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An Excerpt From: LONGING'S LEVANT
 CHARLOTTE BOYETT-COMPO, 2004.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave, Inc.
“I
rather like looking at you almost nude,” Tamara giggled.
Evann-Sin
glanced around at her then arched one dark brow. He held out his hand.
“Will you come to me?”
Something
in the warrior’s voice touched Tamara and she did not hesitate. She placed
her hand in his, allowing him to draw her into his embrace. With her face
pressed against the coarse fabric of his robe, she snuggled against him.
“We
need to think here a moment, wench,” he said softly. “My feelings for you
have been strong since the first moment I looked into your eyes. In my
heart of hearts, I have claimed you as my own.”
Tamara
smiled. “As I have claimed you.”
He
frowned then looked away from her. “Can you accept me as your lover now?”
“Nothing,”
she stressed, “has changed between us. Am I cringing in disgust here in
your arms?”
He smiled
gently. “But will you accept me?”
“With
all my being,” she pledged.
He
circled her tightly within his strong arms, his firm body pressed closely
to hers. “Then, let’s divest ourselves of any impediments.”
The
Akkadian lowered his hand to the cincture at her waist and tugged at the
cord. It untied easily so he pushed aside the ties, the ends falling to
either side of Tamara’s trembling body. Slowly he eased his palm beneath
the opening of the robe, smiling softly at his lady’s quick intake of
breath as his bare hands touched the top of her undergarment.
“Have
you known a man before now, my sweet one?” he asked as he reached out to
pull her down with him to her pallet.
Tamara
felt a tremor of anticipation ripple through her lower belly at his words.
“I am not a virgin, warrior,” she replied.
Evann-Sin
sensed the apprehension in her answer and shrugged lightly. “It matters not
except I would prefer to know how firmly and deeply my sword can thrust
before I would cause you pain.”
A
little groan of excitement pushed from Tamara’s throat. His gentle
voice—low and mesmerizing—made the hair at the nape of her neck stir and
the buds of her nipples harden. The coolness of his hand through the muslin
of her undergarment as his fingers grazed the tops of her breasts filled
her with growing need.
“So
soft,” he said with a satisfied sigh, trailing his fingers from the top of
one orb to the other, stroking her, soothing her.
When
his strong sword hand dipped beneath the edge of her undergarment, Tamara
tensed. Se drew in a breath as he pushed the material down to bare her
breast. The firmness of his palm cupping her, weighing her, lightly
squeezing, created heavy moisture at the juncture of her thighs and she
groaned again, caught up in the heady anticipation of what was to come.
Releasing
her, laughing huskily at her protest at being denied his touch, he divested
her of her robe, made quick work of the undergarment then came to his knees
on the pallet, ridding himself of his own coarse robe.
Seeing
the wide chest thickly pelted with dark curls, the pectorals that looked
hard as rock, the ripples of honed muscles stretched across his abdomen,
Tamara sighed deeply. This man was not only pleasing of face to look upon,
his body was a marvel of manhood—taut and powerful, sleek and defined, as a
warrior’s body should be. His arms were sculpted with years of sword
practice and—she had no doubt—weight training. His belly was flat, the
navel sinking beneath a spiral of wiry curls that traveled downward to a
commanding thrust from which she could not take her eyes.
“It
has been awhile since my weapon has been sheathed in so lovely a scabbard,”
he said, drawing Tamara’s gaze to his.
His
words thrilled her and she reached for him, her arms aching to feel those
broad shoulders, her body throbbing at the need to experience the weight of
him atop her.
The
Akkadian caught her hands, and pressed the palms together as though he bid
her pray. He placed a feather-soft kiss on the fingertips then released his
twin captives, stretching out to lie beside his lady, turning so his body
touched hers from chest to toe.
“It
has been awhile for me, as well,” she told him.
Evann-Sin
placed his lips to her ear and blew his breath lightly inside. Even as she
quivered at the invasion, he used his tongue to lap at the sensitive inner
surface, sending spirals of warm heat along the tender flesh. Another
ripple of pleasure traveled through Tamara’s tense body. “Turn over,” he
whispered.
She
did not question his command nor hesitate. He moved back as she eased over
to her stomach, her arms to either side of her head, gripping the pillow
that held his scent.
“Spread
your legs, my sweet.”
Tamara
opened her legs, reveling in the feel of him as he stretched out atop her.
The demanding rigidity of his manhood pressed against the cleavage of her
rump, sliding upward until it lay nestled along that fleshy valley.
“You
smell of jasmine,” he said huskily, and nipped at the sweep of her right
shoulder, his teeth sending shivers throughout her lower body.
“Does
that scent please you, warrior?” she asked breathlessly, for his tongue had
replaced his teeth in traversing the plane of her shoulder.
“It
does, though gardenia is my favorite scent,” he answered, shifting his
weight so he could plant tender kisses down her spine. His manhood dragged
down her leg, leaving a slight wetness behind as he pushed lower in the
bed.
“Jasmine
is an aphrodisiac,” she said, and sucked in a quick breath as he nipped at
her side, clutching the indention of her waist between his teeth.
“It is
working,” he said, and there was amusement in his tone.
Nothing
could have prepared Tamara for the invasion of his moist tongue between her
cheeks. She tensed, clenching the muscles of her rump together, but she
soon found that was no guarantee of protection from his questing mouth for
he used his fingertips to spread the cleft.
“Ah,”
Tamara sighed, as his tongue darted against the puckered […]. She dug her
fingers into the pillow; dragging it around her face for the sensation the
Akkadian was causing demanded loud and fervent moans of supreme pleasure.
“You
like that?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Um,”
was her reply. She was quivering, her stomach muscles clenching and
unclenching as her lover replaced his tongue with the insistent tip of a
cool finger. Her breath coming faster, shallower, expectant, she groaned as
that finger delved inside her.
Not
deeply, not enough to cause even a suggestion of pain, the probe was gentle
and possessive as it wiggled slowly within her.
“Warrior,
please,” she whispered, lifting her rump.
Evann-Sin
did not answer her need. He gently removed his finger to trail his
fingertips over her goose pimpled flesh. Trailing his nails down her thigh
to the very sensitive surface of her inner knee, he smiled at the grunt
that came from his lady’s throat.
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