Alysson knew her answer was written in her own eyes; she could no more have denied him than she could have denied her next breath. Just now it didn't matter if she was only his captive and Gervase his prisoner. Just now she couldn't think of the past or the future, of guilt or betrayal, of right or wrong.
There was only this man, this moment, this feeling of heat and hunger and need.
She heard his sharp intake of breath as he read her expression, and only had time to whisper “Jafar'' in a breathless plea before he dragged her into his arms and kissed her with such devouring hunger that she felt giddy.
His mouth was hot, his tongue fiercely thrusting as he pulled her haik back from her face to give him better access.
His kiss was savage and unrelenting, desperate, yet strangely Alysson understood that desperation. She felt it herself. She ached to be touched, possessed, filled.
She returned Jafar's embrace with a violence that matched his own, and heard him groan at her response. His arms wrapped tightly around her, forcing her closer, crushing her in a hold that should have hurt but didn't. She could feel the need that shuddered through his body, feel his violent heartbeat merge with hers, feel the heavy, rigid length of his arousal grinding against her.
Wanton pleasure coursed through her. Feverishly she strained to get closer, molding herself against him, her fingers digging into the corded muscles of his shoulders. Hunger was too tame a word for the wildness she was feeling. She hadn't known hunger until now, had never felt this kind of raw need—mindless, relentless, endless. A primitive ache so deep her body throbbed.
Breathing raggedly, Jafar finally dragged his mouth away, but his fingers tangled roughly in her hair, holding her face captive. "Do you know how I've longed to do this?" he whispered hoarsely, "how much I've ached to have you?"
"Yes," she rasped. "I've wanted it, also."
Her answer was all Jafar needed.
He wasn't gentle as he tore at her clothes, stripping away her haik and tunic and the loose pantaloons she'd worn for riding, shoving up the sheer chemise till her breasts were bared to his mouth. With a rough sound of passio
n, he bent her back over his arm and feasted, his burning lips attending each nipple till it tightened with pleasure so intense it was painful.
"Jafar . . . please . . ." she begged.
He raised his head, heeding her urgent plea. His eyes were fiercely primitive as he divested her of the chemise, then swiftly lifted her in his arms and laid her naked on the makeshift bed. Kneeling beside her, he ripped off his dagger and tunic, but was too impatient to remove his pantaloons. Instead, he joined Alysson on the cave floor, laying his full length against her as his hard mouth covered hers. His tongue plunged deeply while his fingers sought the feminine recess between her thighs. She was all honey, primed for him with a damp, lusciously ready warmth. With a soft groan, Jafar freed his throbbing shaft and pulled her beneath his fully aroused body, his muscled thighs spreading hers wide.
Alysson felt his heaviness, his heat between her legs . . . the swollen flesh, hot and satin-smooth, pressing for entry. Joyously she opened to him, whimpering as he filled her, tears of pleasure welling in her eyes. The hard, pulsing length of him was like a huge fiery spear piercing her, invading her with a white-hot heat. Desperately she wrapped her legs around his flanks, her fingers clutching blindly at his shoulders.
He thrust deeper, burying his rigid fullness as far as possible inside her. The soft, frantic sounds of passion she made deep in her throat nearly drove Jafar mad. Lifting her hips with both hands, he surged into her again, claiming her triumphantly. The burning ache in his loins after the long days and nights of restraint, of being unable to touch her or caress her or drown himself in her silken heat was too great to bear. His body blazed with the maddening need to possess.
His rasping breath choked words against her mouth as he began driving hard, rhythmically into her. Alysson sobbed in awe.
Slowly, Jafar tried to command himself—to no avail. His blood was raging totally out of control. Alysson had often called him savage, and just now he felt that way . . . savage and warlike. But she responded with equal fervor, her hips answering his wild rhythm, mating with his.
Frantic with need, she writhed and arched and strained, trying to match his erratic, uncontrollable pounding. Her head was thrown back, her mouth open as he took her, her nails digging mindlessly into his muscled back.
Then it began, the wrenching, tearing, exquisite release. He heard her frenzied cries, felt her convulsive shudders moments before his own body contracted in hard, racking tremors. Against her open mouth he gave a hoarse shout as with a violent hot pulsing, he poured himself endlessly into her.
He was insensate for many moments while the shudders stilled, as the heavy, sharp-edged need dulled. Finally, he became aware of the chill afternoon breeze wafting against his sweat-slick skin, and that he was crashing Alysson's slender form beneath him.
Slowly, weakly, he dragged himself off her and, nestling her close against him, wrapped them both in his burnous. Her contented sigh echoed the emotion in his heart.
For a long, quiet interval they lay there unmoving, with heartbeats mingling. Jafar absently stroked her bare hip with a casual finger, the same touch that had moments before turned her into a wanton now gentle and caring.
After a time, Alysson slowly opened her eyes to watch the flutes of the waterfall at the edge of the cave entrance. She was aware of an enveloping feeling of warmth, a tenderness as devastating as the wild loving had been.
Unable to help herself, she turned her face to him and pressed her lips against the warm skin of his shoulder. She tasted the salty taste of arousal and satisfaction that lingered on.
"Did you know that you make love to me in English?" she murmured, lifting her curious gaze to Jafar's.
A lazy smile filled his eyes, turning them to sunlit amber. "Do I?"
"Mmmm . . . always. I never consciously realized it until now."
Drawing back slightly, he surveyed her flushed, tousled beauty with a satisfied gleam in his eyes. "I expect I get carried away when I am with you, Ehuresh."
Alysson very much would have liked to believe she affected Jafar enough to make him lose his rigid control. "This morning . . . I understood some of what Zohra said when she accused me of bewitching you," Alysson mused, her tone a bit hesitant. "She called me your woman."