Bound to Seduction (5 page)

“What?” he asked before he could stop
himself, mesmerized by her words, her voice, that she was sharing
something so personal with him.

She looked back up at him. And there was
such regret in her eyes, he couldn’t look away, even if he’d wanted
to.

“Alone,” she said softly. “I’m alone.”

His heart thumped as she closed her eyes,
shook her head. Opened them with a look of longing that speared
straight to the center of him. The same longing he felt on a daily
basis.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she said, “but
I’ve a feeling something I’m doing consciously or subconsciously
when I meet men is sending the impression I’m not interested, even
though I am. I’m not asking you to turn me into some Playboy bunny,
I’m just asking you to help me learn how to be more…desirable. I
want to know that when I do meet that right man—if I haven’t
already—that I’m confident and skilled enough for him to want me
just as much.”

His pulse picked up speed. Was she asking
him to…?

“I’m assuming that, typically, you’re the
one who does the”—her cheeks turned red all over again, and she
swallowed, looking at his throat rather than his face—”pleasuring.
But if you don’t mind—and you’re up for it—I’d like to be the one
to do that. Maybe you can tell me what I’m doing right. Or wrong.
If, that is, it’s okay with you…”

She finally met his gaze full on, and his
breath caught at the hope he saw reflected in her eyes.

“So your wish,” he managed in a voice that
didn’t sound like his own because he was still too surprised to
think clearly, “is to…?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “My wish is to
pleasure you. What do you think?”

Tariq could barely breathe.

She
wanted to
pleasure
him
. And she
wasn’t ordering, she was asking. For permission.

No one had asked his permission for anything
in longer than he could remember. No one but her.

“Well?” she asked again. “What do you
think?”

What did
he think? He thought he had to be hallucinating. But he wasn’t. He
was in the human realm, and she was real. Real and so completely
unexpected, he knew he needed to thank her. To show her just how
much what she’d wished for—
how
she’d wished for it—meant to him.

“Mira,” he said in a raspy voice. “Close
your eyes.”

She hesitated. Assessed. But when her lashes
fluttered closed, he found himself touched again at how easily she
trusted him.

He stepped close, wrapped one arm around her
waist, drawing her flush up against him. She sucked in a breath but
didn’t open her eyes, and his pulse picked up speed because she
felt so sinfully good. Smelled like heaven.

He shouldn’t be enjoying this, not when his
brothers were suffering, but he couldn’t help himself. He pictured
their destination. Gathered his powers. And when Mira felt them
flying and gasped, he tightened his arm around her and whispered,
“It’s okay. Just hold on to me.”

Her eyes popped open as soon as their feet
met solid ground. And he watched with amusement as she pushed out
of his arms, whipped around, and those mesmerizing eyes of hers
grew wide all over again. “Where…? “How…?”

He smiled as she took in the swaying palms
above, the turquoise water lapping the sandy beach, as the warm
breeze blew her silky hair across her cheeks. He normally didn’t
transport humans when he crossed into their realm. It could be
risky. Especially if they moved during flight. But after what Mira
had done for him, he wanted to do something special for her.

“Where are we?” she asked

“A little island in the Tahitian chain.”

“No way.”

“Close your eyes again, Mira.”

This time she looked at him as if he’d grown
a third eye, and the expression was so damn sexy, he laughed.
“Trust me. No more flying. Not yet, anyway.”

“I don’t know what to expect around you,”
she said, but she closed her eyes once more.

“And I with you, Mira.”

He lifted his hands, called up a simple
spell. Then he turned a slow circle and spoke the ancient
words.

When he was done, he said, “Okay, you can
open your eyes again.”

Her lashes fluttered, and she looked down,
gasped to see herself dressed in a thin white cotton dress with cap
sleeves, a gathered bodice with ties open at her cleavage, and a
flouncy skirt. A dress that accentuated her breasts, her curves,
even her skin tone. One that looked as if it had been made just for
her—which it had.

“How did you do that?”

“Magic.”

