Darkest Desire (21 page)
Authors: Tawny Taylor
Oddly, it was this little masturbation scene that had given her some hope things would turn out okay. Malek had proved he could be patient, creative, resourceful ... and yet quietly dominant. The end result was her first orgasm in ages. A blastoff-to-the-stars climax that made her toes curl. She was still warm and tingly all over as she lay next to her husband, listening to his slow, even breaths.
A few niggling doubts and questions still remained, but for the most part, the worst of her worries had been laid to rest. She was ready to relax, face the future as it came. For once, she felt the chains tying her to her dark past could be broken. Holloway was still out there somewhere. And she hadn't heard a word from Vasquez in days. But she was safe. Malek was safe. And soon they would be starting a new life together.
Relaxed, she let her dreams carry her off.
20
T
he next morning, Lei left their bedroom feeling a little anxious but also a little excited. Her husbandâwould she ever get used to saying that?âhad already proved himself to be a very clever man. Without laying a hand on her, without speaking, he'd given her the most sensual experience of her life last night. What would his wicked mind come up with next?
he next morning, Lei left their bedroom feeling a little anxious but also a little excited. Her husbandâwould she ever get used to saying that?âhad already proved himself to be a very clever man. Without laying a hand on her, without speaking, he'd given her the most sensual experience of her life last night. What would his wicked mind come up with next?
Because she wanted to feel pretty today and as relaxed as possible, she ran some water for a bath in the master bathroom. As the tub was filling, she went back to the bathroom she'd once called hers, in search of her personal items. But when she returned, arms loaded with all her stuff, she discovered Malek had made himself comfortable. In her full tub.
“Well, I guess I'll wait to take my bath later,” she said, laughing.
His grin was pure evil. “Oh no, you won't.” He scooted toward one end and flipped his head. “Come on in. There's plenty of room.”
There was plenty of room, under normal circumstances. The sunken bathtub was one of those nifty oversized jet tubs, made to accommodate two people, as long as those two people didn't mind touching and weren't the size of a polar bear, like Malek.
“Lei,” Malek lifted an arm, draping it over the tub's edge. “The water's getting cold. This place has an old water heater. If you don't bathe now, you'll be taking a very chilly bath later.”
“Are you even supposed to be taking a bath? What about your stitches?” She set all her bottles and jars and tubes on the counter and, avoiding meeting his gaze, stripped off her bathrobe.
He pointed at the bandages. “They're dry. That's why I didn't fill the tub all the way.” He reached for her hand, holding it and easing her into position in front of him. She sat with her back to him, her legs bent, knees in front of her chest, her butt between his spread thighs.
Malek poured some bath gel into a net pouf and started lathering her back. “Last night, when you were touching yourself, what did you picture in your mind?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” he echoed. The pouf swirled in circles over her back, round and round. It felt so good. “Your mind was blank?”
“I try not to think. If I do, it gets in the way.”
“I see.”
“What about you?” she asked as she let her chin rest on her bent knees.
“My mind wasn't blank, if that's what you mean.”
“What were you visualizing?”
“You.”
Lei's heart jerked.
“I watched your sweet little nipples harden. Your stomach clench. I saw your fingers slide between your slick, swollen tissues to find your clit.”
“You saw all that?” she asked, growing breathless. Her pussy was getting warm. Her blood, too. It was the way he talked, his voice so low and rumbly and masculine. He might talk her into an orgasm.
Before today, she'd gone months, make that years, without coming. She'd thought she might never have an orgasm again. And here she was, panting at just the sound of his words.
“I did,” he said. “And it made me hard.”
An image flashed through her mind, of Malek standing before her, completely nude, rivulets of soapy water glistening on his golden skin. “I ... you have quite an imagination.”
“Yes, I do.” The pouf skimmed along one side of her body, coming close to the side of her breast.
She sucked in a little gasp.
“Did that hurt?”
“No.”
“Good. Now it's my turn.” Before she could ask what he meant, he reached over her shoulder and dropped the pouf into the water.
His legs disappeared from either side of her, and the water started splashing as he repositioned himself. She turned around to find he was now facing the wall. She took one look at his broad back and fished in the water for the lost pouf.
His skin was smooth, a golden tan that suggested he spent a lot of time shirtless in the sun. And under that satin velvet skin rippled bulging, defined muscles that would make most men green with envy.
This was a man who was powerful, strong, maybe even a little dangerous.
He said nothing as she scrubbed his back, working from his broad shoulders down, down, down. He stopped her when she reached the level of his narrow waist. “Your turn again.” Moving quickly, he grabbed the pouf out of her hand. “Don't move.”
Sitting exactly where she was, Lei watched Malek stand up. Water shimmered in the light, emphasizing every curve and bulge of his muscles. Naturally, her gaze went right to his groin when he turned around. His cock, the base covered by coarse black curls, was fully erect. Thick. Long. Lei yanked her gaze away, dropping it to the white frothy water.
He sat, loaded up the pouf with more fragrant gel, and said, “I'm going to wash your front now.”
She closed her eyes and nodded.
“Open your eyes, Lei.”
She didn't want to, but she did it.
His I'm-going-to-eat-you-alive smile was gone, replaced with an expression that was much less threatening. He reached out, centering the pouf on her chest, just below her chin. “Touching isn't always sexual, Lei. Everyone needs to be touched.”
“I know. In my head. But when someone touches me, something clicks inside, and I start to panic.” Her gaze dropped to the water again. It was hard to look at him, to see the wanting in his eyes. He was a man. He had the same needs as any man. As the men who had once paid to own her. “I mean, I've heard about infants dying from lack of human touch. It's frustrating that I can't just get over it and go on with my life.”
