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“Oh, aralye,” Sarkin whispered, his brow furrowed. We were almost at eye level with me sitting in his lap, and I saw the exquisite, maddening ecstasy there. It almost appeared as if he was in pain as he tried to control himself.
“What does aralye mean?” I asked, something I’d wondered but never had the courage to ask. Not until this moment, when he was seated deep inside me, our walls down briefly.
His eyes were so dark they looked black. I could see myself in their reflection.
“Sweetling,” he murmured, brushing a kiss over the bridge of my nose before trailing it across my cheekbone to my ear. “Darling.”
“Oh,” I breathed.
I rocked over his cock, and he hissed. His lips returned, and when he kissed me, it was hard but consuming. Perfection.
His lips were a distraction, his wandering touch lighting me on fire. When he slid deep, I jerked, feeling him hit a spot inside me that made little stars spark in my vision as his dakke pressed to my clit.
“Right there,” Sarkin rasped, a bead of perspiration falling down the side of his face.
I didn’t know what possessed me, but I licked at it, tasting the saltiness, wanting everything he could give me as he stoked the burning embers between us.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his eyes on my lips. He kissed me again, this time more wildly, and his body jerked with his increased pace. “On Muron’s blood, you drive me to madness, wife.”
I found my own pace even as I explored his body. There was an urgency to our lovemaking, but there was also a patience to it. I took my time, stroking over scars and muscles as he was relentless with his teeth-clattering thrusts, sliding deep every single time. I touched his hair, brushed over his lips. He nipped at the tip of my thumb, watching me with that strained, intense expression, creating a new fire between my thighs.
He leaned forward, kissing and biting at my shoulder. His hands tightened on my hips, lifting me off him slightly so he could control the pace and the power of his thrusts completely.
Helpless and suspended, I gasped, wrapping my arms around his neck, like I was trying to hang on as he unleashed himself. Unleashed his power and desire and the rising frustration of the last few days. The uncertainty between us.
Maybe sex is the answer, I couldn’t help but think. I felt more co
His dakke kept hitting my clit, making me thrash and moan in his arms. When his speed increased and he ground his hips against me, I felt my legs tighten around him and I held my breath for a brief moment.
Familiar heat exploded at my core, rippling and extending out like waves to every part of my body. I cried out, digging my nails in his shoulders, and he captured that scream with his lips.
Into our kiss, he growled, “Going to make me come, Klara.”
“Come,” I begged. “I want to feel it.”
That was all the warning I got. A violent breath rushed out of him, heaving his shoulders. His desperate groan felt like a victory as his hips jerked against me. He emptied himself into my clenching heat.
When it was over, I felt his cock throb and pulse inside me. He shuddered, our ragged breaths becoming one as we tried to catch them. We didn’t move for a long time…him seated deep inside as his cock softened. Me with my face pressed to his neck, breathing him in. I felt our heartbeats flicker against each other.
Sarkin sighed, relaxing. A contented sigh. I stroked his shoulder, thinking it wasn’t so bad to be married to someone you barely knew. Learning about each other would come with time. We couldn’t fake this. This need.
“Did I hurt you?” came his question.
“No,” I whispered. I wanted to smile. I felt lethargic and drunk off our lovemaking.
Gently, Sarkin lifted me, untangling my legs from around his waist. He laid me back on the furs, hovering over me. His lips parted, a sharp huff escaping him when he pulled out from me. I bit my lips, feeling sensitive but content.
Sarkin rose, and my gaze flicked up the perfect statue of his body. All hard lines and smooth flesh, he could have been created by an expert sculptor.
He observed me, ru
“Gods,” he rasped.
“I thought you didn’t believe in any gods,” I teased in a whisper.
He shook his head. “You’re beautiful, Klara. You know that?”
My brow furrowed. I didn’t know why those simple words made me want to cry. No one had ever called me beautiful. Only my mother, when I’d lamented over my scarred face. But I’d certainly never been called beautiful by someone like Sarkin.
What made the back of my throat burn was that I knew he meant it. I could hear the honesty in his voice, the awe.
I’d never expected that from him. Not ever. And I was suddenly glad that I’d pushed when he’d tried to keep me at arm’s length. I was glad I’d stepped across that boundary he’d drawn between us because if I hadn’t, I never would’ve realized this.
“Thank you,” I said. Shyly, I added, “You are too.”
But I was certain that someone like Sarkin would’ve heard that throughout his entire life. He was one of the most handsome males I’d seen. And his mere presence alone was eye-catching and demanding.
His lips quirked at the corners, and he walked toward the back of the dwelling. I heard the splash of water briefly, and when he returned, he crouched between my thighs. There was a soft, damp cloth in his hands, and my lips parted, my cheeks flushing in realization, when he cleaned me off. The gentle way he stroked me made me bite my lip. I was sensitive, my belly sucking in when he teased at my clit.
When he was done, he wiped his softening cock before he returned to the furs, refastening our ankles together, always mindful.
I felt a little shy as I curled against him. His arms came around me. He was warm, his scent comforting and familiar.
“What did you dream of?” he asked as my eyelids began to flutter.
I blinked, some of my sleep escaping me with that single question.
“My mother,” I lied. I didn’t know what to do with the knowledge I’d uncovered in my dream tonight, but I wouldn’t decide right now. “What did you dream of?”
“My mother,” he answered, but his tone invited no extra questions. “Shy’rissa.”
I’m not the only one who hides things, I thought, closing my eyes.