Ecstasy: The Shadowdwellers Page 10

  “But the…” Ashla turned her face away against his left shoulder, her anxious fingers curling around the metal that embraced his arm beneath the black silk of his shirt. “I’m not healed,” she murmured.

  “Don’t.” He followed the barked word with a physical jog of her body. “Do not try to tell me what I will like and dislike about you. These are things a man can discover for himself.” He released her sweetly swollen breast at last and began to push aside the fabric of her blouse. He grasped the satiny material of her chemise for a moment of reflected frustration, and the sound he made warned her he was on the verge of literally tearing through the obstacle. She quickly took his hand into both of hers and slid it beneath the bottom hem. This allowed him the temporary pleasure of bare, warm skin while Ashla wriggled to shed everything from the waist up that was in his way.

  She had never done anything so bold in all of her life. Oh, she was a bundle of nerves from head to toe, there was no doubting that. Even when she had stripped to show him her wounds, she had not been entertaining a single second of sexual implication or invitation.

  Intent made all the difference in the world.

  Ashla was riddled with doubt about dozens of points of logic, and each made her question the wisdom in extending even the slightest trust to him. But on the other hand, there was the bald surety she felt from a point of instinct inside of her she had never tapped in all of her life. It was as though she were watching parts of herself being born at last, coming to life in his hands as they shaped her skin and body with a thorough fascination she’d never experienced before. In fact, Trace had shown more power in his desires for her in the past ten minutes than most had shown her even at the point of their climax. It was a potent sort of drug, to be wanted so strongly. So potent that she dreaded doing anything that might disturb the marvelous feeling.

  Trace was absently rubbing himself against her, trying to relieve the molten ache kept cruelly confined behind the fly of his jeans. The provocative motion made his thoughts come in sharp bursts of desire. He wanted her hands on him. Her pretty little mouth. He stared down at her pale breasts and their pastel pink nipples and hastily added them to the list. The thought alone made him throb with painful longing.

  “I could come just thinking about all the things I want to do to you,” he confessed to her hotly against her near ear. “And when I think of bringing you to orgasm…” He shuddered at her back and groaned with his self-created imagery.

  But Ashla didn’t share his pleasure, and it was harshly obvious in an instant. He could almost feel her skin turning chilled under his touch as she stiffened in his embrace.

  “What is it, jei li?” he demanded. He snared her chin in his fingers and kept her from shaking her head in negation. He discarded the question, and made it a demand. “Tell me why that scares you so much.”

  “Because I can’t. I can’t…do that.”

  “Speak plainly to me, Ashla. Do not be a child about this. Be a woman who demands her lover knows her needs. Speak to me!”

  “I can’t h-have an orgasm!” She swallowed hard and gasped for breath as color burned bright in her face. “I never could,” she finished on a whisper.

  Trace couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Suddenly, he was disgusted by the selfish ineptitude of human men. No Shadowdweller male would be let loose on the female population without knowing what to do to best please a woman. The same was true for females knowing how best to please a man. Trace had studied sex from inception of his adolescence until his tutors had deemed him ready. At times, they had been some of the hardest learned lessons of his entire education. The methods to teach control alone had bordered on cruelty. But they had been worth every moment of painful denial and every act of discipline he’d borne. He had left each of his women deeply satisfied, always proud of his performance and grateful to his teachers.

  A society that would do otherwise was beyond foreign to him—it was barbaric.

  And Ashla’s feelings of devastating inadequacy were the perfect example of why. That she was near to tears with her embarrassment, not to mention her frustration and disappointment, made him utterly furious. It was enough to severely rattle his own self-righteousness, to force him to realize he had been less than an exemplary lover as he had fallen on her with haste and selfish need. Trace rubbed his face against her hair and breathed deeply for a moment as he gathered control and a few more moments of clear thinking.

  I can’t do this. Not like this.

  He couldn’t possibly do justice by her while swept up in the maelstrom of euphoria. Euphoria was all about seeking and gratifying his own pleasure. It was a deep touch of madness that plunged the sufferer into their own world, deeper and deeper until nothing outside of themselves mattered any longer. He was in the earliest stages of this condition and he was already behaving out of character and without honor or consideration. If he stayed long enough to try and make love to Ashla, he would only end up being another disappointment to her…and by then he probably wouldn’t even care.

  Take her anyway, a part of him was already whispering in heated countermand. Sink into her deep and hard and let yourself explode. The rest will take care of itself!

  Trace groaned at the mere thought of it, and growled in frustration at himself in the same breath. What made it worse was that he was having his damned epiphany right after she had made her horribly painful confession. What was he going to say? I have to go, but it’s okay…it’s not you, it’s me? He would never make her believe he wasn’t leaving her because he thought she was frigid or malfunctioning.

  Basically, no matter which way he turned it, he had just royally fucked himself.

  Chapter 8

  He thought she was a freak.

  Yes, of course he did, Ashla thought. He was a beautiful, healthy specimen of manhood, and clearly had the sex drive to match. He had probably never made a misstep in bed in his life, and no doubt had made several dozen beauty queens beg him for return performances.

