“A-all right.” My voice trembled only a little. Part of me still feared this, but part of me wanted it desperately. I still felt the aching/throbbing/tingling which seemed to fill me with need and I was helpless to deny it.
I had half hoped/half feared that he would reach at once for my breasts, but my guard surprised me. Instead, he started on my arms, rubbing and massaging them, sliding his hands slowly up down until I felt some of my tension ease.
He continued down to my legs, though he was careful only to touch my hips and the sides of my thighs, then my calves. As he continued to knead my muscles, I realized how tight I was. I could feel myself melting like butter under his big hands, sighing with pleasure as he gently but firmly massaged away my tension.
Only when I felt completely relaxed did he begin to touch me in more intimate areas.
He started by palming my breasts, spreading the light, sweet oil over them with gentle sweeps of his big, warm hands. As he stroked lightly over the tender tips of my nipples, I felt sparks of pleasure shooting outward and downward, to the place between my thighs.
“Oh, Sark…” I moaned, arching my back to give him better access. “That feels…so good!”
“That’s what I want, sweetheart—to make you feel good,” he growled softly. His hands became firmer, cupping and massaging my bare breasts then circling and teasing my tight peaks.
I moaned again and felt my hips bucking upward and my thighs spreading, as though I was seeking something else—something more. Was this the effect Baslik had been trying to achieve when he pinched and twisted and yanked on my sensitive points? If so, he had been going about it all wrong!
“Please…” I whispered, hardly knowing what I was asking for. “Please, Mr. Sark. I need…need more.”
He glanced down and his eyes widened slightly when he saw my spread thighs.
“Are you sure, my lady?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
I bit my lip, which was still sore from where I had made myself bleed that morning.
“I…I think so,” I whispered. “As…as long as you’re gentle.”
“I’ll always be gentle with you, Isla,” he murmured.
One big hand slid down to cup my mound—my “forbidden area” as Nana used to call it. I tensed at first, my thighs closing around his hand, but he didn’t poke or jab at me—he just held me, cupping me there as though this part of me was a precious treasure he didn’t want to damage. Finally, I relaxed enough to part my thighs again and Sark began to touch me.
It was slow at first, slow and gentle—just a single fingertip sliding along my slit. He wasn’t entering me—for the longest time it was just that slow, teasing caress that sent shivers down my spine.
“This part of you is so beautiful,” he murmured, looking into my eyes as he touched me. “It’s like a flower in a way, with outer petals that protect the delicate, sensitive inner core. Tell me, Isla, have you ever explored this part of yourself before?”
“N-no,” I admitted softly. “It…I was always told it was forbidden. And then later, after I was married to Baslik, he—”
I stopped abruptly—I didn’t want to think of how Baslik had abused this secret, delicate part of my body. I just wanted to forget him and concentrate on what was happening right at that moment.
“He what?” Sark was frowning.
“Never mind,” I said quickly. “I don’t want to think of it now. I just want you to touch me.”
“I love to touch you here,” he murmured, seeming to understand that I wanted to forget the past and stay in the present. “Tell me, how would you feel about me spreading your petals and stroking your inner core?”
I bit my lip.
“If…if you’re very, very gentle,” I told him.
“I won’t hurt you,” he promised softly. “And if you want me to stop, I will—just tell me.”
“All right.” I opened my thighs wider for him. “Go ahead, Sark. I…I trust you.”
“Thank you,” he murmured. And then I felt his fingers parting my outer petals, as he called them, and a single fingertip dipped deeper into my inner folds.
I tensed at first, fighting back the bad memories that surged forward. But his touch was nothing like Baslik’s. There was no jabbing or poking. Instead, I felt only a gentle caress which, when I relaxed enough to let myself open to him, felt amazingly good.
“Gods, sweetheart, you’re so wet,” he murmured as I felt his fingertip dip down to the mouth of my forbidden area. It slid back up and then he was touching the most sensitive part of me—the tender little button at my center which I had no name for.
“Ohhhh!” I moaned, bucking my hips again as he caressed and circled the sensitive spot. It sent waves of pleasure all through me so that I couldn’t help writhing on the table. “Oh, what is that—what are you doing?” I gasped. “It feels so good!”