Virgin Seduction

muttered groggily, 'Who told you that?' Whoever it had been, in his heart he was vowing there and then to make that person a liar.

'Salma. When I was very small she was my nanny. Now she is my very dear friend. And she gave me something to help soothe the pain…a special recipe of herbs and oils. She said it is from her grandmother.'

Herbs and oils? He was beginning to get The Arabian Nights feeling again. That sense of unreality grew more encompassing as he listened to the muffled thump of his heart…heard his own voice as if through layers of wool. Carefully, trying not to smile, he said, 'And you… brought this magic stuff with you?'

'Yes, of course-I have it right here, in my bag.' And lithe as an otter she twisted under him, rolling onto her stomach as she stretched an arm to reach for her overnighter.

He barely knew when she opened it and began to rummage through its contents. Raised on one elbow, he gazed at her body…the pale, curving shape of it against the darker bedspread…and paler still the narrow stripe across her back…the triangle that barely succeeded in covering the rounded mounds of her bottom. He was thinking about himself in just that position, the treatment she'd put him through…his terrifying vulnerability, the exquisite sensations…his overwhelming arousal.

She gave a soft 'Hah!' of triumph and held up a bottle, graceful in shape and iridescent in color. But before she could roll back to him, he growled, 'Not so fast,' and with a hand on the small of her back, pinned her there on her belly. In a moment he was kneeling astride her thighs, bending over to whisper in her ear, 'Now it's my turn…'

Though the pain of desire, the pressure of his arousal as merciless as before, now his mind, at least, was clear. He felt in control again, of himself and of circumstances. Confidence surged like a drug through his veins. He felt light-headed with his power over her, and at the same time he quivered inside with tenderness.

Oh, so gently, because he knew from firsthand experience how helpless and vulnerable she must be feeling, he drew the silken skein of her hair away from her face and neck, pausing to trace, with a delicacy he'd never known he possessed, the outline of her ear. He heard her exhale as he brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, and felt the tickle of her lashes as she closed her eyes.

He straightened, then, and deftly unhooked the fastening of her bra, and with his fingers fanned outward like a moth's wings drew his thumbs downward along her spine, acquainting her with his touch. Her skin felt hot and smooth, as if she had a fever.

He eased the bottle from her curled fingers and opened it, then held the bottle to his nose. The fragrance was exotic…mysterious…intoxicating…all the things he associated with her. It filled his head with images… impressions…memories…of sun-drenched gardens heavy with the scent of roses, of laughing fountains and brightly colored birds, and of a black-haired princess with a winsome, dimpled smile.

Setting aside the cap, he poured a small pool of oil into the valley between her shoulderblades. He began to spread it over her body, working like a master sculptor, kneading and molding, sometimes with his fingers, sometimes with his whole hands, utterly engrossed in the artistry of her body, the utter perfection of her muscles, the way they arranged themselves so beautifully over her bones. The clever symmetry of her spine…

She wasn't as relaxed as she seemed. She stirred when he eased himself backward, fingers reaching under the lacy top of her underpants.

'Fair's fair,' he whispered as very slowly he peeled them over the rise of her bottom, and forgot to breathe as he watched with a schoolboy's fascination this final unveiling of her nakedness. He moved to her side at last in order to shuck her panties the rest of the way off, and felt her spine contract when he leaned over to kiss, like one bestowing a benediction, the matched set of indentations just where the firm resilience of muscle began.

With upmost care, and marshaling all the self-control he had left, he poured oil into the gentle valley at her waist. Then began to spread it downward…down her sides, over the smooth mounds of her buttocks to the backs of her thighs. He poured more oil and with it slipped his fingers into the cleft between her buttocks, gauging minutely her response to this first invasion of her body's most private places.

Her breathing grew quick and distressed. She stirred again, and it was instinct, perhaps, that made her move her legs a little apart. He lay beside her, then, stretching his body all along hers and raising himself on one elbow so he could murmur assurances to her as he caressed her. She tried to turn her face toward him, searching… seeking…but he pressed his face against the side of hers to keep her still and kissed her ear, and then her neck. She gasped and squirmed closer to him, but didn't try again to turn.

