Genie Knows Best (13 page)

Kal tossed for the eight hundred and twelfth time. Counting had become second nature over the centuries and tonight was no different.

He just hoped he didn’t get to one thousand and one.

Between Berosus’s riddle and Samantha in that towel, he made it to eight hundred and seventeen before he finally got out of bed. Naked, he stretched the aches and stiffness out of his back. He’d fallen asleep for forty-five minutes after relieving himself of pent-up desire. Sadly, that relief had lasted all of about ten minutes. Not even an hour’s reprieve.

If only she’d offer him the lantern and his freedom, he wouldn’t have to suffer like this. He could fly out of here and focus on the rest of his life.

But now all he could focus on was her. He kept visualizing her in that towel. That damn towel. A three-foot-long piece of plain, white cotton fueled his imagination in a way that even the outfit he’d conjured up for her couldn’t. Being with Samantha until this Servitude was over was going to be rough.

That thought—of it being over—socked him in the gut enough to double him over. And before he had a chance to analyze it and try to talk himself out of the logical conclusion he’d eventually come to, something
else
socked him in the gut harder than that thought.

Samantha was crying. It was soft and it was faint, but it was definitely a sob. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Her face must be right there next to the lantern, her lips so close he’d be able to touch them if not for the thin copper between them, but she could have been on the other side of the world for all the good it’d do him.

There was nothing he could do for her. He was stuck inside the lantern. Gods, what had made him think spending the night in here would be a good idea?

When she sobbed again, the wrench in his heart reminded him why—and mocked him at the same time.

Kal strode to the lantern wall and waved his hand, the habit still ingrained despite the fact that his magic hadn’t worked in here in two thousand years. Frustrated, he yanked the pull string on the copper shade that darkened the inside of his prison cell, and it retracted into the slot in the ceiling.

Not exactly a window, this section of his lantern was transparent from the inside, but the special alloy kept those outside from seeing in. Only Dirham’s rainbow paintings created enough light to penetrate to the outer world.

He was seeing anything but rainbows right now.

Samantha’s face, twitching as she fought whatever bad dream she was having, was so close he could almost reach out and stroke her cheek. A tear traced across the bridge of her nose, and Kal put his hand against the cool copper surface, trying to wipe it away.

“Wake up, Sam.”

She sniffled and her tongue wet her lips.

“Samantha! Wake up, sweetheart.” The endearment slipped out, and Kal let himself enjoy it for a moment—until another tear tracked down her cheek. This one she swatted away, her fingers jerking against his lantern, toppling it onto the bed with her.

Kal groaned as he braced himself against the movement. As it was, the beer he’d taken only a few swigs of earlier fell off his bedside table and banged him on the shoulder, frothing all over his bed. Well, he hadn’t been getting much sleep there before; what did it matter now?

She sobbed again.

Kharah!
That was a sound he couldn’t stand. “Samantha. Wake up, honey. Wish me out of here.”

She shifted again, her hand stroking across the lantern—just enough to open the lid.

Kal was out of there before she took another breath and accidentally closed it. Which she did with the next sob. This one was accompanied by a little moan.

Kal materialized from his orange smoke into the bed beside her, wrapped his arms around her, and rolled her toward him, cradling her face against his shoulder. “Sssh, sweetheart. Don’t cry. It’s just a bad dream.” She smelled so good. Lilacs had become his favorite flower.

She shifted and her cheek was soft as it brushed against his lips, her hair silky beneath his fingers, her nightgown sensuous against his body—

His naked body.

Kal realized his predicament right before it got worse—or better, depending on your take on the situation, but the situation was that Samantha had curled into him and wrapped her arm around his waist.

He had every intention of untangling himself to find that damned towel and put some kind of barrier between them. That silky negligee he hadn’t been able to resist conjuring for her was nowhere close to being called a barrier, and even the towel would be doubtful, but at least it’d be thicker than silk.

But then Samantha murmured his name and Kal’s intentions went on hiatus.

She snuggled into him, her breath moist and warm against his throat, and completely new intentions showed up.

