Lord of Desire (54 page)

But still she was too slow. When she struggled to remove his djellaba, Jafar took control. Impatiently he tugged it over his head, exposing his bare chest to her fascinated view. Awed by his masculine beauty, Alysson raised an inquisitive hand. She could no more have denied herself the need to touch him than she could have disavowed her next breath.

Her fingers, tentative yet strangely brazen, spread across his chest, exploring contours and planes and textures. His silken skin, hot as fire, rippled over steel-honed muscles, making her ache with need.

Her wondering touch affected Jafar similarly. When she made brief shy contact with his hard, flat nipples, the muscles in his jaw tightened as if he were in pain. Murmuring a soft oath, he stepped back, out of reach, to shed his remaining garments.

When he was done, the sight of his virile nudity stole her breath away. Dazed, weak, Alysson remained completely still; she could only stare at his magnificent male form, at the blatant evidence of his desire.

"Now, you."
His voice was deeply husky now and edged with desire.

Hardly knowing what she was doing, Alysson bent and removed her slippers, then her own sash. But when it came to removing her robes, she hesitated, instinctively shying away from exposing her nakedness.

Jafar wouldn't let her desist, though. He kept his hot, glittering gaze fixed steadily on her, as if he would seek out all her secrets and destroy them.

Trembling, Alysson complied with his silent command. This was not a night for secrets, after all.

She heard his sharp inhalation as her slender body was bared to his gaze. When somehow she found the courage to meet his eyes, the boldness of his scrutiny nearly unnerved her. His eyes made a thorough sweep of her body, roaming over her nakedness, touching her more intimately than his hands had done.

Those golden eyes were unmistakably hungry, yet they hazed with a possessive look as he reached for her, the predator's gaze softened by need.

Surprisingly, he didn't take her in his arms. Instead, his hand lightly feathered across her abdomen, then lower, to the lush riot of silky chestnut hair between her thighs.

"Oh . . . God . . ." Alysson gasped as a shaft of pleasure streaked through her, a pleasure so intense that her weak legs nearly buckled beneath her. Helplessly she grasped Jafar's muscular shoulders to keep from falling.

Yet he didn't stop his skillful, mind-destroying caresses. His features grew heavy with sensual pleasure as he watched her quivering response. Wondering if she could bear another moment of such exquisite torment, Alysson drew a shuddering breath into her lungs and closed her eyes.

Numerous pounding heartbeats later, she heard Jafar's hoarse command as if from a great distance. "Touch me,
Ehuresh . . ."

With dazed obedience, she let her hands slide down his powerful chest, his tautly muscled stomach, his lean hips, till she found the essence of his maleness. His desire flowed against her fingers, silky and warm, and so potent it stirred an ache in her that was actually painful. And Jafar was experiencing a similar pain, Alysson realized. The soft groan that sounded deep in his throat told her just how agonizing he found the gentleness of her touch.

His arms came around her then. His urgent hands ran down the silky contours of her back, cupped her bottom, and hauled her fiercely close, making her feel the naked heat and strength of him.

"I want you,
Ehuresh,"
he whispered harshly. "I want to do everything to you that a man has ever done to a woman . . ."

His lips claimed hers then, and there were no more words. His mouth mated with hers, their tongues meeting in hot, deep, writhing kisses. Passion flowed between them, dark and sweet, with a fierceness that was almost shocking. She felt the near-desperation of Jafar's lips, felt the seeking, the need, the wildness, and it touched an answering need deep within her. The sensual fire that burned in him, burned in her also.

Hardly aware of anything but that fire, Alysson submitted with yielding acquiescence, to the ungentle, prompting pressure that guided her backward. Lost in the dark honey of his kisses, she clung to him as he urged her toward the pallet. Then he was pressing her down among the soft pillows, following her, covering her, the heat from his body bathing her heightened senses.

"Jafar . . ."
She only had time to whisper his name before he captured her mouth again with his, kissing her with such fierce demand that she was giddy. At his savage tenderness, she felt something wild and primitive wrench free inside her, like moorings ripped loose by a dark desert wind. It liberated an unknown, unexplored side of her, the side that was tempestuous, eager, not guided by reason, the deepest side of her, a wild and restless and questing Alysson Vickery. Feeling as if her spirit were soaring, she whimpered and strained against him, trying to absorb his body into hers.

Jafar responded with answering frenzy, his fingers delving into the riotous tangle of her hair, while his tongue plunged deeply into her mouth.

His mouth ate hers greedily, with a raw savage hunger that called to her. Warmth spread to her blood with a fierce, unbearable intensity, creating a wonderful, moist, aching weakness that pulsed in her most secret places.
When an eternity later he allowed her to take a breath, she moaned, flinging her head back, instinctively offering him her throat and her breasts.

Without hesitation, he accommodated her, his lips moving over her silken skin. His tongue was a pagan lash of fire, leaving her hot and wanting. Her breasts hurt, swelled to his touch. Her body became taut and flushed.

