Page 29 of Dark Shaman: The Lost Treasure (The Children Of The Gods #98)

ELUHEED

" I want to be touched by someone who sees me as more than the lord's property." Tamira offered Eluheed a hand up.

The words impacted him with unexpected force. In that simple statement, she'd revealed the oppressive burden which was her captivity, a millennia of being viewed as an object, a possession, a beautiful thing to be owned rather than a person to be cherished.

His body responded to both her vulnerability and her strength, desire flaring through him with an intensity that surprised him.

Instead of taking her offered hand, he rose to his feet in one fluid movement and lifted her into his arms. The action was instinctive, a need to show her that she was precious, worth cherishing.

She weighed almost nothing, her immortal form deceptively delicate despite the strength he knew she possessed.

Tamira's smile bloomed as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers playing with the hair at his nape. "I like assertive men, and I find strength arousing."

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "I don't need strength to carry you. You weigh next to nothing."

"Liar," she whispered.

As he carried her through the sitting room toward her bed, he was struck by the trust and acceptance she was showing him.

Her bed was luxurious, with soft fabrics in cream and gold that looked like clouds made solid. The windows on the side facing the inner courtyard would have shown stars if they weren't deep underground. Instead, clever lighting created the illusion of moonlight, bathing everything in silver.

He laid her on the crisp cream-colored linens with careful reverence, struck anew by her beauty.

Her dark hair spread across the pillows, creating a striking contrast. The deep blue of her dress made her golden skin glow, and her eyes, those impossible, ancient eyes, watched him with a mixture of desire and something else. Was it hope?

Perhaps.

She was so stunningly beautiful that she seemed almost unreal, like a painting or a statue created by a gifted artist or a goddess from myth. The perfect arch of her brows, the sensual curve of her lips, the elegant line of her throat—every feature was in flawless harmony.

And somehow, impossibly, she wanted him.

He thought of all the males who must have shared her bed over the centuries, all chosen for their resemblance to Navuh, all more handsome than he. What could he offer her that they hadn't?

"Are you going to just stand there and stare at me?" she asked, but her tone was teasing rather than impatient.

"I could do that forever," he murmured. "You are like a work of art. Nature's work of art."

Something shifted in her expression, a shadow crossing her face. "Not really, but I don't want to talk about this tonight."

The response puzzled him. What could she possibly mean?

He studied her more closely, looking for signs of artifice or alteration.

In his experience, some people chose to modify their appearance, especially those with means and vanity.

But the harem seemed frozen in an earlier time, and he doubted such modern interventions were available here.

"What do you mean? Did you have any part of your body altered?"

Tamira laughed, but her laugh held a note of bitterness beneath the amusement.

"Of course not. Even if I wanted to, immortal bodies are impossible to alter.

I can't even pierce my ears to wear earrings.

Coloring my hair and applying cosmetics is the best I can do to change my appearance.

" She paused, her hand rising to her throat in an unconsciously protective gesture.

"I am a descendant of gods, and I suspect that their perfection was carefully bred.

It could not have been natural selection that led to such results. "

Had she meant perfect pairings to create beauty? Or had it been something more sinister than that?

Her hand slid from her throat down to her cleavage in a deliberately sensual movement, redirecting his attention from dark thoughts to present desire. "Come join me, Elias."

"Let me dim the lights first," he said.

A knowing smile played on her lips. "Are you shy?"

"No, but I'm a romantic, and this room is too bright for a romance." He walked to the light switches near the door, using the journey to compose himself. The room plunged into darkness, but not entirely.

His night vision was excellent, another gift of his immortality, and he could see her perfectly despite the low light.

But even without that, he could have found his way to her by the soft glow emanating from her eyes, a sign of her godly heritage that probably manifested strongest in moments of passion.

Her blue eyes glowed like two precious jewels, guiding him back to her.

"You should know that I can see perfectly in the dark, so you can't hide anything from me," she said.

"That's good to know."

It complicated things.

His body bore a mark that would raise questions.

Eluheed sat on the bed beside Tamira, suddenly uncertain.

He'd been with many women over his centuries of wandering, brief connections that eased the loneliness without demanding truth.

But he'd never been with anyone like Tamira.

She was older than he by millennia, had experienced pleasures he could only imagine.

How could he hope to please a woman who'd known the touch of countless lovers?

He leaned over her, drinking in her beauty, her scent, the way her chest rose and fell with quickened breath. "Perhaps you should close your beautiful, glowing eyes and let yourself just feel. When one of the senses is deprived, the others compensate, and pleasure intensifies."

Her smile turned knowing. "Now I'm sure that you are trying to hide something from me."

She wasn't wrong. The mark on his chest could perhaps be explained as a tattoo, a birthmark, or even a strangely healed wound.

