MasterofSilk (2 page)

With that she turned on her heel and strode down the hall.
Isabella followed, swallowing the panic that tried to steal the breath from her
lungs.

And she had almost succeeded when Manette swung open a pair
of massive doors and the two of them stood overlooking the most elaborately
decorated room she had ever seen—with Zayne Saladar, in all his glory, standing
at the base of the stairs as if he knew exactly when she was going to arrive.

“Enjoy,” Manette said, stepping back and pulling the huge
doors shut behind her.

Zayne held out his hand, taking her fingers in his when she
finally managed to make it down the stairs. “I am so very pleased you accepted
my invitation.” He brought her hand up to his lips, the gesture causing a
rumble of need to erupt low in her stomach.

“I chose not to wear a mask.” His lips twisted into a
self-deprecating smile. “You know who I am. I have nothing to hide.” The words
rolled over her skin like drifting sand, so soft and exotic they were an
aphrodisiac in themselves. “Would you like a drink?”

When she nodded he led her to the bar where he ordered her a
frozen margarita and himself a club soda with lime, which she knew was because
alcohol could have serious side effects for a diabetic.

“You watched me at the restaurant,” she chided as she took
the delicious frozen concoction.

“So I did.” His grin said he wasn’t in the least
embarrassed. “I watched you every second of every night I saw you dance. I
could not force myself to look away.” Emotions shifted across his face, pain,
desire, guilt, fleeting as a shooting star, so brief she was left to wonder if
she’d really seen any of them at all.

“Your generous donation was put to good use,” she assured
him, placing her free hand on his arm. “My dancing money goes to support our
local food bank.”

“Ah. This is good. I know about hunger. It is a bleak and
dangerous thing.” Suddenly Isabella realized she knew nothing of the man at
all, despite what she’d read about him in the papers and the medical file upon
her desk. She didn’t know how much physical pain he’d suffered after the
roadside attack or how he’d coped with the death of his wife…or how many other
women he’d brought to this place in an attempt to soothe his wounded spirit.

It was as if he’d read her mind. “I am a very lonely man, my
lovely one. Should you stay with me tonight, you will be the very first I have
invited here.”

Unable to stop herself, she reached out and smoothed her
hand across his face as if the touch could soothe his pain away. “Why me?”

“Because we both dream of desert sand and nights beneath
glittering stars. You will come with me now.”

She barely noticed it was an order, not a request, as her
body responded to his nearness. How would she ever manage to survive the
intimacies to come…and did it matter when his eyes were glued upon her every
move as if she were the only woman in his entire world?

Stepping into Zayne’s room was like stepping into a scene
from
One Thousand and One Arabian Nights
. A fabulous Persian carpet
covered the floor, woven in shades of crimson, lapis and gold. The bed that sat
against one wall was covered with golden satin sheets, piled high with pillows
in vivid jewel tones, its canopy hung with rows of tiny bells that would jingle
with every jostle of the bed.

Isabella shivered as she thought of hearing their delicate
sound while Zayne spread her legs and drove himself deep into her body.

A mirror took up most of another wall, framed with mosaic
tiles that echoed the colors of the rest of the room, while a pair of velvet-covered
chairs held court in the center of the carpet.

Zayne smiled as he plucked the drink from her hand and
placed it on a side table with his own. Then he removed his coat and hung it by
the door, rolling up his sleeves as he moved toward her, the scent of his
sandalwood soap a warm and heady fragrance. “So,” he said, circling around her,
“here I am a sultan and you are my slave.”

Although Isabella’s first instinct was to giggle the notion
aside, the look on his face was so deadly serious the smile froze on her mouth
as he stood before her, legs planted wide with his hands fisted on his hips as
if, indeed, he was a ruling king.

He reached out and took her shoulders and turned her to face
the mirror while he remained standing behind her. She shuddered as he wrapped
his arms around her waist, his hands lifting to cup her breasts, thumbs
unerringly finding their tips, rubbing them into aching sensitivity.

“You tremble already with need for me. This is good.” He pressed
his body to hers. She could feel the growing mass of his cock, a thick and
rigid line against the lower part of her back.

For a moment she forgot to breathe as his fingers found the
buttons on her shirt, undoing them one by one with agonizing slowness, savoring
the moment as if he never wanted it to end.

“In my country we have some of the most beautiful women in
the world.” He finished his task and slid the shirt from her shoulders, where
it fell unheeded to the floor. “But we fear it, crush it, hide it far away.” A
bitter tone laced his words, as if he had seen things he would never share.
Terrible things. Evil things.

A part of her wanted to flee, to run from the room and never
look back as she realized she stood half-naked with a stranger, one who came
from a cruel and alien world.

It excited her. To think of him covered in sweat and sand,
barking orders to his men, racing across the forbidding dunes to rescue an
innocent captive. She wanted him rough. She wanted him raw. She wanted him
exotic and foreign and strange.