And Jafar shamelessly encouraged her restless ardor. Hoarsely he whispered to her, disjointed words and phrases that made her quiver in response. She heard his murmured endearments as if from a great distance. Want had become craving. Craving had become need.
Driving, desperate, mind-blotting.

Her hands roamed blindly over his hard-muscled body. She had never ached to touch a man this way, to be touched so intimately. She craved his possession, yearned for it, a yearning that would have shocked her if she could have thought beyond this moment. Once, the thought of such complete surrender would have appalled her. She had been afraid, perhaps even terrified, to lose herself in him. But his sensual, urgent caresses took away any possibility of fear.

She welcomed him eagerly, twisting her hips, arching upward as his fingers found the secrets of her femininity, stroking the hot, slick dampness, readying her for his taking.

Her eyes closed helplessly; her head thrashed from side to side in tortured longing. Yet the more feverish she became, the more he gentled his touch. Impossibly, he seemed to regain control as hers melted away.

Still, his need was as great as hers, she was certain. She felt his unchecked trembling as he gently parted her legs with his muscular thighs and prepared to claim her innocence. His hard body was shaking, throbbing with the passion he felt. She knew it, yet she could scarcely credit the realization that this proud, hard, ruthless man could be brought to his knees by desire for her.

In one dim, desire-hazed corner of her mind, Alysson felt strangely humbled. The ability to create such vulnerability in Jafar awed her, yet filled her with an overwhelming sense of invincible power. When he settled lower, between her thighs, she found herself responding with her whole heart, without shame or nervousness, straining toward him, lifting her hips to receive him, to join with him in a way that was elemental, natural.

Even so, his slowly thrusting entrance took her unaware, making her suddenly stiffen. She was breathless for a moment, from the sharp pain and from the impact of his invasion.

Jafar went still, gazing down at Alysson with such tenderness that she felt her heart swell with aching emotion. "Do you want me to stop?" he murmured in unmistakable English. But she was beyond comprehending that strange fact.

"No . . .
no, please . . . don't stop!" Her soft gasp was a throaty imperative, a plea.

He smiled . . .
a smile of such sensual brilliance that it warmed her all over again.
"Never,
Ehuresh."

Then slowly, with infinite care, he began to move again, scattering impassioned kisses over her face and throat and shoulders, pressing slowly deeper until her body yielded and took him completely.

Alysson exhaled slowly on a whimper of pleasure. She had not known how empty she was until he filled her. Had not known what rapture was until he became part of her. She felt an amazing sense of completeness that only Jafar could give her. The pain was gone now, leaving only throbbing, pulsing joy.

"Look at me," Jafar murmured hoarsely, but it was an unnecessary command. She couldn't have turned away if her life had depended on it.

He surveyed her flushed, love-drugged face as his hips withdrew and began another slow full thrust.

It was a measured, maddeningly gende possession that nearly drove Alysson wild. Hot and feverish beneath him, she watched the light and darkness moving in his eyes as his body played skillfully against hers, teasing and tormenting, deliberately arousing her to a heated pitch. Presently, though, Jafar was caught up in the same sensual need he had created in her. Laboring for breath, he gave up his lover's games and increased the tempo. Abandoning gentleness for mastery, he arched over her, his hips moving in and out in a hot urgent rhythm.

"My sweet
tigress . . ."
Jafar rasped as he surged into her with a fierce, tantalizing thrust. Her whimper of pleasure became a sob of joy. Gasping, she strained against him with frenzied abandon, moving in wild, joyous response to his possession, withholding nothing. For her this joining was a celebration of Jafar's safe deliverance from battle, a celebration of life itself. For him it was a reverent consecration of her surrender.

"You are mine," he whispered harshly, hissing his ownership against her ear.

Yes!
She wanted to cry in answer, but her breath was stolen from her as the spiraling ecstasy swept her up in its vortex. All she could do was give
herself
up to the glorious world of heat and light and sensation Jafar had created for her, as in his arms she became fully a woman.

"Alysson . . ."
Jafar rasped her name in a fractured whisper of passion as he joined
with
her in paradise.

The slow return to consciousness long, long moments later was a cautious affair for Jafar. He felt as though his body and soul had shattered in a million fragments, and he wasn't certain if they could be mended.

For a long while he lay there completely still, his body cradled by hers, not daring to move except for the slight effort to spare Alysson the bulk of his weight. His breath was coming in ragged gasps, his limbs felt hot and heavy and languorous, while the tenderness welling within him made his heart feel near to bursting.

At last he chanced movement, his lips brushing her damp temple, her soft cheek, the curve of her throat, as he waited for the pounding rhythm of his heart to calm.

The imprecise thought that came floating into his mind then was more a vague comprehension than any conscious reflection: the surrender he had demanded of her had been given freely. And in accepting the gift, he had surrendered part of himself in return.