DisobediencebyDesign by Regina Kammer Page B

Arthur’s eyes. “Make me yours.”
    The incredulity returned, this time tinged with hope. “Henny?”
    “I’m ready, Arthur. I want to leave here already your wife.”
    “But darling—”
    “He won’t touch me if I am spoiled. He has a letch for
innocence.”
    He gaped in horror. “Henny—”
    “Please don’t ask me how I know. Please.”
    He enfolded her in his arms. “No. I won’t.”
    The fire popped and sputtered, the only accompaniment to the
uneasiness that hung in the air. Arthur held her tightly, gently swaying to
some unheard tune.
    “Kiss me,” she whispered.
    He bent and kissed her mouth slowly, succulently, his tongue
gently probing, tantalizing her. She wrapped her hands about his neck, clinging
to him for dear life. Her life.
    He pulled back, his face a little flushed, his hazel eyes
dark with arousal.
    “Make love to me, Arthur. Now.”
    “Oh darling.” His lips quirked up in a smile. “Let’s go to
my room.”
    “What about here?”
    “In the library?”
    “It’s lovely in here. The room is warm. There’s light.” She
cupped his cheek. “I want to see you and I want you to see me.”
    With an enthusiasm she had never witnessed he tore off his
jacket and laid it down on the rug before the fire then divested himself of the
rest of his clothes, inviting her to do the same, helping her with buttons and
ties. He made a comfortable nest with the pile of clothing then knelt and held
out his hand, grinning broadly.
    She knelt next to him, panic and desire coursing through her
at the sight of his nude body rampant and ready. He motioned for her to lie
down, preceding her in the act, patting the space next to him. She stretched
herself out at his side, shivering despite the fire.
    He traced curves from her breasts to her belly with his
finger. “Relax, darling.”
    But she couldn’t. Because of excitement? Or nerves?
    “Perhaps if we play one of our games,” he murmured in her
ear. He cupped a breast, weighing it.
    Her nipples crinkled at his touch. “Yes.”
    “My desert flower.” He kissed the crook of her neck. “So
soft, so shy. One would not think you sullied and hardened by nomadic life.”
    She closed her eyes, breathing out her trepidation,
breathing in the fantasy of the exotic East, the fire like the desert sun
streaming through the flaps of their tent, their clothes a bed of silken
pillows. “I was kept locked away, my master—”
    He drew the tip of his tongue along her neck to suck lightly
on the delicate pulse point. She surrendered to the wet heat like the dunes
yielding to the relentless sirocco.
    “For your pleasure.”
    “You will make a fine addition to my seraglio.” He caressed
her waist, continuing down her hip to her thigh. “Your radiant beauty belies
your experience.”
    His warmth imbued her with confidence. “But no man has
touched me, my sultan.”
    “No man has breached the walls of your innocence?” He
dragged his fingernails up her thigh, tickling the flesh at her hip until she
squirmed.
    “None, sire.”
    “Then you are the jewel in my crown of pleasures.” He
smoothed his hand across her belly, continuing lower until he reached the
thatch of hair at her mons. “You inflame me, my odalisque.” He threaded his
fingers through the strands, dallying playfully before reaching for his
intended target. “I am rendered incautious in your arms. I cannot wait to pluck
your rose in my garden of delights.” He parted her wetness and slid a finger
through to touch her clit. “I must have you now.”
    He rubbed in a slow, circular motion, murmuring praise as
she softened under his touch. She exhaled a moan.
    “You cannot deny nature’s ways, my gem.” He stroked and
twisted his finger mercilessly, willing her to climb to her peak. “Give in to
your lustful desires.”
    She writhed as sensuous waves ebbed and flowed within.
    He inserted a finger inside her. Her eyes flew open. He had
never done that before. He held her gaze with his, libidinous,