"Oh, love, you're so hot, so wet."
Chantelle melted to his words, wrapping her arms around him, kissing him back with a frantic need. That he had spoken in English didn't penetrate, she was so inflamed. And he continued to work his magic, not letting the fever abate for even a moment.
And then suddenly he was lying between her legs and there were no clothes between them. How he had managed it, she didn't know, couldn't recall at all. What had brought her to an awareness of it, she wasn't sure. Perhaps the overall heat of his skin pressed to hers, belly to belly, chest to breast. Perhaps the vulnerability of having her legs parted to accommodate him. Perhaps because he had stopped kissing her for a breathless moment.
But there was no time for panic or fear to take hold. He had only waited for her awareness to crystallize, to see it in her violet eyes, and then he was kissing her again, his tongue plunging deeply. At the same time she felt the exquisite pleasure of his fingers inside her once more ... no, not his fingers this time, but him, that part of him she had feared but feared no more.
Slowly, so slowly he entered her, and with such ease, for she was hot with waiting, moist with needing. There was a fullness unlike his fingers, a tightness that was much more delicious for her knowledge of what it was, and then a strange sensation as if something had popped inside her, not actually hurtful, but startling, then an even greater fullness so deep inside her.
His groan mingled with her own as he continued to kiss her, gently now, but no less passionately. He moved in no other way for a moment, and she didn't mind, savoring this new feeling, knowing instinctively that there would be more. And there was. When his hips began a slow thrusting against her, her heartbeat seemed to pick up the same tempo, accelerating as he did, faster and faster, until she was jolted with a thunderbolt of liquid sensation so extreme she cried out, her arms tightening around him as he gathered her even closer, his own pulsating climax joining hers.
Chapter Thirty-three
Chantelle had drifted into a wondrous limbo where no thoughts could intrude, just a surfeit of feelings, all of them nice. Skin to skin tingling, a pleasant weight, a moist heat at her breasts, a slow heartbeat in her loins, so nice. She could have stayed like that indefinitely, if Jamil hadn't started to tease, drawing circles around a nipple with his tongue, then blowing cool air on it until it puckered into a hard little nub.
This surge of feeling, though still pleasant, wasn't quite so relaxing. It seemed to force Chantelle's hands to that head above her breasts to bring the warm mouth back to her nipple.
"So you are awake?"
She smiled dreamily as he now began to suckle very gently. "I wasn't sleeping."
Her fingers delved into his hair, marveling at the baby-fine feel of it. He was lying on her, with his belly pressed into her groin. Finally realizing that sent a sweet sensation curling through her.
Suddenly a hand cupped each breast, and his chin rested between them. "Are you angry with me, little moon?"
She raised an arm to support her head so she could look at him. Angry? Was he serious?
"Do I look angry?"
"I took advantage of you."
Her lips twitched upward a tad. "Did you?"
"I believe you were sure this would not happen unless we were in my bed."
"Aren't we in your bed?"
He grinned at her. "You see my point."
"Very well, so you took advantage of me."
"And you liked it?"
"Will you have me drawn and quartered if I don't give the right answer?" A squeeze to each breast made her forget about teasing him. "Yes, you conceited man. Is that what you want to hear?"
His smile nearly melted her heart. "Do you know how much pleasure it gives me, to know you belong solely to me?"
"I might, if you belonged solely to me as well." After a moment, the blush spread up her cheeks. God, where had that come from? "What I mean—"
"No, I won't let you take it back," he interrupted with a chuckle. "I was right. You English cannot share, can you?"
Whether she could share or not, she didn't share his humor now. "If you mean we believe in one man for one woman, yes, indeed, we do," she snapped. "But a man who possesses nearly fifty women wouldn't understand that!"
"Are you jealous, little moon?"
"Certainly not!"
''Then why should it bother you, how many women I own?"
"It's indecent!"
"By your standards. By mine, the number is actually quite small."
She couldn't argue about that, not when his very religion sanctioned bigamy for the men of this country. He would never understand her views, and would ignore them anyway, so why waste her breath? But it infuriated her, honest to God it did, that his faithlessness was a matter of course here, but heaven forbid if one of his women should even be looked at by another man.
"I think," she said with stiff hauteur, "that I should return to the harem."
"Now you are angry with me."
"Not at all," she insisted, though the tight set of her lips put the lie to her words. "I was only anticipating your wishes, since I was told that when you've finished with one of your women, you send her away immediately."
How she had dared to say that, when everything else Vashti had told her about this first time had proved untrue, Chantelle didn't know. And Jamil apparently didn't like what he was hearing either. His hands tightened on her unconsciously as he leaned backward, and his expression turned dark and ominous.
