Devil's Daughter (Devil 2)

She obeyed him.

It was an invasion, relentless but oddly exciting. He probed her mouth, touching her tongue, until she was gasping for breath.

He raised his head and smiled down at her. He ran his fingers along the line of her jaw, back to circle her ears and pull the hair from her face. He looked thoughtful as he smoothed her hair on the pillow, forming a cloud of gold about her face. “Let’s try again,” he said. He lowered his face and this time she didn’t start at the touch of his mouth. She parted her lips this time without instruction from him and felt a jolt of warmth surge in her belly at the touch of his tongue. He said, his warm breath filling her mouth, “Think of me coming into you as my tongue does into your mouth.”

“You can’t,” she whispered. “You’re too large. You will hurt me.” She felt his body shudder at her words. He stretched beside her, and she felt him pressed against her thigh. “No, you can’t.”

“Hush,” he said. “I am as other men. You know I won’t hurt you.”

Kamal rose upon his elbow to look down at her. She lay very still, her eyes dark as midnight upon his face, deep and questioning.

“Your coloring is fascinating,” he said, stroking his fingertip lightly over her dark eyebrows. “Golden hair, ivory flesh, and eyes as dark as a man’s deepest secrets.”

Slowly his fingers roved down her throat to unfasten the small line of buttons on the flimsy jacket. She raised her hand as if to stop him, then let it fall again to her side.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered.

“Have your other men hurt you? You may be certain that I shall not.”

“You don’t understand,” she began, only to draw in a sharp breath at the touch of warm air against her bare flesh. She turned her face inward to his chest, to hide her embarrassment. She heard a quick intake of breath, and knew that he was staring at her breasts.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, and his voice seemed to come from a great distance. She felt his hand cup her breast, and she jumped. “No, little flower, let me enjoy you.” She stilled, closing her eyes, as if it would blind his vision as well. She felt the strange sensation of her breasts swelling.

“I do not know what—” She felt his mouth close over her, his lips gently tugging at her, his teeth nipping at her flesh, making her shudder, deep, gulping breaths tearing from her throat. He slipped his arm beneath her, arching her back upward to caress her more deeply.

Kamal raised his head and raised soft kisses on her face as his hands caressed her breasts. To Arabella’s surprise, she heard herself moan. Her eyes flew open and she saw a gleam of triumph in his eyes.

“Please,” she whispered, “do not shame me.”

He laughed softly, and she felt embarrassment hold her rigid. She wanted to strike out at him, and at the same time, her body was trembling, turning toward him. She did not understand herself; she felt her control slipping, her mind becoming vague, her stormy thoughts dissolving.

“I do not want this . . . I do not want you.” She shoved her hands against her chest.

“Do not lie to yourself,” he said, his hand sliding over her ribs down to her belly. “I believe for the first time you are being honest with me.” His fingers pulled at the thin leather belt about her waist. Then the belt was gone and she felt the trousers sliding down her hips. She bucked against him, terrified. He held her firm, throwing a leg over hers to hold her still.

“I will go gently with you. Do not fear me, Arabella. Hush—lie still.” His hand lay quietly in the hollow of her belly. She felt the heat of it searing her, but the ache she had thought building in her abdomen was lower. She tried to bring her thighs together, but his leg kept them slightly apart.

He brought his hand up to hold her face still. He kissed her again, deeply, and when her mouth opened, she accepted him. He sensed it too, and lazily his hand slid down over her breasts, then lower, to rest again upon her stomach.

“Do not be angry, Arabella. Your body accepts me. In but a moment you will moan again, softly, into my mouth.” But even as he spoke, he found himself wondering at her seeming inexperience. Her fingers clutched at his chest and shoulders tentatively, as if she did not know what would please him.

His hand slid lower, but she didn’t moan, rather she gasped aloud at the feel of his fingers probing until they found her.

“Ah,” he murmured, deep satisfaction in his voice.

“You cannot touch me there, please, you must not—”

“Your lovers have been so remiss? That is the very essence of your womanness, Arabella. You are pushing against my fingers. Do you not enjoy my touch?”

“No.” Arabella didn’t understand what was happening to her. There were sharp, almost painful surges that made her legs stiffen, a swirling of need deep within her. The urgent need receded as his fingers left her, and she wanted to cry aloud for him to touch her again. She felt him exploring her, stroking her inner thighs, touching her intimately. She reared up against him when he slipped two fingers inside her. She heard him draw in his breath.

“You are so small,” he said. “I can feel you stretching for my fingers.” He eased out of her and teased her soft flesh before slipping but one finger inside her.

She tried to pull away from him, but he held her still, and gently began to caress her rhythmically. She felt her moistness, felt the urgent need to give herself over to him. She fought herself, fought against losing herself in this man and giving him power over her. She shook her head, tangling her hair about her face, but her hands tugged at his arms, moved wildly over him to knead the muscles in his back.

“Please—oh, God—I cannot bear it.” She felt his fingers as white-hot pleasure, burning into her.

“Tell me you want me, Arabella.”