Samurai Game

CHAPTER 12

Sam had chosen a spot in the forest of trees near a running stream with water tumbling over a series of small boulders to build his home. His porch overlooked the stream, with his bedroom situated so he could open his windows and listen to the water as it made its way down the tumbling rocks to the cool pond below. Lacy ferns scattered along the narrow bank grew in every shade of green. Homemade paper lanterns floated down the stream, glowing softly, lighting the water so that it sparkled like jewels in the night and illuminated the delicate night fronds.

“Magic,” he murmured aloud. “Azami magic.”

She was welcoming him home in her own way. If his heart hadn’t been soaring before, it was now. He paused to watch the lanterns floating gracefully down the small series of falls toward the swirling pool of water several yards away. In the darkness of the forest, the warm radiance lent the water a luminosity that added to the magical illusion of the world around him shifting and changing. The rest of the world dropped away until there was only this moment, this place-and Azami waiting for him.

His childhood had been one of drugs and apathy, his mother, unable and unwilling to give up her habits to look after him. He’d been hungry most of the time, dodging blows from whatever men she brought home and walking through needles and filth barefoot as she rarely bothered to find him a pair of shoes. Later, when he was a bit older, he fended for himself, learning to steal food, all the while trying to get an education. He stole textbooks from thrift stores, desperate to feed a mind always seeking more knowledge. Fate had intervened in the form of General Ranier when he’d boosted Ranier’s car. The general, instead of having him arrested, took him home.

Ranier and his wife had been good to Sam, much more than he deserved, paying for his education, sending him to boarding schools and giving him money to buy decent clothes. But, and he felt a little guilty-okay, a lot guilty that he’d never felt at home there. The old man wanted to be addressed as sir. He was gone all over the world, busy with his career, too busy to be home for holidays. His wife often accompanied him and when she wasn’t, her charitable organizations kept her too busy to see him often. They were good to him, and he loved them for it, but their house had never been his home.

He’d built his house with loving hands. He knew he wanted to stay here in this wilderness, surrounded by men he trusted and had come to let into his world, but each time he came back from a mission, the house was empty and cold. No matter what he did to it, there was no life in it. Azami had already made just approaching the house seem more of a coming home than he’d ever had.

He took his time walking up the stone path to his door. Insects rustled leaves. An owl fluttered its wings while it watched for a meal. Frogs took up a chorus of love songs, each trying to outdo the other. This was his world with Azami, closed to everyone else. She was his and only his. No one else knew the woman behind that perfect mask of serenity. No one felt her passion and fire smoldering beneath the surface. They had no idea of this… He turned to look at the sheer magic she’d created there in the forest for him. Forever wasn’t long enough to spend with a woman like her.

Still, he stayed outside the door, holding his breath, half afraid his miracle wasn’t reality. The paper lanterns floating down the stream and bobbing up and down in the pond created a beauty he’d never had in his life-and had never expected to have. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Azami had been created for him-sent to him-and yet he was half afraid that if he actually opened the door to his home, he would be alone and he’d discover everything was an illusion. He’d been wounded; perhaps he was dreaming the entire thing up.

“You don’t have that vivid an imagination, knucklehead,” he whispered and dropped his hand to the doorknob. He couldn’t have conjured up the images in the forest, let alone a woman like Azami. He turned the knob and pushed open the door.

He smelled exotic flowers the moment he crossed the threshold. The room was warm and bathed in soft candlelight. He hardly recognized his front room, yet it was the same. She came to him with a whisper of silk, to stand directly in front of him. Her hands went to his shirt and he bent his head, allowing her to slip it off. She folded the material unhurriedly and set it aside. Her hands dropped to the zipper of his jeans. There was possession in her touch, and a deference he hadn’t expected.

He said nothing, aware of everything about her as she pushed his jeans down the columns of his thighs. He stepped free of them. She folded the jeans just as carefully. When he was completely naked, she picked up a man’s silk robe obviously brand-new, probably intended for her brother judging by the size of it. She held the robe open for him to slip his arms into. Her eyes were very dark, twin black pools of hot liquid, her long lashes veiling much of her expression, but for the first time, there was some shyness in her gaze.

She took his hand, her fingers tugging at his wrist. “Come with me.”

He followed her silently through his home to the bathroom. Again, candles were her choice of light. The softer glow threw dancing shadows on the wall. He had designed the bathroom to be a very large, tiled shower, with a showerhead above and a handheld nozzle. His tub was large and deep. He was a big man and enjoyed soaking in his tub and looking out the large window into the deep forest.

Steam filled the bathroom, evidence of a very hot bath being drawn, and the room smelled of cherry blossoms and spice. She had set a small wooden stool in the middle of the open shower for him to sit on. He allowed her to tug off the silken robe and lead him to the stool. Azami removed her own robe, folded both, and set them out of harm’s way.

