Page 128 of The Moon's Fury

“But—”

“No.”

His sharp tone rang with finality, but he softened it with a kiss on her cheek. He grasped her hands and splayed them over his bare chest—a distraction, but one he needed.

His skin was warm beneath her fingertips, heat seeping into her palms as she greedily mapped every inch of him. Her hands swept over broad, muscled shoulders, tracing the thick ridges of his collarbones, then drifted lower, skimming the firm planes of his chest.

Zarian’s fingers tugged impatiently at her tunic. But shetsked, capturing his wrists and pinning them against the bed.

“I can touch you, but you’re not allowed to touch me,” she said, lifting her chin and arching a brow, daring him to question her.

His eyes darkened, jaw flexing. “The fuck I’m not,” he growled, and the rough timbre of his voice, the heat in his glare, sent coiling tendrils of desire shooting through her.

He didn’t move, though, his hands remaining where she had left them. Still, his hazel gaze tracked her every motion with hungry precision.

She resumed her exploration, shifting in his lap and tracing the corded veins that ran across his biceps and forearms. His breathing grew ragged when she replaced her fingers with her lips.

He leaned in, closing the gap between them, but she pulled back just before their lips met. “You’re being cruel,” he growled, his voice thick with desire, eyes dark and hungry.

Her lips curved up, leaning in just enough for her breath to tease his ear. “You showed such restraint in Alzahra. Where is it now?”

She rolled her hips, and a strangled groan tore from his throat.

“It’s. Long. Gone,” he all but snarled, dipping his head for another kiss. But she pulled away again, and his groan was pure agony.

He was straining now, fists clenched tightly, but he kept his arms against the bed as she commanded, as if bound by invisible ropes. She rose from his lap, and he looked at her helplessly, a plea for mercy in his gaze.

Ever so slowly, she peeled off her tunic, then her chemise.

His eyes were hooded as he watched her, mouth parted, wanton lust etched on his face. His searing gaze traced her like a touch, and her skin pebbled in response. Her trousers pooled at her feet, and then her mighty lion couldn’t restrain himself any longer.

In a blink, he was towering over her, his lips slanting over hers in a punishing kiss. Muscular arms tossed her onto the bed as if she weighed nothing, swiftly covering her body with his own, pinning her wrists above her head with one large hand.

“My turn to be cruel,” he rumbled in her ear.

Afterward, they lay on their sides, facing each other in the dark. Her head rested on his bicep, skin tingling as he traced winding patterns over her thigh.

“Do you still think about it?” she asked softly. “On the mountain, when I—”

He silenced her with a kiss.

“You took what you needed, and I freely gave it. We talked about what happened after and moved on. Let’s leave it in the past now.” He kissed her again, slow and tender and languid, and her heart felt whole.

When they parted, he traced the hollow of her cheek. “You were crying while I was in the washroom.”

She nodded slowly. “I was thinking about Mama and Soraya. But I’m all right.” Her smile was reassuring, and grew wider still when she realized it was the truth.

She was all right.

51

ShewoketoZarianbrushing a kiss against her temple, whispering something about “feeding Naj” and that “incompetent boy.”

Sleep loosened its hold on her after that. She dressed, smiling when she found a lukewarm pot ofsilpharoontea on the stove.

Downing it quickly, she headed downstairs, wanting to check on Najoom as well.

She’d come to love the frightful stallion.