Embarrassed, vulnerable heat added color to her cheeks as she removed her short boots and socks then slid her pants and underwear to her ankles before stepping out of them. He’d seen her naked before, already knew her body intimately, and yet it was different stripping at his command. It was both arousing and erotically frightening to stand in front of him while his eyes traveled over her bare flesh as if she belonged completely to him and was his to do with as he pleased.

He stepped in to her, hard heated flesh and leather, desert wind and exotic spice. His hands went to the coil of her braid and unwound it, freed the locks so they fell in honeyed waves to her buttocks as they did each time she entered the spiritlands.

He cupped her breasts, rubbed his thumbs over nipples that ached for his touch, his mouth. Golden eyes darkened and became molten.

“Do not touch me,” he ordered, his harsh voice revealing what the command cost him as his hands trailed down her sides and he knelt in front of her.

She widened her stance without being told, though her hands curled into fists in an effort to keep from freeing his braid, from tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling him to her parted slit and wet channel.

Her clit hardened further, so the soft, delicate hood no longer concealed the tiny, sensitive head. “Please,” she whispered.

He cupped her buttocks and kept her from pressing against him in sultry invitation. He leaned forward, slid his tongue through her wet folds and over her hardened knob, sent nearly unbearable ecstasy through her, before abruptly standing and lifting her with casual strength then carrying her into the bathroom.

Zurael placed her in the nearly filled tub. He turned off the faucets before stripping out of his clothing, his eyes never leaving her.

He was heavily aroused, his cock hard and thick. The testicles hanging beneath it made Aisling think of a stallion, a bull. He was elemental man and primordial force.

Despite his command that she not touch him, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to rise to her knees when he stepped into the tub, to grasp his hips and press her mouth to his hardened flesh. Satisfaction roared through her when he groaned her name and tangled his fingers in her hair, held her against his rigid cock.

He shuddered as she measured his length in kisses, in the wet trail of her tongue. He panted when she nuzzled the heavy sacs containing his seed, heated them with her breath.

“Take me in your mouth, Aisling,” he said, buttocks flexing, hands clenching and unclenching in her hair.

She ignored his command, and the shift in dynamics was intoxicating, thrilling, too heady to resist. She’d never felt so feminine, so powerful.

One hand left his hip to cup his testicles, to weigh them. He was silky smooth, hot in the palm of her hand. She traced the ridges and veins on his shaft with her tongue, sucked on them until his fingers tightened painfully on her hair and his breath came in ragged pants.

“Obey me, Aisling. Now.”

His voice promised retribution, punishment, complete domination if she didn’t yield. And her cunt clenched, her body hungered for it. She was beyond reason, beyond denial.

She curled a hand around his cock, defied him by pressing her mouth against the velvety soft tip of him, parting her lips only enough for a shallow kiss, for the dart of her tongue to explore the tiny slit.

When he thrust, she tightened her grip on him, warned with the press of teeth, the increase of pressure around his testicles, that she wouldn’t be rushed.

Zurael raked his fingers through her hair. He rubbed golden strands of it against his belly and thighs as he fought to regain control of himself and the situation.

Lust, desire, brutal need whipped through him in a heated maelstrom. He would punish her later, make her scream and beg for release.

She would learn the cost of disobedience. She would experience true submission.

He leaned over, scraped his nails against her back, her buttocks. Felt her jerk when he traced the tight pucker of her back entrance. He would have her there, too. He would have her in every way a man could claim a woman.

“Take me in your mouth,” he said, straightening, finding her breasts, her nipples, his fingers ruthless, making her whimper, shudder, surrender.

He nearly came when she sucked his cock head into the wet heat of her mouth and assaulted it with her sinful tongue. His hips jerked, thrust. But the tight fist of her hand kept him from forging deeper, from knowing the ecstasy of fucking all the way in and out of her mouth.

Zurael panted, groaned, fought against the restraint she imposed on him. He rubbed and tormented her breasts and nipples, whispered what he intended to do to her later. He dared her to continue defying him, but she didn’t yield. She drew it out until their skin was slick with sweat and the sounds of pleasure echoed continuously against the bathroom walls.

“Aisling.” Command had gone to plea, to naked supplication. And finally she relented.

He threw his head back and closed his eyes. His hips jerked, pistoned, the frantic thrust and retreat beyond his control as she took him deeper, let him take her as he’d fantasized.

The pleasure was nearly unbearable, and yet he fought against release, tried to draw it out. He forced his eyes open, wanted to memorize the sight of her kneeling before him, his cock sliding between her lips, her eyelashes lowered in submission, in the pleasure she found in the primitive, carnal act they shared.

She made his heart and soul sing, made him feel masculine, powerful, complete. “Aisling,” he whispered, wanting her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his centuries of existence, knowing all he’d ever have were what precious memories he made with her.

Eyelashes lifted to reveal eyes filled with unfathomable emotion, and he lost what little control remained. He thrust, panted, shuddered in ecstasy as he came-and nearly cried when the heated release only left him craving her more intensely.

Zurael sank into the water and pulled Aisling against his chest. His mouth pressed against her ear, his tongue traced the delicate shell then fucked into the sensitive canal as his fingers found her clit.

“Please,” she said, clinging to him, rubbing her mound against his hand, wanting release from the tight coil of need.

He should draw it out, reduce her to helplessness as she’d reduced him, but the danger was too great. A tilt of her head and their lips would be close, nearly touching, and the temptation to do the forbidden too great to resist.

He found her plump folds and shoved his fingers into her slit. Retreated. Repeated it over and over again, his palm striking the naked head of her clit until the water was sloshing violently and she was keening, slumping, limp with the pleasure he’d given her.

Zurael turned her in his arms, kissed her neck, her shoulders. He murmured words of satisfaction as he stroked her breasts, her belly, cuddled her until both of them recovered from the first rush of passion. Then he picked up a translucent bead of soap and crushed it between his fingers, worked the lather in his hands before applying it to her silky skin.

The way she melted against him, went boneless as he bathed her, was deeply satisfying. He lingered, saved her hair for last. And the intimacy of washing it, combing through it with his fingers, was nearly his undoing, even though he knew it didn’t mean the same thing to humans as it did to the Djinn.

After the soap had dissolved as if it were never present, Aisling turned and rose to her knees. “My turn.”

Zurael’s cock hardened at the sight of her breasts, the nipples begging for his touch. Memories of the pleasure she’d given him, when he stepped into the tub and she knelt before him, left him struggling against the urge to stand.