"Who told you such a thing?"
Chantelle's irritation withered under that tone. She might not like Vashti, and had even more reason not to like her now that she knew the girl had deliberately lied to her, but she wouldn't wish Jamil's anger and retribution on anyone, knowing full well what forms of punishment he could so casually have administered.
"What does it matter?" she evaded.
"Who?"
"I don't recall."
His eyes narrowed even more at her stubbornness. "And what else were you told?"
"Nothing," and then more firmly, "Really." But she might as well have saved her breath.
"Things to make you fear me?" he guessed correctly. "Who do I have to thank for prolonging my frustration? Who was assigned to instruct you?"
She knew he could find out easily without her telling him. If he was going to be furious with anyone, it might as well be with her. Vashti's lies had not accounted for all her fears, after all.
"You're wrong, your highness." She reverted to formality, their intimate position forgotten for the moment. "Nothing that was told to me could have made me fear you more than your own actions had done."
"You still think I would hurt you?" he demanded, more in amazement than in anger.
"You're hurting me now," she replied quietly.
He finally became aware of the flesh he was squeezing in his agitation and released her breasts, instantly contrite. But she didn't give him a chance to apologize.
"However," she continued, "that was still not the cause of my reluctance to share your bed. I was raised to believe that no virtuous woman would give her virginity to any man other than her lawful husband. To do otherwise would cause shame and ruin."
"I am your lawful master."
"That doesn't matter."
"The only man available to you, Shahar, the same as a husband to you."
"No, not the same. You bought me. You didn't marry me."
"You want me to marry you?"
She was appalled by the very idea. "And be your fourth wife? No!"
She was further appalled to realize too late that she had just insulted him in the worst way. But thankfully, he chose not to take offense, saying only, "So there is yet another reason for this reluctance of yours to make love with me?"
She glanced away before replying in a tiny voice, "It made it—final, my enslavement."
His own voice softened in understanding. "It became inevitable the day you were captured, Shahar. Surely you did not delude yourself otherwise.
"
"Until it actually happened, there was still hope. You have a large harem filled with beautiful women. And since you rarely enter it, you could easily have forgotten about me."
He smiled, turning her face back to him with a hand on her cheek. "You are not the type of woman who can ever hope for obscurity, little moon. A man has only to gaze on you once to never forget you. Don't you know that?"
She shook her head. "By your standards, my body is much too thin to be found attractive."
A teasing light entered his eyes. "You might be lacking in padding, but what you have is everything that I could want."
"You don't want me to put on weight?"
"I want you to remain just as you are."
"Then if I do put on weight, you won't want me anymore?''
He chuckled, following the direction of her thoughts. "I could have sworn I heard you say you liked what we just did. Or have you perhaps forgotten so quickly that you no longer have your virginity to protect?"
She blushed, for she had indeed forgotten for the moment that that monumental transformation had occurred to change everything, especially her outlook. How she felt about it she wasn't quite sure yet. But one thing was disconcerting. She hadn't expected to enjoy it so completely. But it was foolish of her to admit liking it, especially to him. The man had her at enough disadvantage as it was without giving him that, too.
Having gone from satisfied languor to anger to dejection to confusion was also disconcerting. She wanted nothing more than to leave so she could be alone to think more clearly about her loss. She certainly couldn't think clearly with Jamil still settled comfortably between her legs. Why was she still here? That he slept with only his wives was not one of Vashti's lies, but fact that she had heard from numerous sources. Of course, he didn't appear to be ready to sleep.
"You have become pensive, little moon." His voice drew her gaze back to those probing emerald eyes. "I will not allow you to regret your surrender."
His arrogance was almost amusing. "You might own my body, your highness, but my feelings are still at my own command."
"Are they? And your senses, are they at your command, too?"
He dipped his head to suck a nipple into the warm recesses of his mouth. Chantelle closed her eyes as the delicious thrill traveled from her breast to her belly, and from there to her loins. The other breast was given the same thorough attention, until her fingers moved into his hair, answering his question more plainly than words.
Abruptly he left her, only to scoop her up into his arms and carry her to his bed. The momentary respite to her senses brought her out of her daze long enough so that the bed beneath her triggered a memory, and she immediately glanced behind her. How could she have forgotten about his guards? But the hot flush didn't have time to spread. The wall behind his bed was empty.
"Where are your mutes?" she asked as she looked back at Jamil and then gasped, finding him staring down at her, his eyes slowly traveling the length of her body.
"Banished to the garden in deference to your modesty."
