Forbidden Susan Johnson (english love story books txt) 📖

"Then?"

"If you're compliant."

"Why would I have to be compliant?"

He shrugged, wondering how much editing would be required for a woman like Daisy who considered herself not only independent, not only equal, but at times superior to men. "The slide was a source of entertainment for the harem women," he said in simple explanation.

"That sounds innocuous enough."

"And a source of entertainment," he carefully went on, "for the sultan or khan or mogul as well."

Her eyes were very close to his. "I see," she said and then unexpectedly laughed out loud. "Do you feel sufficiently despotic to take on the role of potentate?"

His grin was instant. "As imperious, darling, as Genghis Khan."

"On one condition."

"Anything."

Daisy's faint smile reflected the coquettish twinkle in her eyes. "You can only look, but can't touch." It was a Daisy Black mutation of submission—in her inimitable fashion, making her own rules.

"Agreed," the Duc de Vec lied, like a true despot, oblivious to rules.

Positioning himself for a clear and revealing view at the base of the slide, Etienne settled comfortably on the marble lounge designed at a convenient distance for just such a purpose. And when Daisy came slipping around the spiraling curve of polished marble, her laughter merry, her luscious bottom sailing through the air only scant feet over his fascinated gaze, the Duc considered for a moment the real advantages of ownership.

Her swooping plunge into the heated pool pelted him with water. She surfaced seconds later with vivacious laughter, shaking the water from her eyes, her long sleek hair flinging droplets in an arching fan-shaped trajectory. "Do you like the view?" she called to him, dreading water with a teasing smile on her face. He could have reached out and stroked her delectable bottom as she'd sailed over his head, had he wished. And she knew it.

"The view is prizewinning," he said with a rakish grin. Lounging at ease like a young prince of the blood, his nude body casually disposed as if on view, his wet hair lying in dark sleek ribbons on his shoulders, his eyes facetiously appraising, the Duc de Vec exhibited a demonstrable libertine disposition and connoisseurship.

Daisy's smile faded abruptly. "Are there often contests?" Her voice held that heated edge.

"I've been told," he said, "the origins of such slides involved a competition of sorts." Taking mild exception to her taunting, he considered a form of payback equitable.

"You've been told?" Each word was suddenly sharp with insinuation.

"Well… yes…" There. He was able to smile as complacently as Daisy had mockingly moments ago.

"You'll be competent to judge then, I presume," she oversweetly declared, wishing to discipline Etienne's overused libido.

"I think so," he quietly replied.

Seated at the top of the slide a short time later, displayed like a bibelot for his pleasure, Daisy raised her arms above her head and posed for a moment as if flaunting that which he couldn't have.

"Are you ready?" she purred.

He was this time, surprising her as she plummeted into the deep water, catching her and smiling into her startled face amidst spraying plumes of water.

"You can't touch me," she protested, trying to squirm out of his arms. "I made the rules."

Slipping one hand between her legs, he pulled her close. "I don't believe in rules."

"Liar."

"Flirt."

"Libertine."

"Coquette." And he slipped two fingers inside her as a sultan might appropriate his casual possession.

"Let me go." Her voice had taken on a ragged edge.

"I thought you were compliant," he murmured.

"No," she whispered as his fingers sank deeper. But she lay very still suddenly, savoring the exquisite sensations.

"In this small grotto, at this moment I own you," he whispered, recognizing her acquiescence.

"No one owns me." But her eyes were half shut, Etienne's massaging fingers skilled and adept.

"I can make you stay."

He could, right at that moment, he could.

And he did, carrying her to the marble lounge, positioning her atop his blatant arousal, holding her with a casual strength on the very crest of his erection until she whimpered for the feel of him. He accommodated her then, sliding her slick heated sweetness down his pulsing hard length with firm hands around her waist as though she were not only a slave to her passion but a slave to him. And inexcusably he held her there impaled for an hour and then longer, making love to her tenderly and selfishly, with thin-skinned resentment of his susceptibility and with impassioned sentimentality—against protest and clinging embrace until she'd climaxed so often, she was prostrate with exhaustion. As if his covetousness could be satisfied in lust.

She fainted finally—the ultimate submission—and while he should have been satisfied at last, he felt only fear.

While he could with the skill of his experience subdue her sexually, he had no sovereignty over her life. None. And she was leaving him.

He carried her as if she were infinitely fragile through the connecting dressing room to his bedchamber and laying her on the sun-warmed bed, wrapped her in a velvet coverlet. Alarmed at her continuing stillness, he kissed her gently on her cheek, silently chastising himself for his brutish behavior. Daisy was more defenseless than the Ismes of the world, unfamiliar with sexual excess, more ardently passionate, too, giving of herself intemperately.

He should have controlled his perverse discontent.

Had he truly hurt her? Lightly holding her wrist, he felt for a pulse. Her eyes fluttered open at his touch and she smiled winsomely. "You definitely hold the record now."

"Lord, I'm sorry," he whispered, regret poignant in his eyes. "There's no justification." He tenderly stroked the delicate curve of her cheek.

"I'm fine. Just tired."

"Are you sure? Should I call a doctor? I will… we should… we definitely should… I'll have Louis phone for—"

Daisy stopped his restless apologetic rush of words with a finger to his lips. "I'm fine. Really."

He took a breath.

"Would you have Louis order some food instead? I'm famished."

His grin was replete with relief. "Whatever you want. I'm penitent as hell. Do you want to hit me?" Contrite and conscience-stricken, he wished to make amends. "I'll buy you what—diamonds?… those