But he abhorred lying even though his existence on Earth forced him to lie constantly, or rather misdirect, though he had a feeling that his well-practiced redirection tricks might not work on her.

If they became lovers beyond just this night, how long could he maintain his secret? The thought troubled him.

"I am trying to hide something," he admitted, choosing honesty within limits. "I'm not as perfect and unmarred as you are."

The playfulness faded from her expression, replaced by something tender. "You don't have to be perfect. I know that humans carry their history on their bodies, both men and women, and I don't regard it as shameful. Scars tell stories. They're proof of survival."

Her understanding moved him. She thought he was self-conscious about battle scars or the marks of hard living. If only it were that simple.

"But if you want," she continued, "I'll close my eyes on the condition that you close yours as well."

He traced the curve of her hip through the silk of her dress, marveling at the way she shivered at his touch. "I want to give you pleasure first, and I don't want you to do anything other than just feel."

The smile that bloomed on her face was radiant. "How can I say no to such an enticing offer?"

Her trust humbled him. This ancient, powerful woman was placing herself in his hands, allowing herself to be vulnerable with him.

Moving down the bed with deliberate slowness, he lifted her foot and removed her delicate sandal. The action was oddly intimate, servant-like, and worshipful at once. "Your eyes are still open," he said, pressing kisses to her toes, drawing a surprised gasp from her.

"You are still dressed," she countered, her voice breathier than before. "I'm not missing seeing you undressed."

He tickled her foot in gentle retaliation, delighting in her laughter. "Do as I say."

"Are you getting bossy with me?" The throaty quality of her voice sent heat straight through him.

"Never." He repeated the reverent attention on her other foot, kissing each toe. "I wouldn't dare."

"Somehow, I think you would." She stretched like a cat, all sinuous grace and barely contained power.

Removing her gown proved as simple as sliding the thin straps down her arms and drawing the fabric away. The revelation of her body being bare beneath the dress nearly undid his control. She was perfection incarnate, every curve and plane designed to inspire worship.

"You really are a work of art," he whispered, smoothing his palms over her inner thighs with reverent touches, gently encouraging her to open for him.

The scent of her arousal was intoxicating, calling to something primal within him. It took all his willpower not to dive between her legs immediately like a man possessed. But this wasn't about his need—it was about hers. About worshiping the goddess within her.

Tamira sighed and finally closed her eyes, submitting to his gentle guidance.

Dimly, Eluheed was aware that he wasn't following any practiced script.

He hadn't kissed her lips first, hadn't paid homage to her breasts, hadn't followed the typical progression of seduction.

Instead, he was letting instinct guide him, somehow knowing what Tamira needed without words.

He had a knack for sensing the unspoken, and right now, every fiber of her being was crying out for something different, something unexpected.

A woman who had known countless lovers over millennia needed something different.

"Fates!" Tamira exclaimed the moment his lips made contact with her heated center, her back arching involuntarily off the bed.

He placed his palms over her thighs to hold her steady, anchoring her as he explored her with reverent devotion.

His tongue swept over her delicate folds, learning her taste, her texture, the way she responded to different pressures and rhythms. He circled her opening teasingly before plunging inside, drawing a keening sound from her throat that made his own arousal almost explode.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, holding him against her as her movements grew increasingly frantic. She was close, her body trembling on the precipice. Five thousand years of experience, and yet she responded to him like she was starving just for him and this particular touch.

"I need to come, Elias." The words were half-command, half-plea.

He could refuse her nothing.

Sliding two fingers inside her welcoming heat, he closed his lips around her most sensitive spot and sucked gently.

She erupted with a cry that might have woken the entire floor if the walls weren't built to contain secrets. He continued his ministrations, drawing out her pleasure until she pushed weakly at his head, over-sensitized and sated.

He lifted his head and pressed a tender kiss to her mound, overwhelmed by a feeling of gratitude and satisfaction that had little to do with his own unsated arousal. He'd given her pleasure, had made this goddess among women cry out in ecstasy.

She caressed his head with gentle fingers, then cupped his cheeks to draw his face up where she could see him. Her eyes were open now, glowing more brightly than before, filled with wonder and something that looked dangerously like tenderness.

"I knew you'd be good," she said, her voice still rough from crying out. "But I didn't expect this. You blew my mind."

"Just your mind?" he teased. "I must not have done my job properly."

Her laughter was throaty. "Oh, you did your job superbly. I may never let you leave this bed."

"There are worse fates," he murmured against her lips.

As he rose to stretch out beside her, gathering her boneless form against him, Eluheed realized he was in trouble. This was supposed to be a simple night of shared pleasure between two lonely people, but nothing about Tamira was simple, and what he felt went far beyond mere physical attraction.

In her arms, for the first time in centuries, he felt something dangerous and wonderful.

Impossibly, he felt like he was home.