Beloved (15 page)

“The bedchambers are on the second floor along with the baths. I have chosen only a minimum amount of furniture because I thought that you might enjoy choosing your own things from the bazaars. As for slaves, you will choose your own; but for the next few days it is only necessary that Bab serve us.”

They had exited the main palace, and now walked through vast gardens, already moonlit and filled with small night creatures tuning up with song. They turned onto a graveled path lined in Palmyran palms, and at its end she saw a lovely small palace. As they reached its open doors he once more picked her up, and carried her over the threshold. But once inside, he did not put her down. Instead he walked through the atrium to the passageway that hid the stairs, and carried her up to a bedchamber, where he deposited her in the middle of the floor.

“Help me with this damned toga,” he said quietly. Surprised, she obeyed. “I hate togas, but high state occasions demand I wear them.”

Silently she took the garment and laid it carefully on a chair, as she was unfamiliar with the room and did not know where the storage chests were kept. He sat down and bent to unlace his sandals. Quickly she hurried over, and knelt to aid him, sliding
the sandals off, quietly admiring his graceful feet. She started at the touch of his hand on her head.

“You don’t have to take my sandals off, my flower.”

“I want to,” she replied. “I will not always be the sort of wife you want, my Hawk, but these small things I will do for you, and as long as I do, you will know that I love you.”

His hand reached down to cup her chin and raise her head up. For a long moment he stared into those beautiful, calm gray eyes, and then his lips but brushed hers, sending a little tingle through her. She lowered her eyes shyly only to become suddenly aware that he now wore only a short tunica interior. Zenobia stared fascinated at her husband’s muscled and shapely legs. They were long and smooth and tanned. Amused, he watched her for a moment. He could almost sense that she wanted to touch him, but was yet afraid.

He stood up, drawing her with him, his hands going to the knot of Hercules that was tied about the waist of her wedding dress. For several moments he struggled with it, muttering under his breath as the knot’s puzzle eluded him, “Who in Hades tied this thing?”

Zenobia giggled. “Tamar.”

“She obviously didn’t want me to unfasten it. Ah, there!” He drew the wool band off, and the tunic hung loose. Wordlessly he drew it over her head, and put it on the same chair that held his toga, adding her tunica interior before she realized he was taking it. She stood, stunned, as he knelt and drew off her silver sandals. Standing back up, he carefully undid the ribbons that held her long curls, reaching out to take up her brush, which lay set out on a nearby table. He turned her about, and slowly brushed her hair free of its tangles, admiring its sheen and its length, which ended at the base of her spine.

Turning her about again, he set her back from him and stood gazing upon her nude beauty. Surprised by his firm action, and stunned to find herself naked before a man, Zenobia stood quietly under his inspection for several long moments. She had absolutely no idea what he expected of her—if indeed he expected anything other than compliance. Having studied her quite thoroughly from the front, the prince walked slowly around his new wife, viewing her from every possible angle.

“My lord,” Zenobia whispered, half-afraid. “What do you want of me?”

Roused from his reverie, he realized her discomfort and gently
drew her into his arms. “Zenobia,” he said softly, his voice strangely thick to her ear, “I have seen many beautiful women in my time, but never have I seen a woman as perfect, as flawless as you, my flower.”

“Then you want me?”

“Want you?!”
The words were almost strangled in his throat. “I have wanted you for weeks now, you little idiot!”

“I think I want you,” she said softly, and he laughed.

“How can you know what you want, my little virgin bride? I am the only man who has ever touched you, but you liked it, Zenobia. Oh yes, my flower, you liked it. Just now when you knelt to take my sandals off you wanted to touch me.”

She blushed. “How could you know that?”

“Because I am a man, and I know women.” He smoothed his hand down her back beneath her hair to caress and fondle a buttock. Surprised, she jumped, and he murmured against her ear, “No, my flower, don’t be frightened. I know how innocent you are, and we will go slowly. There should never be haste between a man and a woman, only time to enjoy.” His hand tipped her face up to his, and he tenderly kissed her. “I love you, Zenobia, Princess of Palmyra.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I love your pride and your independence.” He kissed her eyelids, which had closed at his first sweet assault. “I love your beauty and your innocence, but most of all I love just you, my little desert flower. I should not have married you had I not loved you.” Bending slightly, he swung her up in his arms and carried her across the room to lay her on their marriage bed.

