She and the other women laughed, that a eunuch could be reduced to such ignominy.'
He heard again the laughter, the jeering taunts.
He would show her he wasn't like that.
He didn't need a woman to bring him release, other than through her own release.
Megan's flesh sucked at his fingers when he withdrew. He gave her his verge, sinking so deeply inside her that there was not room for thoughts of Arabia or eunuchs.
Her gaze held his, accepting him, accommodating him.
Closing his eyes, he pulled back out, and rammed into her. Again. And again. And again.
Until his skin burned with sweat.
Until his knees ached.
Until his verge throbbed in agony.
Until she cried out, first in pleasure, then in pain, and he still could not gain release.
Soft arms wrapped around him. Held him. Immobilized him.
He leaned into Megan, trembling, wanting so badly that he wanted to howl. Sobbing for air, he buried his face in the crook of her neck.
Soft fingers feathered his hair, pressed him closer. 'Tell me how,' she whispered.
How could he tell her?
It was unnatural.
A man should not need more than a woman's vulva.
'Tell me,' she persisted. 'Please. Trust me, Muhamed. Trust me like I've trusted you.'
He pressed harder into her neck, her vagina, wanting to lose himself inside her, unable to do so.
'A man has a gland inside him that can be caressed,' he said raggedly.
Megan stilled-even the pulse that rapidly pounded against his lips seemed to halt.
It had dawned on her that there was only one place that a man could be internally caressed.
'How would a woman be able to identify this gland?' she asked unevenly.
He repeated what he had heard other eunuchs say, creatures who were not supposed to want sexual satisfaction
'I want to please you, Muhamed. I want to give you the same pleasure you have given me.'
He pulled away from the comfort of Megan's arms. 'It is not the same,' he said harshly.
'You are afraid.'
He was afraid that the climax she had given him would never be repeated.
He was afraid of losing what little masculinity he retained.
'It is unnatural,' he grated.
Why didn't she see that it was unnatural?
'Muhamed, satisfaction is not unnatural. What
'They laughed,' he said harshly.
'I would never laugh at you.'
No, Megan wouldn't laugh at him.
Gently, he withdrew from her and stood up, bones creaking, knees aching.
Megan grabbed a pillow. Dropping it to the floor, she kneeled in front of him.
He stared down at the top of her head; her braid hung down her back. She looked like a schoolgirl.
Her hands that wrapped around him did not belong to a schoolgirl; they belonged to a woman.
Fire danced along his verge, the caress of her fingers.
Glancing up, she caught his gaze. 'This is for me, too, Muhamed. I've never had the opportunity to touch a man's body. I will always treasure the fact that you trust me enough to let me do this.'
Head lowering, she circumvented his response by the simple expedient of taking him into her mouth.
He wished he could see her face.
He wished he could hold her body.
His groin tightened.
He blindly grabbed-a woman had such a vulnerable neck-and felt the laving of her tongue deep inside, as if his member did not stop at his pubis, but wound up inside him.
She suckled him.
He slid his thumbs up, simultaneously feeling the hot suction of her mouth and the muscles in her jaws rhythmically contract, expand, contract, expand.
There was pleasure in having a woman suckle a man's member, but there was also uncertainty. In a woman's mouth, he was entirely at her mercy.
She could hurt him, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.
Had she felt this same sense of vulnerability when he had taken her into his mouth and suckled her? he briefly wondered.
Did all women feel this sense of vulnerability when a man took them-whether with fingers or verge-and they were entirely at his mercy?
Had Megan felt this vulnerability?
Lungs sucking in air, he threw his head back, his whole world reduced to Megan's lips, Megan's tongue, and the sharp threat of Megan's teeth.
He was melting, yet he had never felt more hard.
A gentle pressure nudged his thighs. His heart jumped-in anticipation, in dread.
He did not want what she offered.
He wanted to be like other men, to take his release as other men took theirs.
Trust her, she had said.
He had never trusted anyone, not since he was thirteen.
How could he trust this woman?
How could he
He parted his legs.
She found him, prodded him. Her finger was slippery wet- from her own body?
He squeezed his eyelids together, emotions roiling, muscles clenching. Denying her access. Denying the unbidden thrill of pleasure her touch engendered, probing for entry.
She would not be denied.
He gasped, feeling her become a part of him. And gasped again when she found the gland he had spoken of.
A bolt of lightning shot down his spine and out of his verge. Light flashed behind his eyelids; voices echoed inside his ears.
The son of his heart:
The woman he had loved:
Megan, the woman who through her selflessness was demonstrating that he knew nothing of love, and never had: /
He gritted his teeth to hold back the pressure that squeezed his chest and overflowed into his throat.
This was all he had ever wanted.
A woman who would not cringe at his body, as he cringed from it.
A woman who would take what he could give her, and not belittle him for what he could not give her.