And then he soothed her with kisses and wordless sounds while he slipped his oiled fingers between her thighs and penetrated for the first time her virgin softness.

She was tight…so tight…breathing in little pants and whimpers, but not, he knew, with pain. Gently, he withdrew, then penetrated once again, then again, easing farther into her body each time. The oil and her own moisture made it easy. Her skin was hot where it lay along his, her hair damp with sweat and musky with her own unique, exotic scent. His heart pounded wildly, giddily, as he brought his open mouth to her nape and immersed himself in the heat and smell of her…as he pushed deeper, and yet deeper into her body. And when he had penetrated her as far as he could in that way, he heard her give a sharp little cry-more surprised than frightened- and felt her flesh contract and pulse around his finger. He held her so gently, housing her safely in his hand, soaking himself in her heat, and his own body was shot through with ripples and shudders-of pleasure, and other emotions even more bewildering.

Presently, when her body had quieted, she turned her face again-not toward him, this time, but downward, as if she wanted to hide from him. With her arms drawn in under her she spoke in a muffled voice to the bedspread. 'Cade, I am sorry. I did not mean for that to happen…I do not know why-I could not help it. Such a thing has never happened to me before.'

Please, oh please, he thought, just let me do this right.

With careful gravity, he said, 'No, probably not. What you felt, Princess, was an orgasm.' He paused. Then, letting a smile leak into his voice, he added, 'A small one.'

She lifted her head to stare at him, half her face veiled behind the midnight fall of her hair. 'Really? Is this true? I did not know it would feel like that. I have read about this in books, but-'

'Books?' It was such a relief to laugh. 'Where in the world did you get hold of a sex book?' There were obviously unplumbed depths to this princess of his.

'In boarding school, one of the girls had one. I think she was French. We used to look at it at night under the blankets with a flashlight.' She looked down, catching her lip and dimpling at remembered mischief. Then she brought her eyes back to him and in that feeble light he caught the tiny movements of her swallow, the quivering of her mouth. 'But it is impossible to know from reading a book how something will feel.'

He lifted his hand, slipped it under her hair and gently cupped her cheek. 'I don't know, either, how it feels for you,' he said softly. 'I only know how it feels for me.'

She tipped her head, resting it in the cradle of his hand as her eyes clung to his face. 'It must feel very, very good for you, then.'

'Oh, yeah…' The words vibrated under his sternum like a tiger's purr.

Her lips quivered again, this time with a smile that flickered out before it could reach her dimples, then vanished when she turned her lips into his palm. 'I want you to have this feeling,' she said huskily as her eyes drifted closed.

'Oh, I will, don't worry about that.' Again, the laughter felt good to him.

'And…you must not be afraid of hurting me.'

For a moment he was silent, struggling with emotions new to him and words he didn't know how to say. He'd been enjoying the interlude; it was new to him, this quiet intimacy wrapped in a cocoon of almost-darkness, with his mind at least temporarily at peace and his body like a pressure cooker on slow simmer. He'd been in no hurry to have it end, using those moments to marshal his strength and shore up his sagging self-control. Because he knew, as she didn't, that she was nowhere near ready for him, not if he was going to have a prayer of keeping the promise he made to her then, in a fierce and determined growl, 'I'm not going to hurt you, Princess.'

She gave a patient, acquiescing sigh. He allowed her to turn onto her back then, and his eyes to feast on the banquet of feminine beauty he'd only seen, before tonight, camouflaged in the modestly elegant clothes she always wore. Camouflaged now by the darkness, allowing him veiled hints of creamy mounds and dusky hollows, of purple- rose areolas and an ink-black triangle, kitten-soft above the juncture of her thighs. Hungry for more, he was reaching for the flashlight when she spoke, raising herself up on her elbows.