Page 30 of Dark Shaman: The Lost Treasure (The Children Of The Gods #98)

TAMIRA

T amira took pride in being an excellent judge of character. Five thousand years of experience had honed her ability to read people with ease. She knew their desires, their fears, their true nature beneath whatever mask they wore. She had never been wrong in her initial assessments.

Until tonight.

Either she'd been completely mistaken about Elias, or the careful, reserved shaman had been hiding a passionate nature that only emerged when desire overrode caution, because the man who'd just shattered her with pleasure bore little resemblance to the cautious philosopher who'd sat beside her at dinner.

First times had never been like this.

She'd experienced the full spectrum—from a selfish god who had taken her virginity without much care for her pleasure to fumbling young humans who'd needed explicit instruction or arrogant ones who'd believed they were irresistible.

The timid ones had frustrated her with their hesitation, while the overconfident ones had disappointed her with their assumptions.

Neither type had truly satisfied.

Long ago, she'd accepted that the perfect lover did not exist, that he was a fantasy created to give hope to young women who still believed that their salvation would one day come.

Simple carnal pleasure could be found easily enough, but a true connection? That meeting of bodies and souls that the poets sang about? She'd lost hope of ever experiencing it a long time ago and convinced herself that it didn't exist.

How spectacularly wrong she'd been.

Elias had displayed the perfect balance of masculine dominance tempered with gentle care and perfectly attuned consideration.

He'd taken control without taking away her choice, asserting his will while remaining attuned to her every response.

Each touch had been deliberate yet, somehow, spontaneous, as if he were simultaneously following a plan and improvising based on her reactions.

It was as if he'd been reading her mind, or perhaps her body, and interpreting each shiver and sigh like a language he'd spent lifetimes learning.

He'd led when she wanted to follow, yielded when she needed control, created a dance of give and take that had been deeply satisfying and yet left her hungry for more.

Now he lay beside her, still fully clothed while she was bare, and the contrast sent another wave of heat through her.

Any other man would have been tearing at his clothes by now, desperate to claim his own pleasure after taking care of hers.

But Elias waited, watched, and let her set the pace for what came next.

It should have cooled her ardor, but instead, it stoked it higher.

He was unexpected, different, and delightful.

She turned on her side to face him, drinking in the sight of him in the near darkness.

His hair was disheveled from her fingers, his lips slightly parted as if he was as breathless from her climax as she was, and his eyes were dark with desire but also tender.

Full of wonder? Or perhaps recognition of the thing she felt blooming between them?

"You're still dressed." She trailed a finger down his chest.

"I know. I didn't want to presume. I'm here for your pleasure, not mine."

"You've delivered on that and then some. You made me forget my own name." She sighed. "You are the only man in forever who saw me as me, Tamira, and not someone else's possession."

His expression softened. "You are no one's possession."

She actually was Navuh’s possession, but her heart and mind were her own.

"Tell that to the guards," she said.

"I would, if I thought it would make a difference." His hand came up to cup her cheek. "I can't change your circumstances, but I can make you forget them for a little while."

"You already have." She turned her head to kiss his palm. "But now I find myself greedy for more." She began working on the buttons of his shirt.

When she parted the fabric, her breath caught.

His chest was smooth and well defined, the muscles of someone who used his body for work rather than vanity.

But it was the mark on his right pectoral that drew her attention—an intricate pattern that looked almost like a symbol, burned or etched into his skin.

She traced it gently with her fingertips, feeling him tense beneath her touch. "Is this what you were worried about me seeing?"

He nodded.

"How did you get it? It looks like a burn." The pattern was too precise to be accidental, too meaningful to be random scarring.

His breath hitched. Was it a surprise to him that she'd identified its nature so quickly? "It was a burn," he said.

She lifted her eyes to meet his, seeing the wall he'd erected around this particular truth. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine."

"I don't." The words were soft but final.

A small hurt bloomed in her chest at his unwillingness to share, but she pushed it aside. This was only their first night together, and trust took time to build. When he felt safer with her, perhaps he would tell her the story of how he'd been marked.

Instead of dwelling on what he wouldn't share, she focused on what he would, moving her hands to his waist. The anticipation of finally seeing all of him made her pulse quicken.

She helped him shed the rest of his clothes, and when he was finally naked before her, she took a moment to simply appreciate the male beauty. He had the lean strength of a runner, a body honed by use rather than training.

"You are beautiful," she said.

He laughed, the sound slightly self-conscious. "I think that's my line."

"No." She ran her hands over his chest, his arms, mapping the terrain of his body. "You are beautiful in the way a well-balanced blade is beautiful—functional and elegant at the same time."

Her exploration led her lower, and when she found his hard length and gave it a testing caress, the groan that escaped him sent liquid heat pooling in her belly. The smooth, hot flesh pulsing in her hand felt magnificent—perfectly sized, responsive to her touch, already weeping with need for her.