“Am I beautiful enough for you to hide away?” The question
tumbled shyly from her lips but she was so entranced by their images in the
mirror, she felt bold enough to ask.

His mouth was soft as it grazed against her neck, in marked
contrast to the pressure of his fingers where they clamped around her nipples.
He pinched them into aching life, his bottomless eyes watching her in the
mirror, catching every play of pleasure and pain that crossed her face.

“You I would parade before enemy and friend alike so that
they might see what a treasure I possessed and drive themselves mad with envy.”

She bit back a whimper when he pulled his hands away, only
to let it out with a rush when he slid her skirt up and thrust one hand between
her thighs. To her chagrin she moved her hand to capture his, whether to push
him away or draw him closer she couldn’t tell. Zayne growled with displeasure
and held her wrists behind her back, rendering her immobile as he unfastened
the zipper of her skirt and pushed it down her legs.

“Disobedience so early in our evening,” he whispered with a
sad shake of his head. “Such a shame to displease me.”

“N-no, I want to please you.” Her voice was so meek she wondered
if it was really hers. “Tell me how to please you,” she added, as if her
earlier admission wasn’t nearly submissive enough.

“Good. Then you will do exactly as I say.” When he moved
away she felt cold, as if he’d taken the desert with him, leaving her shivering
at her pale and solitary reflection in the mirror.

“Turn to face me and take off everything.” He sat in one of
the velvet chairs, grabbing a mass of gold chain in his fingers. “Slowly, so I
can enjoy the view.”

This was something Isabella knew she could do. Despite her
nerves, her years of dance training stood her in good stead and she let her
body take over, hearing music in her head, the heavy beat of drums, the sharp
staccato of zills on her fingers.

Reaching back, she undid her bra and let it slip over her
shoulders, holding it with one hand until the very last moment before she
tossed it on Zayne’s lap. Then she spun around to give him a view of her ample
hips, shimmying out of the thong and tossing it to him as well.

He didn’t take his eyes from her figure, the intense
scrutiny setting her nerves on edge again as he crooked a finger and motioned
her to him.

“Do you know the origins of your dance?” He toyed with the
chain in his hands and Isabella was delighted by the delicate tinkling of
bells. “It was said that in the olden days, when the sultans grew too fat to
take their concubines as men usually do, the women were forced to find ways to
curry their master’s favor.”

When Isabella was within reach he grabbed her hand and
pulled her off balance, sending her tumbling to his lap. Before she could
recover he put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to kneel between his
legs, the bulge of his erection straining against his pants, just waiting for
her to reach out and set free.

“Touch me,” he ordered, lacing his fingers in her hair.

She complied willingly, eager to see what prize waited
between his legs, her hands itching to feel his naked flesh. “Yes, my sultan.”
She unbuckled his belt and undid the button on his pants, sliding the zipper
down slowly, admiring the flat plain of his stomach and the way his muscles
rippled in anticipation.

He had gone commando and when he lifted his hips so she
could reach behind and pull his pants away, his cock unfolded hard and willing,
a thick length of caramel flesh that took her breath away. He had a foreskin,
something she was familiar with through her medical texts but had never
experienced in real life. She was fascinated by the way the skin flowed along
his shaft, like a cloak of silk that hid the rigid gland beneath.

For long moments she stroked him with her fingers, sliding
up and down his length until he groaned and shifted in his seat, pushing her
hands away at last.

“Well done, my slave.” Isabella reveled in the need that
trembled off his tongue. “But it is much too early for me to come…if, of
course, you want me to return the favor.”

The picture of him burying his head between her legs—his
tongue and fingers exploring her aching sex—sent a new sting of need spiraling
through her core. She was wet, so wet, so ready to let him mount her, she
barely heard when he commanded her to stand, bending instead to take him into
her mouth.

A sharp smack on her thigh brought a rush of embarrassment
to her cheeks and Isabella was glad the mask concealed her emotions. “I will
not ask again.” His brows were drawn into a single unpleasant line. He was a
study in contrasts, she thought, his voice soft but his domination absolute. As
she bent her head to hide the shame he tucked a finger beneath her chin,
forcing her to face him.

“I will be obeyed in everything here, no matter your desire.”
Then he smiled, the expression so tender she thought she must surely be
mistaken. “But in return I promise to give you pleasure such as you have never
known before. My reward for your submission. Your choice. You have the freedom
to leave…if that is your wish.”

If she did? What then? She would never have the chance to be
with him again and she wanted him so badly she couldn’t think of walking out
the door.

“I will stay.”

“Excellent.”

He stood, giving her another view of his magnificent
erection and his strong, brown legs. When he looked down at her she felt small,
fragile, a delicate flower waiting to blossom at his command. At his nod she
came gracefully to her feet and the admiration in his eyes was enough to make
her tremble. Then he held out the length of golden chain she had seen before.