Her heart was hammering wildly in her ears and her eyes were shut tight; but she heard his voice teasingly say, “I have studied you most carefully, my darling, and now I offer you the same opportunity.” She heard the rustle of cloth as he drew off his interior tunic. “Open your eyes, Zenobia,” he commanded her, and there was laughter in his voice. “A man’s body is nothing to fear. If anything it is amusing, for it has not the beauty of form that a woman’s has. I, however, think I am rather pretty as far as men go.”

A small giggle escaped her, but her eyes remained closed.

“Zenobia!” His voice was mock-stern. “Open your eyes! I command it!”

Her eyes flew open, and she sat up. “I will not be commanded, Hawk!” And then her gray eyes widened, and she gasped. “Ohh!”

Mischievously he grinned down at her. “Am I not pleasing to
your eye, my flower?” He posed himself, parodying the athletes in the arena.

She was unable to take her eyes from his body. He was an inch or two taller than she was, and he was beautifully formed. His legs were long, the calves and thighs firm and shapely. He had a narrow waist that fanned upward into a broad chest and wide shoulders. His arms were long and muscled and he had slender hands and long fingers. His body was tanned and smooth, and looking at it now, she was again overcome by the desire to caress him as he had caressed her two weeks earlier. She had carefully kept her eyes averted from his sex, but now she let her eyes slide downward, color flooding her cheeks at her daring. To her surprise, the beast she had been half fearful of was nothing more than a gentle creature nestling small and soft upon its dark, furred bed.

Again he sensed her thoughts. “It only grows large when I desire you.”

“You
said
you wanted me!” she accused.

“I do want you, my flower, but wanting and desiring are two different things. The wanting is in my head and my heart. The desire comes from my body.”

He stretched out next to her on the bed. “There has been no time for desire this day.” Reaching out, he drew her to him. “No time until now, Zenobia,” and then his mouth was covering hers, tasting and possessing until with a great shudder she gave herself up to his building passion.

She had never expected a man’s mouth to be so tender. It gently commanded her, and she obeyed, parting her lips to receive his velvety tongue, which stroked hers until suddenly she felt a fire beginning to build deep within her. Pulling her head away from his, she tried to clear the dizziness with several breaths of air, but he only laughed and captured her mouth again in a torrid embrace. Finally satisfied that her sweet lips had received their due, his mouth scorched a path down the side of her face, his slender fingers moving ahead along her slim neck. Pressing a hot kiss against her ear, he murmured, “Can you feel your own desire rising, my love?” and he gently bit on her earlobe, before moving on to the soft curve of her silken throat.

Zenobia was beginning to tremble, and when her husband’s hands found her round full breasts she gasped softly with longing. She wanted his touch! She craved it, for then perhaps the terrible ache that was filling her entire being would dissolve and go away. Reverently he fondled each tender globe, and then without warning
his head dipped down to capture within his warm mouth a quivering and already taut nipple. Hungrily he drew on her virgin breast, and she cried out, surprised not only by his action but the corresponding tightness in the hidden place between her legs.

He raised his head, and his voice soothed her. “Don’t be afraid, my flower. Is it not sweet?”

Her answer was to draw his head back down to her breasts, where he resumed his pleasing dalliance; but soon he sought to explore further. One arm encircled her waist, while his other hand brushed across her belly, which fluttered wildly beneath his touch. His head dipped and his tongue teased her navel, causing her to writhe beneath him. The hand moved lower yet, to her smoothly plucked Venus mound, and now he could feel her beginning to resist him. She tensed beneath his fingers, and he could hear the nervousness in her voice.

“Please, Hawk! Please, no!”

“Why are you suddenly afraid of me?” He sought to touch her again, but she caught defensively at his hand.

“Please!”

It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps she did not know the way between a man and a woman. “Did Tamar tell you how it should be between us, between a husband and his wife?” he asked her.

