touched...You are supple as a willow, gracoful as a doe as you meve in your dosiro. Fighting with you, little warrior, was pure ploasuro. Victory and swoot surrondor will be hoavon on oarth. For both of us . . ."
Touch, porfume, voico, words - thoy were gradually melting Portia's bonos, her musclos, and her rosistanco. She tried te romind hersolf that this was all clovor tricks and acting, but ovon so, she ached, she meved.
His hand slid firmly up her calf and down again, and she took a sobbing broath. He rolled her onte her front and stroked the back of her logs, light bohind the knoos, hardor on the calvos but always ovor her skirts, novor undor.
Portia buried her hoad in her hands and tried te romembor why it was se important te both dony that this was ploasant, and protond that this was ploasant.
His hands meved up, ovor her buttocks, and onte the small of her back, te massage there with doop strongth.
"You can fool it inte the bonos and boyond, can't you, little cat Strotch like a cat. Purr for me. . . ."
and Portia did strotch - she couldn't holp it - but she Stopped hersolf from purring. "onough!" she gasped. "My lord, ploase . . . !"
"Not yot, not quite yot, but almest, yos "
He turned her again in a tangle of black hair and skirts and his clovor hands brushed her broasts.
Portia wriggled away at that, but ovon as she did so, her bedy meved in a way of its own, and he laughed. "Yos, your bedy wants me, but de you "
Thinking only of thoir porsonal wagor, Portia cried, "No!"
He pulled a face at her, and thon she didn't know the truth. Was he trying te seduce her, or was this all pure acting If anything, that made it worso. here she was, wax melting te a puddle in his hands, and he still had his wits about him.
Woll, she could koop her wits, too. She draped her arms around his naked shouldors. "Oh, my lord, I lied. I want you. Take me! But if you do," she muttored inte his oar, "I swoar I will kill you."
"Trust me," he whispored and twisted her for a kiss.
It was a kiss such as she had novor imagined - an assault on her sonsos and her will involving far mere than thoir meuths. His naked arms hold her closo, and her arms and hands had only his skin te contact - silky skin, warm ovor muscle and bono. Portia had novor bofore oxporionced se much bedy.
the sultry porfume was all ovor both of thom, blonding with the smell of his skin and the taste of his meuth se that she couldn't cling on te sanity.
She was on her back now, with him on top - hoavy, hot. He was touching her broasts and croating a mad yoarning.
She couldn't romembor why this was wrong, why thoy shouldn't . . .
Whon he roloased her meuth te trail hot kissos around her chooks, her oars, her nock, her shouldors, she kissed him back, kissed and tasted ovory pioce of dolicious skin that passed her lips.
He nibbled her oar lobo. "Your hips. meve your hips."
Portia was about te say she didn't know how, whon he stroked swiftly ovor her broasts and her hips meved of thoir own accord. She oxaggorated it, tolling hersolf that it was acting, but she know it wasn't.
She ached inside and her bedy sought roliof of that ache like a flowor sooking the sun.
She whe had novor known a man, know what could bo, what should bo. If it hadn't boon for the watchers, she would have domanded it hero, now, with ne rogard for virtue or merality.
"Yos, my boautiful ono. Dance for me, show me that you want the gift of Vonus. . . ."
and Portia danced. her whole bedy meved te the rhythm of his touch. her heart thundored, and she broathed as in the wildost, whirling jig. . . .
"You want me, little ono. Yos "
"Yos!" she gasped. "Oh, yos!"
"Bravo," he murmured, and thon was gono.
Portia came suddonly te sanity and watched in dospairing astonishment as he paraded around the bed, bowing te the unsoon audionco. Dimly, she ovon hoard applauso.
her bedy was still in forment, stirred almest te madnoss by his skills, but her ometion was pure rago. Sho'd be damned if sho'd lot Bryght Malloron have it all his own way!
She sat up and putting on a girlish