Her gaze darted past him to the hut he’d
also conjured. “Wh-where did that come from?”

He would never tire of this woman’s
reactions. So unexpected. So…honest. He reached for her hand.
“Come.”

She let him draw her toward the hut with its
thatched roof and bamboo porch. Gleaming hardwood floors spread
beneath their bare feet. Gauzy curtains blew in the breeze as they
stepped inside. A sitting area filled with pillowy white
furnishings opened to a four-poster bed covered in dreamy white
netting.

Mira tensed beside him. Perspiration coated
the palm of her hand against his. And for the first time, unease
settled in. Unease he never felt. Not with anyone. “Do you not like
it?”

“No, I…” Her cheeks turned pink as she
looked around. “It’s beautiful. I just…”

She was nervous. Again, not the reaction he
was used to.

He stepped in front of her, blocking her
view of the bed, and brought his hands up to frame her face.
“Before we start your wish, I have one request.”

“What?”

“For you to trust me. In order to give
pleasure, you must first experience it yourself. Has a man ever
pleasured you, Mira?”

A flush rushed over her cheeks again, and
she looked down at his chest covered in the thin T-shirt. “I told
you I’m not a virgin.”

“I didn’t ask if you were a virgin. I asked
if you had been pleasured. Thoroughly. Completely. By someone who
knows how to focus solely on you.”

Her blush deepened. “Um…”

Just the fact she had to think about how to
answer told him no. At least not in the way he meant. He tilted her
face up to his, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Then let me.”

“That’s not part of my wish,” she
whispered.

“No. It’s mine.”

Her eyes darkened. And in their depths he
could see that his words relaxed her. Excited her. Aroused her. But
she was still hesitant.

He needed to do something to ease her
stress.

He slid his hands down to hers, clasped her
fingers, and drew her around, walking backward out onto the porch
again. She followed, her brows drawn low, questions swirling in her
glittering eyes. “I thought—”

“There is no rush. Only time. Only this.
Turn around.”

Hesitation swirled in her eyes, but she
turned to face the double chaise that appeared on the porch.
“What’s this for?”

“For you.” He muttered words in his
language, and the chaise dropped flat, the thick, plush cushion
smoothing out before her. “Lie down on your stomach.”

She
looked over her shoulder with
are you for real
? eyes. Eyes that brought a smile to his lips and
warmed the chill deep in his chest. “I promise, nothing will happen
that you do not want to happen. Lie down and let me rub the tension
from your shoulders.”

She hesitated, then finally climbed onto the
chaise and stretched out. He handed her a throw pillow, which she
tucked under her head and wrapped her arms around. “You don’t have
to massage me.”

“Shh,” he said as he smoothed the back of
her dress across her hamstrings. “Just enjoy.”

She drew in a breath, let it out, relaxed
into the cushion. He moved around the front of the chaise, knelt
down, and brushed her hair to the side, then began kneading the
muscles of her shoulders.

She exhaled a long breath, relaxed even
further, and as he felt the tension begin to ease, he moved his
hands over the back of her dress, down to her waist, and up again,
never touching her bare skin, never pushing her farther than she
wanted.

“Do you like that?” He trailed his hands up
her spine, pressed fingers into the muscle as he worked his way
down to her lower back.

“Too much. You have magic hands.”

He moved to her ribs, slid his hands up her
sides, felt her suck in a breath when his fingertips barely brushed
the outsides of her breasts.

She was soft where a woman should be soft,
firm where she should be firm, and as his gaze strayed to the hem
of her dress, resting just above the backs of her knees, he had a
wicked, erotic flash of dragging the skirt up with his teeth, of
massaging the soft, rounded globes of her backside, of lifting her
hips and sinking into her from behind.

Blood rushed to his cock, hardening him with
only the thought. It had been years since he’d wanted a female as
much as he wanted this one. He’d lost his desire when he’d lost his
freedom. But with her, here, now, he felt as if he was regaining a
tiny piece of himself.

