to say, it’s as impressive as the rest of him. I nearly come again as he fists it ruthlessly, tensing each time he squeezes the flared head, and I notice a bead of clear fluid at the tip. Sands, I want to taste him.

“I need you now,”

I tell him, and crook a finger.

“As my mistress commands,” he says.

I peer at him from beneath my lashes. “Am I your mistress then?”

“You are everything.”

Lowering to his knees, he kisses me sweetly and fits himself into the welcoming cradle of my hips. The hot, silky prod of him where I’m wettest makes me gasp against his mouth. He’s not even inside me, and I’m ready to shatter from the intensity.

Desperate for more of the delicious friction on my swollen flesh, I angle my hips upward with a whimper. He groans as the crown of him nudges my entrance, but then he holds himself perfectly still. “I . . . Sorry, I forgot to ask. Are you protected?”

“Yes.”

All Oryndhrian women have access to an inoculation to prevent pregnancy. It’s not to dissuade sex, only to help ensure unwanted pregnancy doesn’t occur.

“I’m healthy and free of disease,”

he tells me gently.

“Me, too.”

Mostly because I’ve never done this before. “Move, Roshan,” I beg.

“By the maker, you undo me,”

Roshan mutters against my lips, his hips swirling against mine and making me see actual stars every time the tip of him strokes against the sensitive bundle of nerves at my apex. “You’re driving me to distraction. So wet. So hot.”

“Then put us both out of our misery and fill me.”

He gives a shallow thrust, and I suck in a breath at the unbelievable pressure of him notching into me. I’m uncomfortably snug, but I knew I would be, even with his careful, meticulous preparation earlier. My body will accept him eventually. I mean . . . I hope it will.

“Ashes, you’re tight,”

Roshan rasps. I peek up, and his face is screwed up, eyes shut, as though he, too, is in pain. Muscles straining, he rocks back and then slips in another inch. Tensing, I bite my lip and breathe out, willing the immense pressure to subside. He’s not halfway in, and I already feel as though I’m going to split in two. What in Droon would all of him feel like?

Unwilling to let my fears rise, I clutch at the firm globes of his muscular ass and dig my fingernails into him. “Kiss me.”

His lips claim mine, hot and wild. His tongue dips then retreats, teasing and possessive all at once, in mimicry of what he means to do below, and I’m whimpering by the time his lips trace a delicate path down my jaw, my neck, and my collarbones. His fingers wrap into my hair, forcing me to arch and present my breasts for his pleasure. And he takes it without mercy, torturing my erect nipples with nibbles and languid strokes of his tongue until I’m panting, hips grinding upward, begging him to sink deeper.

“Make me yours, Ro. I need you.”

With a growl, he does with one powerful stroke, and despite how aroused I am, I hiss at the bite of pain as his body fuses fully with mine, the huge length of him pulsing like a brand I can feel throbbing everywhere inside of me. Tears sting my eyelids. I’m so full of him that I can barely breathe, but somewhere deep, it feels monumental.

Roshan stills, his eyes flying open. “You were a virgin,”

he says, holding himself above me, seated to the hilt in my body. His jaw is tight; his gaze is distraught.

“What does it matter?”

Wiping the tear that had escaped the corner of my eye with his thumb, he lets out a breath. “It matters to me. I could have done more . . . taken greater care with you.”

“This is perfect.”

I smile at him and wiggle my hips slightly, causing us both to gasp. “You’re big and I’m small. What did you think would happen? Do I need to give you a lesson in mass concepts, my prince?”

Roshan grins back, the alarm fading from his expression as his large body twitches. “Fuck, Sura, call me that again.”

I shift one ankle up to notch over his calf, my inner walls flexing around his girth. “My prince.”

His deep, primal groan is my reward as his thick eyelashes flicker shut, a dull flush staining his cheekbones. My body has finally begun to feel good, and the more I grind myself against him, the better I feel. Pain rides the edge of pleasure, but suddenly, my core flutters in an I want more kind of feeling. I need movement. My expression must say as much because he laughs and kisses me so sweetly that my toes curl.

“Tell me if it hurts,”

he whispers against my lips, and starts to ease out of me. The burn on the heel of his withdrawal is satisfying instead of painful, and when he pushes back in, I feel the pleasure in my core rising again. “Good?”

he mumbles.

“So good,”

I gasp. “Just go slow.”

“Whatever you need.”

Sands, he’s such a thoughtful lover that I want to cry from the tenderness of it. But I don’t cry. I give over to the heat consuming me instead. With every measured thrust, the pressure in my core builds. The prince gasps against my neck, body shivering against mine. We’re both climbing toward a climax that promises to obliterate us.

“Faster, Roshan,”

I whimper, meeting him now stroke for stroke with eager, uncoordinated, hungry pulses of my hips.

To my shock, he stops, nearly making me scream with frustration, and sits up, taking me with him. Then he turns us so I’m back to the position that started all of this—me straddling him. “Pick whatever pace you like, my starling.”

So I do. At first I’m unsure, my movements jerky, but then I find a rhythm that makes my jaw slacken, and when he circles his hips and hits a spot inside of me, my legs start to shake. More urgently now, I lift my body and lower it, riding him as though I’m racing a horse over the desert sands of Coban. My eyes drift shut as I chase the release that’s just out of reach.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,”

he says. “A goddess.”

I open my eyes to see him staring up at me in wonder, lips parted and pupils blown out. I won’t lie. Seeing this large, powerful man splayed out beneath me while I have my wicked way with him goes to my head like the finest elderflower liqueur.

That’s all it takes to light the fuse . . . me watching him and his stare owning mine just as his body does. My climax thunders through me, making my inner muscles clench down on him as starbursts explode behind my eyelids. He comes, too, with a ragged shout, hands clutching my hips as he drives up into me.

Panting, I collapse over him and bury my face in his damp throat. Sands, I love how he smells, like a sweaty, well-pleasured, satisfied male. Satisfaction that I delivered. I grin proudly against his neck.

“Why are you smiling?”

he says. “I can feel your lips curling.”

I don’t think twice about my answer. “Because I’m happy.”

His fingers dance down my spine. “I’m happy, too.”

“Thank you for today,”

I tell him.

His reply is soft, tinged with something I can’t decipher. “You’re welcome.”

We fall quiet after that, cherishing the soft, tender pleasure in silence for as long as we can. After a long moment, when our breathing and hearts calm, Roshan shifts to his feet, scoops me up into his arms, and walks to the edge of the rock. That lopsided grin is full of mischief.

“Don’t you dare!”

I warn him. “Put me down, you monster!”

He growls and bites my shoulder. “Monster, is it?”

I scream bloody murder when he hurls us both into the water, the balmy sensation an invigorating shock to my overheated skin. We separate in the depths, but he finds me, wrapping his slippery limbs around me before he kisses me, soft and sweet.

And then I forget about being vexed . . . or thinking . . . or anything at all.

No matter the price of our little outing—to my body or eventually my heart—I’ll pay it gladly. This was one of the best days of my life.