He himself was playing havoc with her modesty, since he spoke without ending his slow perusal of her body. That same modesty forbade her a like examination of him. Though he stood beside the bed in full view of her, her eyes wouldn't move below his chin.
"Am—am I to understand you aren't finished with me yet?"
Even that question didn't bring his eyes back to hers. "Oh, no, little moon," he said with feeling. "How could you think that? Such frustration as you have caused me will take a long time appeasing."
"I find this frustration you keep expounding on hard to believe when you have so many women available to you."
It was her terse tone that finally got his attention. He smiled and joined her on the bed, stretching out next to her so that she felt the heat of his body along her entire side. One hand cupped her cheek and slid up into her hair to bring her mouth to his for a disturbingly gentle kiss.
"You think another could put out the fire you ignited?" His lips moved on to the side of her neck, ending by her ear, causing an explosion of hot, liquid pleasure that shot clear to her toes. "I have been able to think of no one but you since my eyes first beheld you. How then could I invite another to my bed, Shahar? Only you would do."
She chose to believe him, because those words were as inflaming as the tongue delving into her ear. Once more all thoughts deserted her as she gave herself up to the pleasure of his touch.
Chapter Thirty-four
"Do you mind if I join you?''
Chantelle shrugged without raising her cheek from the heated marble slab. "Not at—" Her head snapped up, for that was her own language she had heard, clear and precise. "Are you from England, too?"
It was Jamila, one of the other five ikbals, who unselfconsciously opened her robe and lay down next to Chantelle on the warm marble shelf in the center of the communal chamber. She was naked beneath the robe, and her full, young breasts jutted out as she anchored herself on both elbows. That Chantelle was just as naked beneath her robe to enjoy the heat was precisely why she wouldn't assume that position.
"I thought someone would have told you," Jamila said with a smile. "My family is from Gloucester, though I was pretty much raised in London."
"No, no one mentioned it. I thought Rahine was the only other Englishwoman here. Why didn't you say something when you came to visit me the other day with Lady Sheelah?"
"It was Sheelah who taught me to speak Turkish, but it's taken me so long to learn that she still insists I speak nothing else until I get it right. She's so patient with me, but I was never very good at languages. My French teacher almost despaired of me."
"But this is wonderful, to hear the mother tongue again. I'm so glad—" Chantelle flinched. "I don't mean that I'm glad you're here. I wouldn't wish this enslavement on anyone."
"No, I understand. I was sorry to see you arrive, and for the same reason."
"How long have you been here?"
"Not long, really. Just over six months. I was the last woman to enter the harem until you arrived. And there was such a row over that, I thought surely there wouldn't be any others. Everyone thought so, too, which was why you were such a surprise."
"A row?"
"Oh, yes." Jamila grinned, remembering. "I can laugh about it now, but I was terrified at the time. The Dey was so furious with his mother, he didn't even wait until they were alone to chastise her, but came right into the harem to do it. I was sure I would be sold again or worse."
"But why should you be sold again if he bought you? What was he angry about?"
"He didn't buy me. Lalla Rahine did." And then Jamila frowned. "I thought you knew. The Dey hasn't bought a woman for himself in five years, not since he came to realize how much Sheelah meant to him. More than half the women here have been given to him or purchased by his mother. It was when she bought me that he finally laid down the law and told her absolutely no more." She giggled. "He's not like those other Turks and Arabs who think the more the merrier. He actually exhausts himself to assure that none of his women are neglected for any great length of time. So you can see why he might be upset to find his harem growing any larger.''
Chantelle refrained from snorting at that observation. What was she doing here, then, if he didn't want any more women to wear him out? She recalled their first encounter and how he had seemed so indifferent to her. If he had stayed like that, she could understand what Jamila had told her. But there was last week. There was last night. There were his words that she had believed and still did, that he hadn't made love to any of his other women since he'd first seen her.
Yes, last night. He hadn't let her go until the dawn, and neither of them had slept at all during the long hours of the night. She had lost count of how many times they had made love, how many times his voice and touch had stirred the embers that he never quite let die out. She had returned to her rooms to sleep the morning away, exhausted, but with a contentment she hadn't tried to analyze yet. She still had
n't really thought about it, preferring to savor a while what she was feeling before she picked it apart to understand why she wasn't upset or even a little disappointed at her own easy surrender.
"You can understand why there's so much speculation since he's bought you," Jamila continued, playing with a lock of her dark brown hair, flicking it against her cheek and lips. "Everyone's wondering if he simply couldn't resist you or if your coming signifies a change, that there'll be more after you to fill the ranks."
Chantelle was not about to consider that when there were so many other, more important questions she was avoiding. A change of subject was in order.