On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [106]
“I would it were the softest bed in the land for you, my love,” he said, easing her onto her back and moving away from her slightly. “I would feed you dates and honey from my lips, like so,” he said, kissing her repeatedly, “and cover you with rare and precious oils, thus,” and his hands moved over her perfect body, worshipping her as she lay naked and opening to him.
Kevla closed her eyes and drank in the sensations of his hands on her. She gasped as he touched her breasts gently, then more firmly, and quivered in anticipation as he bent to take the hard peaks into his mouth. Already flooded with pleasure, she jumped when she felt his strong, sensitive fingers reach between her thighs to touch her with the lightest of strokes. She pulled his face to hers, closing her lips on his in a kiss that was as much a devouring as a caress.
She felt him trembling as though he stood in a strong wind, he, Jashemi, son of a khashim, was trembling in her embrace. He pulled back and she reached to stroke the beloved face that was, after so many years of desiring and denial, finally hers to touch.
Tears stung Jashemi’s eyes as her fingers brushed his cheek, and all playfulness fled before the power of his adoration of her.
Oh, Kevla. I love you so much. I will never let any harm come to you.
Jashemi’s skin prickled with a sudden, swift knowing. He grasped her face between his hands, locking his gaze with hers, and when he spoke, his words were laced with a passionate urgency.
“There is destiny here. I feel it…I know it. We were meant to be together. I belong to you completely, Kevla. I always have, and I always will. No matter what happens—no matter who or what we are—know that I am yours.”
His knees parted her thighs and she opened willingly to him. He could hold back no longer.
“You are my soul,” he whispered.
His mind, heart and senses ablaze with love for this woman, he pressed gently at her entrance. He wanted to go slowly, to cause her as little pain as possible, but he was not sure he—
Kevla uttered a deep, primal sound, and then moved her own hips fiercely, deliberately impaling herself on him.
Jashemi cried out in ecstasy as he entered her. She was so wet, so hot, he felt as if he was being engulfed by the molten fire that sometimes streamed from Mount Bari. She hissed in pain and he kissed her, sorry to have hurt her, regretting nothing else about this joining.
Slowly, Jashemi moved his hips, building a rhythm, bracing himself on his arms to watch her face. She opened her eyes and their gazes locked as he moved inside her.
“I love you,” she whispered, caressing his face with one hand as the other gripped his arm, her fingers digging into the flesh.
I love you, he thought wildly. But he was beyond words now, though he ached to say them. He let his body speak for him, communicated his desire and need for her with each increasingly urgent thrust. She was breathing quickly now, her breasts rising and falling, the sight of her passion heightening his own.
Jashemi wanted this moment to last forever, and he tried to hold back the cresting tide. But then Kevla made a soft sound and bit her lower lip, and the powerful surge of love he felt for her swept him over the precipice.
Heat, and wetness, and tightness—
He cried aloud as his climax overtook him. His eyes squeezed shut and he surrendered to the exquisite pleasure.
Merging. Union. One. Heat and—
His eyes flew open, but he did not see Kevla or the cave. He saw only darkness at first, but then realized that this darkness was pulsating. A word came to him: Shadow.
The queen stood next to him, her presence a comfort, although not even a woman as magnificent as she could hold back the Shadow’s onslaught. The boy thought about the dead youth he had found, whom he had seen in a vision. He felt drawn to the young man, bonded with him, even though he had died—been murdered—before they had even met. Hard to believe it had been only two weeks since he had seen the youth; harder to believe that