She pushed on her hands, straightened her
arms and looked up at him. His fingers stilled against her upper
back as he gazed down at her face. The warm breeze ruffled her hair
against her cheeks, and the way the sunlight fell across her skin,
she almost sparkled. Want and need and desire swirled in her eyes.
The combination left him hard and achy. And though he knew for her
this was merely a wish, for him it was so much more.

“Roll over,” he said in a raspy voice.

Her gaze held his, then slowly she complied
and rolled onto her back.

Light hair fanned out beneath her. Her
breasts pressed against the thin cotton of her dress, her nipples
visibly hardening in the slight breeze. He swallowed pushed to his
feet, and moved around the chaise to sit at her side, his hip
brushing hers, his gaze running down the length of her body. “Close
your eyes again.”

She breathed deep and did as he said. At her
sides, her fingers grasped the edge of the cushion.

He started gently, running the tips of his
fingers along her bare arms, down and back up again, watching the
slight rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Watching the
muscles around her eyes tighten as he traced his way up to her
throat, then back down, moving over her dress to her legs, then all
the way to her feet and back. As his hands stroked her body, she
relaxed inch by inch once more, easing deeper into the cushion,
turning herself over to him one wicked touch at a time.

His gaze slid to her lips as he stroked
her—plump, pink, so perfectly made for kissing—then to her
collarbone, over the Firebrand opal at her chest, just like the one
he wore but which she couldn’t see in this realm, then finally down
to the front ties of her dress, hanging against her creamy
cleavage.

He wanted to know what she looked like
beneath that dress he’d conjured. What she felt like, her skin
against his. When he brushed his fingers against the base of her
neck then lower, stopping on the ties and pulling until her bodice
loosened, she sucked in a breath and held it but didn’t push him
away.

Her breaths quickened. She wasn’t wearing a
bra, and he watched in rapt attention as her lush, firm breasts
were slowly revealed to him, one agonizing inch at a time.

He went slow. Gave her every opportunity to
stop him. But she didn’t. And by Allah, she was beautiful. Dusky
pink areolas, so tantalizing he wanted to lower his head and draw
each one into his mouth. Firm, high breasts he knew would fit
perfectly in his hands. He had an overwhelming urge to rip the
dress from her skin, to part her thighs and press inside her until
they both cried out in ecstasy. But more than that, he wanted her
to want him. As much as he suddenly wanted her.

He leaned forward, marveled at the way her
body trembled when he pressed his lips against her collarbone. When
he kissed the soft skin of her throat and trailed his mouth up to
breathe hot against her earlobe.

“Tell me what you want, Mira. I’m yours to
command.” Her skin was silky soft, so damn sweet against his
tongue. “Yours to use in any way you want. This is all about
you.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Mira’s fingers slid into
his hair, and she moaned as she tipped her head to the side,
granting him access, showing him the first sign that yes, she
wanted this too.

Desire bunched in his stomach, shot straight
into his groin. He licked the tender column of her neck, latched
on, and suckled.

She moaned when he found an extra sensitive
spot. And, drawing one leg up, she pressed her naked breasts
against his bare chest, rubbing herself against him in a way that
was so sinfully erotic, he didn’t know how much longer he could
last.

“Tell me, Mira,” he whispered.

“I—I want you to kiss me,” she
whispered.

Yes. Finally. “Where?”

“My—my throat.”

Disappointment flowed that it wasn’t her
mouth, but he moved to the other side, breathed hot against her
skin until she shuddered, then closed his lips around the column of
her throat once more. She’d beg for his mouth on hers later. He’d
make sure of it.

“Where else?” he asked against her skin.

“My ear.” He trailed his lips up to her
lobe, felt her shudder beneath him, loved the way her naked breasts
pressed into his chest.

“My collarbone,” she added before he was
done. One corner of his lips curled at her enthusiasm, and he
answered by licking the spot, swirling his tongue around a mole,
then sliding lower to trace his tongue along the very top of her
cleavage.

Heat gathered all along her skin, penetrated
his and amped his desire to a full-blown inferno. “Where else?”