Desire swamped him. He wanted to pull her atop him, plunge his tongue into her mouth, his cock into her warm, tight wetness, and give them both the best dreams they’d ever had. But if he did, he’d be the biggest ass any genie had ever been.

She rubbed her cheek against his chest, and Kal shuddered. Gods, what she did to him.

“Sam? Honey? I don’t think this is a good idea.” Well, actually he did, but it really shouldn’t be. He needed to find out what was bothering her. They needed to talk.

She sighed against him, and when she turned her face just a bit to the left—atop his heart—Kal knew there wasn’t going to be any talking.

He’d thought the sound of her sobs socked him in the gut? That had nothing compared to the feel of her lips against his skin. He palmed the back of her head, resisting the urge to run his fingers through her curls.

Almost.

“Samantha. Please. Sweetheart. Wake up. This isn’t a good idea.” His good intentions tried to come to the rescue, but then her head lifted of its own volition and green eyes opened slowly. Watery green eyes.

“Kiss me, Kal.”

“Samantha, I really don’t think—”

“Kiss me, Kal. I wish you’d kiss me.”

When she put it like that—

Kal kissed her. And he wasn’t kidding himself that it had anything to do with the fact that she’d wished it—because he would have done it without the word
wish
.

He speared his fingers through her hair and deepened the kiss. He couldn’t help himself; it was as if he were starving and she the only sustenance around.

Samantha slid her hand down his back, over the curve of his ass, and he couldn’t stop the thrust that happened naturally. She groaned and it undid him.

He changed the angle of his head, and his tongue danced with hers, the fire sweeping over him so fast it was as if dragons were feuding around them, but Kal had no intention of dousing it.

Samantha’s hands were everywhere, sliding up his spine, fanning out to trace over his hipbone, stroking down toward his groin, stealing his breath as her fingers came so utterly close to his cock, only to tease him at the last moment and flutter along his thigh. Then they slid over his hip again, spanning his cheek, and she pulled him against her.

He went willingly, his achingly hard cock pulsing against her. Kal wanted to rip that gown from her body and plunge inside her. Instead, he contented himself—as much as possible—with tasting every part of her mouth, eating at her lips, the contact fast and furious and almost beyond his control. She shifted, and, oh gods, the sweet, undeniable torture that ran along his entire length.

Kal groaned into her mouth, unable to stop it. Uncaring that he couldn’t.

She kissed him. Wilder than before. Wetter.

Kal couldn’t take the torture. “Touch me, Sam,” he groaned, dragging his hand from her hair down along the column of her throat and over her shoulder to find the sweet perfection of her breast cupped so lovingly in that flimsy piece of silk and lace.

He stroked his thumb over the nipple. Samantha stiffened for a tiny second, then melted against him, thrusting her breast against his fingers. Against his chest.

Her leg slid along his.

Her hand skimmed lower.

This time she didn’t tease him. She found the head of his cock, her fingers circling in a motion that drew panted gasps from him. Had him jerking for more, and he felt the moisture seep from the tip.

“Gods, Samantha. What you do to me,” he growled against her throat, inhaling the soft, musky scent of her arousal intertwined with the lilac.

She wiggled closer, freeing her leg from the gown. He should have made it a short one, dammit, but he’d been trying to be conscientious. Responsible. Not a lech.

Kal raised his knee, hiking the gown higher on her thighs, brushing the dampness at their apex. So much for that. And he didn’t give a damn.

He nudged her onto her back, cradled between the side table and the pillow. His lantern was probably caught somewhere beneath her, and he didn’t give a damn about that, either.

He cupped her breasts, his thumbs playing over her nipples, his fingers stroking the sides, and he felt the sweet tightness in them, saw the evidence of how much she was enjoying it.

But he had to ask. Had to know. Had to hear her say it. “You like that, Sam?”

She licked her lips and nodded, her breath coming in short gasps, her eyes so dark that they were blending in with her dilated pupils.

“Say it, Sam. I want to hear you say it.”

“I… like it—oh, God, yes. Do that again.”

He rolled her nipples between his thumb and finger.

She pressed against his knee. “Oh, God, Kal—”

He brushed his thumb over them.