Before she could explore further, he threaded his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her skull with gentle firmness before claiming her mouth.

Finally, they were kissing—something that should have come before the intimate kiss he'd already given her, but she wasn't complaining about the unconventional sequence. If anything, this rewriting of the typical script added to the uniqueness of their encounter.

His lips were soft but insistent, coaxing hers apart so his tongue could slip inside.

He kissed her like he had all the time in the world, like nothing existed beyond this moment, this connection, like his shaft wasn't making any demands.

His tongue danced with hers, sometimes leading, sometimes following, creating a rhythm that made her think of another dance their bodies would soon share.

As if reading her mind, he rolled her beneath him with one smooth movement, his weight a warm blanket on top of her.

He wasn't too heavy, just substantial enough to make her feel deliciously trapped, every point of contact between them electrified.

His skin was warm and smooth against hers, muscles shifting as he adjusted his position to keep from crushing her.

He cupped her face between his palms, holding her like something precious as he kissed her again.

This time it was just gentle nibbles on her lips, teasing touches that made her arch up seeking more.

When she opened for him, his tongue swept inside, making love to her mouth with the same patient devotion he'd shown elsewhere.

His hard length pressed against her inner thigh, so close to where she needed it. Why was he waiting? Could he not feel how ready she was, how desperately she wanted him inside her?

Centuries of barely adequate lovers had left her hungry for something more, something real. And now that she'd found it, the anticipation was almost unbearable.

His height meant she had to stretch to reach what she wanted, but she managed to grasp his firm buttocks, sinking her nails into the solid flesh as she arched up, rubbing her aching center against his hardness. The friction sent sparks through her, but it wasn't enough.

"I need you inside me," she gasped against his mouth.

He groaned, lifting just enough to reach between them. She felt him position himself at her entrance and braced for the hard thrust that would follow, craving the sweet invasion.

But it didn't come.

Instead, Elias entered her with agonizing slowness, as if she were breakable. The consideration might have been sweet if it weren't so unnecessary and she weren't so desperate, but there was something oddly arousing about the careful control he exhibited.

He stretched her perfectly, the careful entry allowing her to enjoy every inch of him as he slowly claimed her. When he was finally seated fully inside her, she lifted her legs to wrap around his torso, using the leverage to pull him even deeper.

"Incredible," he breathed against her ear, his voice rough with the effort of maintaining control.

"So are you." She clenched around him experimentally, drawing another groan from him. "But I'm much tougher than I look, and you need to move."

Her words should have unleashed him, but instead, he kissed her again, pulling out a few inches before pressing back in with the same careful control.

The friction was delicious, but she needed more.

"That's so good," she encouraged, hoping he'd take the hint and increase his pace.

He thrust again, harder this time, but still controlled. Then he pulled almost all the way out before surging back in with enough force to make her gasp.

"Yes, just like that." She clutched his broad shoulders, her nails digging in as he finally, finally gave her what she craved.

What followed was a revelation.

She tried to meet his thrusts, to maintain the give-and-take that they had so far maintained, but he was much stronger than any of the human males she'd been with. Each powerful drive of his hips sent her higher, pushed her beyond thought into pure sensation.

For the first time in millennia, she couldn't match her partner's strength. All she could do was hold on and surrender to the storm he'd become.

Something about that should have bothered her, but there was also something liberating about being overwhelmed, about finding a lover whose passion could sweep her away so completely.

The last time she'd experienced anything approaching this was with the god Mortdh, but he hadn't been attentive or caring. Besides, that had been so long ago she didn't trust the memory.

On some level deeper than thought, Tamira recognized that there was something fundamentally different about Elias. It wasn't just his unexpected strength or his intuitive understanding of her needs, but something elusive and essential, a quality she couldn't define.

Whatever it was, she knew with bone-deep certainty that after experiencing this, she could never go back to the simple men who'd warmed her bed over the long centuries of her captivity.

"Look at me," Elias commanded softly, and she opened eyes she hadn't realized she'd closed.

His face above hers was intense with concentration and desire, but it was the emotion in his eyes that made her breath catch. He wasn't just taking his pleasure or even sharing it—he was worshipping her with his body, each thrust an offering, each groan a prayer.

"You are so breathtakingly beautiful," he murmured, never breaking eye contact as he moved within her. "So perfect. I could spend eternity learning you."

The words should have been throwaway compliments, the kind that men said in the heat of passion. But she recognized the sincerity of his voice that made the words feel like vows.

She was close again, the tension building with each perfect stroke. But more than physical release, she felt something deeper threatening to break free—walls she'd built over millennia beginning to crumble under his tender assault.

"Let go," he whispered, somehow sensing her internal struggle. "I've got you. Let go."

And with a trust that should have terrified her, she did.