“I'm going to help you.” His hand moved in slow, small circles. The scratchy plastic netting abrading her chest, then her shoulder, then the other one. It moved toward the center again. Down between her breasts to her stomach. “This is okay, right?”
“I'm okay.”
It swirled round and round for a while on her stomach, moving up and down. It never reached her breasts and never descended as far as her mound. It stayed in safe territory. Nonsexual territory.
He motioned for her to scoot back a bit, away from him, and extended a hand. “Your leg.”
She did exactly as he asked and lifted a leg. He began at her foot, scrubbing the sole, working his way up toward her thigh. It felt wonderful, and not once did she feel that awful gut-twisting sensation in her belly. Relaxing, she leaned back and closed her eyes.
“Yes, that's it,” he said. “I'm glad to see you're enjoying this.”
“I am. I really am.”
He moved to the other leg without ever reaching too-close-for-comfort territory. “That's exactly what I want to hear.”
“But I worryâ”
“Don't. You know what your problem is? You overthink things. You need to turn off the brain and focus on sensation.”
He was right. Though she'd never realized it before. “Easier said than done. Thinking comes naturally to me.”
“Your eyes are closed. What are you feeling?”
She thought about his question.
“Don't think. Just describe the sensations.”
“Okay. I'm feeling the scratchy netting abrading my skin, making it warm.”
“What else?” he asked.
“I feel your fingers on my calf, your hand supporting my leg.”
“And...?”
“The warm water rippling when you move, caressing my skin.” She inhaled deeply. “And I smell the lavender. In the bath gel.”
“Good. Now you're getting it.”
“And I hear water dripping. The echo of my voice against the tile.” She licked her lips. “And I taste soap.”
“Now, how do you feel?”
Again, she started thinking.
“No, don't think about your answer. Describe how you feel.”
“I feel warm and wet. My body feels heavy. My heart is beating slowly, the pulse thumping through my head. Content. Happy.”
A soft splash told her he'd dunked the pouf into the water again. But it didn't return to her leg. His hand did. It skimmed up, from her ankle, over her shin, to her knee.
“How do you feel?” he asked again.
“A little less relaxed,” she admitted, aware of the muscles in her leg tensing.
“What do you feel?” he asked as his hand inched a little higher.
“A hand moving slowly up my leg. Over my knee.”
“What else?”
“My muscles tightening. Calf. Foot. Thigh.”
His voice was smooth and deep, calming, soothing. “Relax your feet. Your legs. Your arms. Your face.” As he said each body part, she focused on it, loosening the muscles. “Yes, that's the way.” His hand inched higher. It skimmed her lower thigh. “Relax your stomach. Your back. Your chest. Breathe in, out. Slowly.”
She did exactly as he said, and the little bit of tension that had started to wind through her body melted away. To her utter amazement, a very different kind of tension began coiling deep inside her body, the good kind. “Wow,” she whispered.
“What is it?” His hand stopped, his fingers a few precious inches from the flesh that was warming between her legs.
“Don't stop.” Again, she focused on what she felt, the pulse beating in her neck, the almost imperceptible caress of the water, the sweet scent of lavender. The smell of his skin. Her husband. Hers.
She reached out, covered his hand with hers, and eased it between her thighs. A rush of erotic heat blazed through her body the instant his fingers grazed her labia. She gulped in a shallow breath.
Disjointed images flashed through her mind. Ugly. Horrid. She shoved them out and focused on the pleasure of his intimate touch. Using her fingers, she moved his, making his index finger slip between her labia to find her clit. A hard tremble shook her.
“There,” she whispered. “They never touched me there.” She moved her hand away and parted her legs for him.
His touches were soft at first, little flicks back and forth, up and down. They sent mini storms of white-hot pleasure zinging through her body like electricity. Her nerves jumped. Her muscles clenched. It was delicious.
He added a second finger, slowly sliding in and out of her pussy, knuckle scraping that special spot that made her toes curl. In and out, in and out it went. The other one danced over her clit. Together, they sent pulses of wanting through her body. She was getting hot. Too hot. Too tight. She wanted more. She wanted to be filled.
“Malek, I need you.” She heard the desperation in her own voice.
He scooped her out of the water as if she were weightless, and both dripping wet, rushed out of the room, back to the bed. As he laid her on the mattress, she lifted her eyes to his.
He was staring down at her with such raw emotion the sight nearly took her breath away.
She lifted her arms to him. “Hold me. Like a man who loves his wife.”
He crawled onto the mattress and hauled her into his arms. For the first time in many months, an embrace didn't feel like an entrapment. It felt wonderful. It felt safe. A warm cocoon. A sanctuary.
She'd come to associate all touches with the horror she'd endured those many months she'd spent in slavery. But now, she could feel the difference. Not all touches were the same. Malek's touches weren't the same. His were healing. His soothed her soul.
She slid her arms around his waist and hugged him with all her might. She turned her face, nuzzling the crook of his neck while one of his hands skimmed up and down her back in a slow, steady rhythm.
Could it be this simple? That she'd be healed so easily? Just from the power of an embrace?
God, she hoped so.
He cupped her chin, lifting it. Her gaze followed. From his neck to his adorable chin. To his kissable lips. To the straight blade of his nose. Over to the hollow line of his cheekbone. And finally up to his eyes.
“Say the words, my wife. Tell me you're ready, and we'll complete the vows we spoke yesterday.”
“I want to belong to you. Only you,” she whispered. “You are my sanctuary.”
He kissed her.
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