“No,” came the reply, “but I know it is the same as with the animals. The male mounts the female; is that not correct?”

“People are not animals, Zenobia. Animals feel need and they satisfy that need without any thought. A man with a woman is a different thing, my flower.” He firmly moved her hand away, and gently caressed her. “I have always believed that the gods created woman to be worshiped by her lover. When I touch you with love I worship at the shrine of your perfection. You must not be afraid of me, or of my touch.”

“I have never been touched there before,” she said low, trembling beneath his fingers.

In answer he kissed her again, murmuring against her mouth, “Don’t be afraid, my darling. Don’t be afraid,” and she felt him very carefully exploring her more intimately.

A strange languor was spreading over her, leaving her limbs weak and helpless. He was her husband, and yet should he be touching her like that? His finger gently penetrated her body, and she cried out, struggling to escape him, but the prince quickly shifted her so she lay completely beneath him. Atop her, he whispered
soft love words into her ear. “No, Zenobia, no, my darling. Don’t be afraid. Don’t fight me, my flower.”

She could feel every inch of his very masculine body. His smooth chest pressed against her full breasts; his flat belly pushed against her gently rounded one; his thighs met hers with a heat that brought a moan to her lips. All this time her hands had never sought to touch him, but now she could no longer control the wild desire that he was awakening in her. When he buried his face in her soft throat, his kisses seemingly endless, her arms wound about his neck and then, palms flat, she caressed the line of his back, ending as she cupped his hard buttocks in a gentle grasp.

“Oh, Hawk,” she whispered, “your skin is so soft for a man.”

“What do you know of men, Zenobia?” was the reply. His voice was strangely harsh, his lips burning against the tender flesh of her throat.

“I know nothing but what you would teach me, my husband,” came the soft reply, and her hands moved back up again to clasp about his neck.

“I would teach you to be a woman, my flower. Are you brave enough?” he demanded, his dark eyes burning into hers.

She trembled against him, but her gaze was unwavering as she said, “Yes, my Hawk, yes, I am brave enough now.”

His mouth covered hers in a sweet kiss, and she felt him slide his hands beneath her to raise her hips up just a little. Her blood was racing wildly through her veins and she couldn’t control her trembling. Now, suddenly, she felt something hard probing insistently between her shaking thighs. “Hawk! Oh, my lord, I want to be a woman, but I am afraid again!” She squirmed away from him, and huddled in a corner of the bed.

The prince groaned with frustration. He had never wanted any woman so desperately in his life. He was tempted to force her beneath him, and take what he wanted of her. She would forgive him afterward; but when he lifted his head up she was staring with large, terrified eyes at his manhood.

“You cannot!”
she cried. “You will tear me asunder!”

For a moment he enjoyed the flattery of her innocence. “You will birth our children there, my darling,” he explained patiently. “If a whole baby can fit, then I can.” Wordlessly she shook her head in the negative, but he drew her firmly back into his arms, kissing her tenderly, gently stroking her until the firestorm began to build within her again.

She felt so strange, as she had never felt before. Her body was
honeyed fire that leapt and flowed under his orchestration; the pleasure-pain building until she believed she could bear it no longer. She was vaguely aware that he was once more covering her burning flesh with his own, but suddenly it didn’t matter. She wanted it! She wanted him!

He felt her body relax beneath him, and in that instant his shaft entered the portals of her femininity, gently easing into her incredibly tight sheath. Her virginity was tightly lodged, and he stopped a moment, kissing her closed eyelids, tenderly brushing back a stray lock of hair from her forehead. She whimpered, a half-passionate, half-fearful sound, and he could feel her heart pounding beneath his chest.

Zenobia felt as if he was tearing her apart. His manhood filled her, gorged her, and the pain was fierce. She tried to lie still, keeping her eyes tightly shut so he might not know and have his pleasure spoiled. When he stopped momentarily, lying atop her, attempting to soothe her, she felt a slight relief; but then he drew back and plunged swiftly through her maiden barrier. She shrieked with the hurt, and fought to escape him, but he was firmly in control, pushing deeper into her resisting sweetness.