  She had never had sex with the same man twice. Not that she hadn’t wanted to, because she had constantly hoped that practice would improve things for her, but what choice had she had when they had smiled at her and told pretty lies to her just before disappearing from her life for good? She had been left with little more than bitterness and the angry feeling that she had somehow been cheated. However, in time, it had become too steady a pattern for her to keep blaming everyone else. She knew that she was the problem.

  So she might as well let him know what he was in for from the start.

  It was the quietest and stillest he had been all day, and Ashla closed her eyes in an effort to steel herself against whatever was going to come next. It didn’t feel very promising when he stood them both up straight and put an inch of distance between them for the first time since this had all started. She swallowed so hard it hurt, and she struggled to blink back the starting burn of tears.

  I can hold on until he leaves, she swore to herself. I can hold on just that long.

  “Ashla, step forward,” he said gruffly.

  She automatically did as he asked, not realizing that she made him smile because of it. She drew her arms up to cover her breasts, but his hands curling around her biceps prevented her from it.

  “I meant several steps, jei li,” he murmured into her hair.

  Nervous and confused, her emotions in a wild uproar, she obeyed once again. Through chattering teeth, she managed to ask the most ridiculous question of all time.

  “What does jei li mean?”

  His hand at her back kept her moving as he countered with, “What does it sound like it means? I don’t believe there is an exact translation for it.”

  “Um, I don’t know. Maybe…‘sweetheart’?”

  “That would be close,” he agreed. “However, that term lacks the level of respectful affection that jei li requires. In your culture, ‘sweetheart’ can be used in a derogatory as well as with affection. In mine, jei li is reserved for affection only. To use
it in an insult would be horribly taboo. It is one of those things that could find you with your tongue cut down the center of its length by morning.”

  “Oh my God!” she cried, torn between horror and a fascination for a culture that would take the mere usage of a word so seriously. She pressed her hand to the wall for balance and tried to look at him over her shoulder. That was when he placed a hand on her, making her face the wall once more, which actually made her realize for the first time that she was standing in front of a wall to begin with.

  Now he fitted himself back against her and slid both of his warm, strong hands down from her shoulders all the way to her wrists and back again.

  “Place your palms flat on the wall, jei li,” he said softly to her.

  “On the…?”

  “Don’t question me,” he gently scolded her, a warning rumble of sound vibrating against the side of her neck. “Just do as I ask.”

  Ashla’s heart tripped over its own beat as she raised her trembling hands to obey him. Her palms were damp already as she pressed them to the thick, textured wallpaper before her.

  “Higher. Just a little more,” he coaxed quietly until her hands were several inches above her shoulder line. Ashla felt strangely exposed by the position, which accounted for the way she jolted under his touch when his hand slid across her bare belly. She felt surrounded by him somehow, certainly under his power, a point proven when he slid his leg between hers from behind her, firmly nudging her feet a distinct distance apart.

  Then she felt his fingers slipping around the waistband of her skirt, tracing the line between nudity and clothing very thoughtfully for a moment.

  “Every woman,” he said in low explanation, “is unique. Each is a complex lock that takes time and knowledge to open. A woman like you, however, is an even deeper puzzle. I would not dare to claim I fully understand you. I couldn’t be so arrogant. But I think I have learned just enough to make a start.”

  “A s-start?”

  “A very small start,” he agreed.

  Trace’s fingers slid open the buttons down the back of her skirt one at a time, his touch reaching to stroke the slowly exposed curve of her lower back as he went. Soon the fabric simply slipped away, landing with a flutter around her calves. She tried to lean forward and press her hot face to the wall, but he stayed her with a firm hand, keeping her just as he had arranged her to be.

  “Answer a question for me,” he said as those leisurely, thorough fingertips of his began to sketch across the top of her panties. “When did you first realize you were inclined toward submission?”

  Ashla jolted as if he had given her a good smack on the bottom. She jerked around to face him, but only made it halfway before his masterful hands caught her and sent her shooting back into the stance he had demanded of her. She drew hard for breath, both frustrated and aroused, confused and excited. She didn’t know what to feel from one moment to the next! She couldn’t even think to formulate the words she knew she should be flinging at him in protest.

  “I take it the answer to that would be ‘five seconds ago,’” he noted a bit wryly. He sighed, the exhalation skittering down her naked back in a warm wash.

  “But I’m not!” she blurted out. “My God, that’s the last thing I would ever—!”

  He cut her off with a low chuckle, the teasing tips of his fingers sliding into the secret warmth hiding beneath the last small scrap of cotton she wore.

  “Really? Are you sure?”

  Ashla choked on her response when his smooth caress glided straight through her damp pubic hair and settled in to stroke her in long, wet rubs along the length of her labia.

  Trace forced himself to focus on his point, making a mighty effort to control the response of his body and psyche as he felt how slick and hot she was with her unrealized depth of excitement. She was all but naked as she pressed away from the wall and into the length of his rigid body. He had broken such an incredible sweat as he attempted to master himself that his clothing was sticking to his skin almost as thoroughly as she was. He sent his free hand up to seal around her slim throat, tipping her head back so he could see the mind-numbing start to her journey of passion in her eyes.

