Lord of Desire

With gentle insistence, Jafar turned her to face him. His eyes glowed with a molten intensity as he drew her full and tight against him, his manhood intimately knowing the cradle of her femininity. His boldness drew a startled gasp from her.

"No . . . don't," Alysson said in a breathless plea.

"No? But I won't do anything you don't wish me to do, ma belle." His gleaming golden eyes held amusement, as if he knew he could make her want him.

You will call me master. The day will come when you beg for my caresses.

The promise echoed in Alysson's mind as Jafar bent to her breasts and began a dizzying, lazy seduction.

"I mean to kiss you here," he murmured against her skin, . . . and here . . . and taste you with my tongue . . ." His hot mouth moved in deliberate provocation, teasing, coaxing, arousing. "Don't deny me this pleasure, chirie. Don't deny yourself . . ."

Alysson trembled. With acute dismay, she realized she didn't want him to stop. She wanted him to touch her this way, to kiss her again with tender savagery . . .

Surrendering, she closed her eyes. And when his fingers found that point of hot pleasure that had driven her wild before, she gave a hushed moan and let her head fall back.

That, however, was before he trailed a path of searing kisses down her body and let his mouth replace his hand.

His scandalous action startled a cry of shock and embarrassment from Alysson; her cheeks flamed scarlet as her body gave a sudden jerk, trying to escape.

"Be still, my sweet tigress," Jafar commanded in a husky voice as he caught her flailing hands. He held them at her sides, while his probing kiss invaded her, exploring the yielding, feminine flesh with sure mastery. In only a moment he forced a shuddering moan from her. Then, very slowly, he thrust his tongue into her waiting, honeyed warmth.

Alysson thought she might die of the exquisite pleasure. "No . . ." she whimpered once more, with the last vestiges of reason. "I . . . don't . . . want . . ."

Jafar didn't seem to hear. Instead he laughed. Softly. In arrogant satisfaction. As if he knew her protest was merely to save her pride.

Part Two

Love distills desire upon the eyes, love brings bewitching grace into the heart of those he would destroy. I pray that love may never come to me with murderous intent, in rhythms measureless and wild.

Euripides

Chapter 10

Sunlight filtered beneath the edges of the tent, scattering dreams and flooding consciousness with harsh reality. Alysson groaned and buried her head beneath her pillow. She didn't want to face the morning, yet memories of the scandalous events of last night assaulted her, stimulating emotions that were too humiliating to contemplate.

She had challenged Jafar and lost.

Yet that didn't explain her capitulation. How could she have submitted to Jafar so wantonly? How could she have failed to put up the least resistance? How could she have disHonoréd Gervase so? She felt self-disgust and shame—because she had surrendered so easily, and, more damningly, because she had felt such profound pleasure in Jafar's arms. She wished now that she had never tried to escape, had never given him reason to force the issue of his power over her. She wished . . .

The thought shriveled abruptly as Alysson became aware of a lean finger stroking her bare shoulder. Raising her head, she looked directly into a pair of lazy-lidded golden eyes. They were calmly watching her, glinting, catlike in the gray light.

"Good morning, ma belle," Jafar murmured in a husky voice, the same voice she'd heard whispering endearments and bold persuasions in her ear much of the night.

Alysson shut her eyes tightly. She hadn't dreamed last night. She was lying here naked beneath the blanket, next to Jafar, who was just as naked. Her pride was in tatters, her composure shredded. She wanted to flee, to hide. And yet she couldn't even force herself to move as Jafar trailed his finger languidly along the line of her collarbone.

"There is no need for you to feel shy with me," Jafar

said calmly. "Or to blame yourself. What happened between us was natural . . . and inevitable, as I've told you before."

A flush of hot color rose to her cheeks. He knew exactly how she felt—which made him all the more dangerous. If he could read her mind and predict her reactions, then how much more easily could he bend her to his will?

&n

bsp; "I don't blame myself in the least," Alysson retorted stiffly. "You are entirely responsible for what happened last night."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "If it comforts you to pretend that I forced you against your will, then do so, but we both know differently.''

Deliberately, then, he bent his head. Alysson lay rigid and unmoving as he pressed his lips against the corner of her mouth, then lower, along her throat, brushing aside the hair that tumbled over her naked shoulders to allow him better access. She didn't respond until he drew the blanket down, exposing her breasts to his warm breath.