“I wish… Oh, I wish…” She arched into his hands as he swept his palms over the silky fabric covering her nipples.

“What, Sam? What do you wish?”

“Please… God, please…”

He’d please her all right. “Say it, Sam. I want to hear you say it.”
Needed
to hear her say it.

She groaned and wrapped one leg over his, grinding herself against his knee. “Taste me. Lick me. Oh, God, yes.”

She didn’t have to wish it. Kal yanked the fabric down, baring her to his gaze for all of two seconds before those tight, hard nipples tempted him beyond reason and he swirled his tongue around one of them, then sucked on it.

She arched against him, grasping his shoulder with one hand, the sheet behind her head with the other—all the more perfect to fit her perfectly inside his mouth.

“Do you like that?” He pulled back a little, her nipple still between his lips.

Samantha’s eyes flew open and she gasped, her gaze riveted to what he was doing to her.

Kal’s gaze was riveted to her face. Flushed with passion, her eyes deep and dark and green, intent upon the sight of him on her body. With her lips parted and moist, she was every fantasy he’d had for the past century and a half.

He smiled around her. “Like that?”

This time she could barely even nod.

He smiled wickedly and swept his lips to the other breast, his fingers using the wetness he’d left behind on the first to glide over her nipple, and Samantha ground herself against him.

“I want…” Her head tossed to the side. “I want to feel you against me, Kal.”

He knew what she meant, but he had too many years of longing to make up for and his control was nonexistent. He had to make this last—or
he
wouldn’t. He flicked his tongue on her nipple. “I’m right here, Sam.”

She speared her fingers through his hair and pressed him into her. “Naked. I wish I were naked.”

Thankfully, it only took a slight wave of two of his fingers to fulfill that wish since his other ones were still busy tormenting her nipple.

He kissed his way from her breast up to her collarbone, nuzzling in the hollow at the base of her throat, then up along the pulsing cord of her neck. Her breasts slid against his chest, the pointed tips setting off more fire along his skin, as if the rush of blood pounding through his veins wasn’t enough.

Kal didn’t know how much more of this he could take, but he was willing to test the limits of his sanity. And hers.

Samantha writhed beneath him as he nipped along her jaw to her earlobe, taking it into his mouth and then swirling his tongue along the shell of her ear. She raked her nails on his skin—one hand up his back, the other down his ass, and she grabbed hold.

“You like that, Sam?” He blew softly in her ear, and she shuddered her answer.

“Ah… yessss.”

He smiled, changing the direction of his kisses, moving along her cheek toward her mouth, nipping once at her bottom lip, and leaving her panting as he retraced the path he’d taken there, dropping kisses every few centimeters straight down her chest, enjoying every time she leaned into him when he brushed his 5:00 a.m. shadow against the sides of her breasts.

He swirled his tongue around her navel and dipped inside, smiling at the tremor that rushed through her as she clamped her legs around his.

“Kal…”

“Right here, Sam.”

He certainly was. With plans to go lower.

Her fingers played in his hair, and Kal couldn’t wait until she could only hang on in ecstasy. He nuzzled her hip bone, gently running his teeth along it, his tongue circling the sexy beauty mark there.

She moaned and spread her legs.

Perfect.

Kal moved between them. She was perfect. He lifted his head enough so his breath would whisper over her swollen, slick folds. “Do you like this, Sam?”

She looked at him as if he was insane to even ask that question. Of course she liked it and he knew she did, but still, he wanted to hear it. Needed to.

One long “Yessss” did it for him. Then he did it for her.

“Kal, I…” She sighed when he stroked her with one finger.

“What, Sam? What do you?”

He loved playing with her. Loved watching her belly flutter with every stroke of his finger. Loved the restless movement of her legs when he kissed her just above where she wanted him to.

Loved the long
whoosh
of breath she let out when he finally, slowly, lingeringly stroked his tongue along her swollen flesh.

“Yes, Kal. God… yes.”

The one-word permission was all he needed. Kal separated her folds, running his finger along the insides as his tongue flicked and stroked, his lips suckling that part of her that throbbed for him.