His breath caught in his throat as she moved to his side. Her body was small and delicate, but extremely firm, muscles sliding beneath that delicate frame. Her hair was up in that strangely elegant style, thick, with her dark bangs falling, drawing attention to her eyes. Long strands of hair fell from the upswept do past her shoulders, hinting at a dark silky waterfall when he pulled those long ornate pins from her hair.

“The bath is more than cleaning your body, Sammy,” she explained.

Her voice, so soft and expressive, sent a shiver of awareness down his spine. Heat coiled around his heart and snaked into his belly. Just her voice affected him, so gentle, a whisper of sound that he felt all the way to his bones. No one had ever called him Sammy before, and he would have punched them if they had, but with her caressing voice, the name suited him just fine. Were other men so enamored of their woman? She’d crept into his mind and buried herself there, so deep there was no getting her out.

“You must also cleanse your spirit. At the end of a day, body, mind, and spirit must all come together. It is necessary for harmony, especially in the life of a warrior. I would show you my way, if you wish.”

Her lashes lifted and he found himself staring into those dark pools of midnight velvet. The impact was like a hard punch, low and wicked. No one should have those eyes. She didn’t need much else to bring him to his knees.

He reached down to frame her upturned face with his hands. “I can’t imagine denying you anything, let alone something so obviously important to you.”

He couldn’t stop himself from leaning down and brushing her mouth gently with his. His heart fluttered, and as naked as he was, his body responded, his erection fierce and urgent. Her gaze dropped to the evidence of his desire for her and a whisper of a smile curved her mouth as she waved him to the stool.

Sam sank onto the little wooden stool, allowing her whatever she wanted. Azami reached for the handheld nozzle and what appeared to be some kind of sea sponge. Her body brushed against his shoulder. So close to her, he could see the fine lines of the spiderweb tattoo valiantly trying to hide the scars crisscrossing her body. Her small breasts tempted him, two handfuls of soft, firm flesh. He couldn’t stop from touching that small spider residing so cleverly just south of her nipple in that small crater created by the hack job Whitney had done on her body.

Still, he remained unmoving as she circled around behind him, cascading hot water over his shoulders and back with the sprayer. Somehow she’d managed to get the exact temperature to find and remove every knot from his muscles. The heat felt amazing, but it was her hands, soaping him so gently, fingers kneading into his skin, that sent him to a different place. The aroma wafting up to surround him was exotic and smelled fresh, yet very soothing. The hot water, scented soap, and her hands sent him to a place of magic. Azami magic.

Sam closed his eyes and savored the feeling of a woman-his woman caring for him. She built up a feeling in him of total contentment, humming softly as she became totally immersed in the task of washing him thoroughly. The sponge slid over his skin, massaging lovingly. She urged him to lift his arms above his head. He felt the brush of her breasts as she reached to soap and scrub his arms and armpits, sliding over his muscles to reach even his fingers and hands, massaging thoroughly until his body felt nearly boneless.

The feeling was both erotic and yet gave such a sense of well-being, of being taken care of. In a very short time, Azami had created a home and brought love and warmth into it, and he knew that no matter what happened, he would never forget this night.

Her hands, tugging on his hips, urged him to slide back on the stool, giving her better access to wash his buttocks. She was very thorough about that as well and the sensation was unlike anything he’d ever known.

When she came around to the front of him, he caught her hands. “You don’t have to do this. I don’t expect you…”

Azami lifted her long lashes so those dark eyes regarded him soberly. “I wish to do this for you. You did not ask it of me. The ritual gives me great joy. I hope that you come to love it, Sammy, because caring for you gives me great happiness.”

How could any man not love being treated with such tenderness? He watched her face as she soaped his chest and scrubbed with the sponge, taking great care to remove all traces of antiseptic. Her face held that same serenity he was used to, but now emotion shone through-tenderness, rapt attention and concern. There was no denying she enjoyed taking care of him. She appeared nearly spellbound as she urged him to stand. With one foot she moved the stool and proceeded to soap his hips.

Still, he knew this ritual, for Azami, was much more. She was giving herself to him, declaring herself, in her own way, to be his. That he was her choice. However she treated him in public, without expression, no hand holding, no kissing, there would be this behind closed doors. To the rest of the world, she was samurai, to Sam, she was love.

Sam closed his eyes as her soapy hands slid over his bare abdomen, careful of his glued, healing wound. He sent a silent thanks to Lily for her second-generation Zenith that allowed his body to heal with such speed. Azami traced his defined muscles with soapy fingers and gave him that same thorough attentiveness she’d displayed when washing his back and chest. She never rushed, although he knew she was as aroused as he was. She luxuriated in the pleasure of caring for him, allowing the passion between them to build slowly into a roaring fire, yet she continued at that same unhurried pace to give him a priceless gift.

Her hands slipped lower to cup his balls. His cock jerked hard, so swollen he felt he might burst. He waited, his breath caught in his lungs until her hands slipped up and over him, her fist tight as she washed him thoroughly. When he could find his breath, he looked down at the top of her bent head. The candlelight swirled through all that black silky hair and before he could stop himself, he leaned down to press a kiss in the exact middle of her upswept do. The action had his cock shifting in her hands. Instinctively she tightened her hold, her lashes lifting so that he found himself looking into her eyes again.