“Do you know what I will do with this?”

Isabella shook her head as she watched him manipulate the
metal, her shudders growing anew as she saw the tiny clamps glittering in the
light.

“Spread your legs and arch your back.” He reached out to
take one nipple between his fingers when she obeyed. “If you want me to stop
you must say crimson. Do you understand?”

They were face-to-face, breath-to-breath and despite her own
desperate need she could hear the strain that laced his words. He was
struggling with his own control and the knowledge gave her a power she never
would have expected.

She nodded. “I understand.” Yes. She would beg, she would
scream, she would tell him to stop a thousand times, safe in the knowledge he
would pay no heed to her pleas until she said the one word he would obey.
Crimson. It was her safety net, her shelter, her single way out if she felt the
need.

He plucked the knot of her nipple so tight she bit her lip
to keep from crying out, but already the pain was giving way to a dark and
heady pleasure. As that pleasure shot between her legs she tried to press them
together once more but Zayne noticed the movement and tucked a leg between
hers, rubbing it hard against the swollen ridge of her clit as he fastened the
clamp to her nipple.

Struggling to keep from begging him to stop or begging him
to do it harder, Isabella did scream when he attached a second gold clamp to
her other nipple, his look of satisfaction telling her he was pleased she had
learned the rules of his game.

Now he manipulated the delicate chains, each flip of his
wrist causing the clamps to pull against her nipples, their tips so swollen she
thought they would surely not stand the torture.

“Oh my m-master,” she whimpered. “P-p-please—” She bit off
the words in a cry of want as Zayne reached between her legs, his elegant
fingers finding her clit, giving it the same rough treatment as he had done her
nipples. He held a third clamp in his opposite hand for her inspection.

“Oh no, no, no.” She gasped and shook her head as he fell to
his knees, sliding one of her legs over his shoulder. She struggled against him
as he spread her flesh apart, exposing her to his inspection as he continued to
strum the sensitive knot of tissue before spearing a finger deep into her cunt.
Now her cries took on a different tone, begging him not to stop, to take her
now and let her come over and over again. She was building toward release,
ready to explode, the orgasm coming on much too fast, her entire body shaking
with the effort to—

Her shriek echoed off the walls as he placed the final clamp
upon her clit, the sensation enough to bring her down from the ledge, her eyes
awash with the sting of tears. But already he was soothing the pain away, his
tongue darting across her tormented flesh while he slid two fingers high into
her sex.

It had been so long since she’d had a man that her body
rebelled at his intrusion, clamping hard around him, unwilling to give him open
passage. But he was patient, tapping the clamp around her nub as he worked his
fingers in and out, higher and faster with each successive thrust until
Isabella shook so hard she clawed his shoulders in an effort to keep from
falling to the floor.

She heard his sharp intake of breath as her nails pierced
his skin but he did not utter another sound of protest as he shifted position,
sliding his tongue along her flesh until she grabbed handfuls of his hair and
forced his mouth closer. “I swear I cannot wait.” Her voice cracked with her
effort to maintain control.

Zayne released her and stood, his erection a length of dusky
marble curling high against his stomach. Now it was his turn to tremble as he
stood and led her toward the bed. “You will not come until I give you
permission.” His jaw was clenched so tight she thought it might shatter from
the pressure. “And I will not give you permission until I have buried myself so
far inside you I can feel every ripple of your pleasure around me.”

The clamps drove her to darker depths of desire as he took
her to the bed. They tightened around her flesh with every move she made and it
took every bit of discipline she had not to let herself fall over the edge,
knowing it would spoil his pleasure if she came without him.

He pushed her down onto her back and spread her knees apart,
exposing her fully to the intensity of his gaze as he took a condom from under
a pillow and sheathed himself. She thought he would take her right away but he
fucked her with his fingers once more.

And it felt so good to have him touch her, to feel his
fingers burrowing high into her sex, the friction causing the clamp to rub her clit
with every stroke until she was fighting against the pleasure, battling the
need once more. “Take me now,” she begged, trying to push his hand away. “I can’t
stop. I can’t—”

Before she could finish he slid up her body, his stomach
hard and hot against hers, the engorged head of his cock wrestling to fit
inside her. He was too big, too demanding, too much for her to take…but he
wouldn’t stop, didn’t stop, forcing his way into her inch by hardened inch,
holding her down as she tried to pull away, his mouth devouring hers as she struggled
to withstand him.

But already she was lost to the pleasure, sucking his tongue
into her mouth as he drove deep into her again and again, and despite his
command she could not stop the pleasure as it rippled from inside her, taking
her over completely as Zayne continued his masterful thrusts, the bells upon
the canopy chiming with every arch of his hips.