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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.