Royal Families Vs. Historicals. Rebecca Winters

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СКАЧАТЬ let his exploration continue downward, stopping at the patch of curls between her thighs. He was shaking. From the inside out. Faced now with the full brunt of the desire he had spent fifteen years suppressing.

      He was not stone. He was a man. A man who greatly desired the woman before him. Desire such as this had been stripped from him, a necessity for his survival he had told himself. A necessity for his mission.

      Protection. Against corruption, against distraction.

      But now, with Olivia before him, all he could think was that he had been missing a part of himself, and it had been returned to him.

      He almost feared touching her. Fear that he could not meet the need within her. That the need within her did not match his own. That he lacked the skill to bring her to satisfaction.

      He knew he lacked skill. All he had was desire.

      So he would give her that. All of it. Everything within him.

      He pushed his fingers lower, and she gasped as he met with slick flesh. Her knees fell open, allowing him greater access. Heat rose in his face, his breath coming in hard, short bursts, his heart beating so hard he feared it might burst from his chest. He fought to maintain his control, to ignore the ache building between his own thighs.

      He stroked her gently, closing his eyes and letting the pages of the book fill the space in his mind. He did exactly as those pages had instructed him to, touching her just where they had said. Using the evidence of her desire to ease the motions. She made sharp, soft noises, her stomach pitching with each breath. She raised her hips off the bed, pressing herself more firmly into his touch.

      “Please,” she whispered, “Tarek, please.”

      He didn’t know what she was asking for. His mind went blank, the instructions he had placed there dissolving like sand through an hourglass.

      She lowered her hand, placing it over his, pushing his hand down farther, pressing his fingertip into the entrance of her body. He looked up, meeting her gaze. Her eyes were bright, the color in her cheeks high. She pressed her hips into his touch yet again, and he answered her silent request, pushing his finger deep inside her.

      A harsh, raw sound was wrenched from her lips and he withdrew from her, afraid he had done something wrong.

      “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t stop.”

      She put her hand back over his, guiding him back to where he’d been.

      He reclaimed his position, continuing to stroke her gently with his thumb as he entered her again.

      She let out a shivering breath, his name on her lips. It struck him in the chest like an arrow, warmth spreading outward like blood. Arousal such as this felt like an injury. So acute it was almost pain. But beneath that, a deep, unending pleasure unlike anything he’d ever known. He knew the ultimate goal of something like this was climax, and yet he found he wished to delay it for as long as possible. Wanted to extend the exploration of Olivia.

      She continued to work her hips along with his motions, and he didn’t stop. Because she didn’t ask him to. He simply watched her, watched and tried to match his rhythm to her own, to learn her. Because she was teaching him, with each breath, each sound, each gentle roll of her hips.

      He slid his thumb back and forth over the bundle of nerves he’d been teasing and a gasp shook her body, her internal muscles pulsing around him, her entire being trembling.

      He knew what that was. He had read about it.

      And he had helped her achieve it.

      Satisfaction that surely rivaled any orgasm broke over him.

      At the same time his pride roared around inside him like a beast, a sense of overwhelming humility overtook him. His hands, these hands that had endured so much pain and caused so much pain, had done that to her.

      He was not worthy of the gift.

      Her eyes opened again, a sleepy look in them now. “You didn’t even kiss me.”

      He withdrew from her body, leaning over and pressing his mouth to hers. It was slow, exploratory, and he allowed her to lead now. She cupped his face, her soft hand resting on his cheek. She shifted, bringing her body into full contact with his.

      She lifted her head, a half smile on her lips, and then she lowered her hand, pressing her palm to his hardened arousal. “I think it’s your turn.”

      She curled her fingers around him through the fabric of his pants, heat cracking over him like a whip. And he couldn’t pretend this was all about her anymore. These appetites had always seemed a weakness to him. A part of his brother’s corruption; a part of man’s corruption. And yet, he could feel no corruption here in this.

      Not here in this room that had become their sanctuary. No one else was invited; no one else and nothing else could gain a foothold here. A storm could be raging outside and the two of them would never know, shielded here, buffeted by the thick walls of the palace. This concerned only the two of them, and for the first time he understood that corruption crept in when the door was left open. But with it closed now, barred, in their own private refuge, he felt he was gathering strength rather than losing it.

      That in fact, this might be the safest place for him to lose control, so that he might better rebuild it when he was outside these walls.

      He would put up no argument to that conclusion at all. He was incapable.

      He looked down at her, at the gleam in her blue eyes. Wicked, provocative. She squeezed him gently and a wave of desire moved through him.

      He was a man after all. For surely stone could not feel these things. She sat up, getting onto her knees, leaning into him, increasing the pressure of her touch.

      His throat tightened and he swallowed hard, his chest aching. Being stone, he imagined, was in many ways easier than being a man. But a stone could feel no excitement at the touch of Olivia’s hand. And that meant he had no desire for the ease that might come with life as a rock.

      She surprised him then, not going to the closure of his trousers, but to the buttons on his shirt. He stayed motionless while she set about her task. Removing his tie, pushing his jacket to the floor, followed by his shirt. And then her hands went to the closure of his pants. Her movements were deft, certain, as she divested him of the rest of his clothing.

      When he was naked before her, she pressed her palm against him again, her breath hissing through her teeth. He had no idea what expectation females might have of the male body. And he had never had a reason to cultivate modesty. So he found himself now standing before her, not nervous, but assessing.

      A small sound escaped her lips that was akin to a whimper.

      “Tell me your thoughts,” he commanded.

      Perhaps this was not the best time to be talking, but he found that he needed to know what was on her mind. And he had no experience of reading people. Not like this.

      “I’m impressed,” she said, her voice thick, husky. She traced the ridge of his erection with the tip of her finger, her eyes never leaving his. “You are most impressive.”

      “Am I?”

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