  He was painfully short of time and luck, but he couldn’t bring himself to spear her fragile ego with the coldness his departure would cause. His chest hurt with the raging of his breath and blood, but he couldn’t stop now.

  I have suffered deeper tortures, he thought fiercely to himself, and survived. I can do this for her. I can be what she needs so desperately.

  He repeated this litany to himself like a desperate sort of mantra. It was about Ashla. It was all about Ashla. He didn’t dare take a moment of purposeful pleasure for himself without risking his state of euphoria overtaking him and destroying everything he hoped to achieve.

  “Every command I give you, you obey,” he said. “What’s more, I can feel your skin turn hot as you do. I hear your breath and heart as they race. You tell yourself it is fear that compels you, but I see much more to it than that. I feel much more to it than that.” He emphasized his point with the seeking swirl of his finger, rimming the entrance to her vagina until she drenched his fingers with a fresh, scorching flood of honey. “You were never frigid,” he gasped between his laboring breaths. “No one who responds like this can be labeled so coldly when she is the truth of heat personified.”

  Trace closed his eyes as her gaze began to cloud with bald response and snowballing surrender. He throbbed with painful need, unable to resist the thrust of his hips against her bottom as he sought for her clit with his thumb and burrowed his first finger inside her. Ashla sucked in a long breath, her tight flesh tensing around the digit that slid deeper and deeper. It took no stretch of his imagination to envision that sensation all around his straining cock.

  He cursed in Shadese, a low and dangerous word of warning she didn’t comprehend. But even if he had spoken in English, she was far beyond comprehension. Ashla was wriggling in counterpoint to his strokes and circles that tempted her toward a promise of rushing satisfaction. Fear and doubt abruptly hurried through her; it made her awkward and prompted her to struggle out of cadence with what she truly wanted. Unable to predict how much longer he could hold himself in check, Trace was like a force of fury as he kicked his foot against the inside of hers, forcing her legs wider apart even as he ground against her from behind her and within her.

  “Don’t!” he barked roughly, the command all but a snarl. “Don’t doubt. Don’t think! Just obey me, jei li. Obey my touch. Obey the pleasure I can give you. Accede to your own passions. Searing Light! Blessed Dark! You are so hot it’s driving me mad!”

  Ashla couldn’t grasp the way his thoughts were wildly vacillating. She didn’t understand why he didn’t stop teasing her and just bury himself in her. It was so obvious by the savage way he burrowed his erection against her that he needed to do just that. She craved what she felt of him, the hardness and the primal urge of thrust that pounded through him. Her nerves were burning at their ends in a blaze of little bonfires, her body weakening and wetting his probing touch until he slid in and out of her with slick successive thrusts of one and then two fingers.

  She felt her soul coiling inside her. Her pulse roared as pleasure spilled through her in powerful washing tides. She cried out, fearful and thrilled and swept away in the climbing rush. Her hands shot away from the wall, one grasping his hair at the back of his head, the other seizing his belt near his katana.

  “Trace!” she gasped wildly.

  “I’m here,” he reassured her. “Come, jei li. Yes. Aiya, that’s it. Please,” he begged hoarsely then.

  Ashla felt everything within herself whip inside out in a sudden surge of power and release, forcing a wailing scream from her lips as she seized with overriding pleasure. Her entire brain exploded into short circuits that snapped and crackled through her in violent rushes. Her fists gripped Trace and held him captive against her as her body jerked and went into pleasured spasms.
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br />   Trace opened his eyes and watched her flesh and muscle quiver. He stared as the diamond-hard tips of her breasts shimmied with every shudder roiling up through her. Her swollen clitoris pulsed under his thumb and her walls hugged tight around his embedded fingers.

  He had never needed to come so badly, not in all of his long life, as he needed it then. As she rode her orgasm to its fullest crest, she writhed like pure sexuality against him. His knees finally buckled and he brought them both down to the floor. Trace groaned in agony as the movement tightened the denim he wore against him. Then, unable to bear it an instant longer, he shoved himself back away from her, away from the lure and the raw temptation of her. He turned his back on the pink flush covering every inch of her sweet skin and the sensual sweat dampening the fair waves of her hair.

  But how could he shut her out when he could hear her panting in the wake of pleasure, when he could smell the aroma of her sex…

  He raised his wet hand up, the smell pervading and delicious as he couldn’t resist slowly painting her across his lips. All it took then was the flick of his tongue, and she was inside him. She was inside his memory and senses, inside the insanity of his thoughts and the bright screaming light of craving that seared him with demand.

  Ashla was shaking with disbelief and a dozen other causes as she struggled to get her body to work again. Without Trace’s supporting muscle, she had become little more than soggy jelly. She was limp, yet vibrating powerfully with aftershocks. She struggled to see where Trace had taken himself to. She didn’t need to look far. He was over her again in an instant, pushing her down onto her back in the suite’s thick carpeting. He wedged himself between her thighs even as he tore at the front of his jeans. He stripped his belt free and sent the katana flying back into the oblivion behind himself.