He pushed his hips forward, savoring the exquisite feeling her tight fist produced, feeling on the edge of paradise. She smiled and moved the sea sponge under his balls and down the column of his thigh. He let out his breath.

“Am I going to get a turn?”

“If you wish it,” she replied without looking up. “Otherwise you can soak in the tub while I wash myself.”

No way was he going to deny himself the pleasure of knowing her as intimately as she knew him. She had paid particular attention to his every reaction to her touch. She knew his body very well and he intended to have that same knowledge of her.

“I wish it very much,” he replied and caught the back of her neck, waiting until she looked up at him again. “Kiss me right now, Azami.” The command came out more of a growl than actual words. He had never been so aroused and yet so content at the same time. He hadn’t even known it was possible to feel both sensations.

She didn’t hesitate, lifting her face so his mouth could come down on hers. He kissed her with the same thoroughness she’d shown washing him. He wanted to kiss her forever, to gather her close, but her small hand pressed delicately against his chest.

“I am almost finished, Sam,” she whispered.

He straightened, waiting to see what she would do. She sank gracefully to her knees in front of him on the tiled floor and his heart nearly stopped and then began to pound. His cock was a fierce ache, hot blood pounding so hard he could count the beats along the prominent vein. She ignored the urgent demand and soaped and washed his legs with that same unhurried movement. The silk of her hair brushed the sensitive head of his cock, sending ripples of pleasure surging through him.

When she tapped his calf, he put a gentle hand on her shoulder to steady himself and lifted his foot up so she could wash the sole. She looked so beautiful, there at his feet, steam rising around them, so engrossed in her self-appointed task.

“A man could get used to this very fast, Azami,” he said.

He was not a man who’d known care-not even as a child. Neither had she. Maybe that was why it was so important to her. And he could see that it was. She moved around behind him. Any other woman might have appeared subservient in the same position, but not Azami. She just looked beautiful and exotic and a miracle to him.

“I hope you enjoy this ritual, Sammy,” she said, again with that slight shy note in her voice. “This is one I wish to perform nightly.”

Nightly? She planned to wash him every night? “Like this?” He might have died in that battle and somehow made his way to heaven. He looked over his shoulder at her. She was working diligently down the column of his thighs.

Her head lifted to look up at him, those lashes covering her expression for just one moment, and then he was looking into her eyes. “Exactly like this. In your home, you must be cared for, Sam. It is important to me.”

“Baby, you know that I’ll need to take just as good care of you,” he said gently, warning her that their relationship wasn’t going to be one-sided. He planned to lavish attention on her and she needed to be willing to accept what he had to give. “That’s important to me.”

She smiled at him, that soft, mysterious smile that had his body as hard as a rock. Wordlessly, he held out his hand for the soap and sponge. She placed both carefully in his hand and turned her back to stand in front of him. Sam closed his eyes again, just to savor the moment. She was so small and delicate, a deceptive package of soft skin, silky hair, and absolute steel. He didn’t urge her to sit on the stool. She was quite a bit shorter than he was; instead, he stood behind and checked the temperature of the water before he allowed it to cascade down her back and over her shoulders.

He washed her with that same slow, unhurried attention she’d given him, realizing why she had enjoyed the ritual so much. The connection he felt toward her deepened with every stroke of the sponge over her skin. He grew to know the contours of her back, the sweeping curve of her buttocks, and the details of her phoenix rising from the ashes. He scrubbed at the delicate feathers that made up the long curving tail. He took care with her slender neck, massaging the muscle of her shoulders as he washed her, just as she had done for him.

She sighed softly and when he reached his arms around in front of her, she obediently leaned against his chest. He made certain the water didn’t spray her in the face as he let the water spray over her breasts. He took his time soaping her breasts, lifting each one carefully to thoroughly soap underneath before rinsing her off. Her nipples fit perfectly into the center of his palms. He couldn’t resist leaning down and biting her neck gently, while he cupped her breasts and teased those taut nipples into hard peaks. He felt her breath leave her body, her breasts rise and fall with the same heated need coursing through her veins.

He understood the slow, sensual dance now, the worshiping of each other’s body, that slow tender care that showed the other that not only were they desired, but they were loved, appreciated, and thoroughly cared for. He wanted to serve her in just the way she’d served him. He’d always known he’d never be happy with anything less than a full partnership from a woman. He was intelligent and he was a warrior. Who would have thought he would find the perfect woman? How had he come to be so lucky?

His hands followed the gossamer lines of her spiderweb. He could feel the ridges of the scars beneath his fingertips. He turned his head so that his mouth was against her ear. “I’m going to take my time eating you like candy.”

Her breath hitched again as his fingers danced over the spider and rolled her nipples, tugging and teasing as he briefly indulged himself in the body she’d so generously offered him. Reluctantly he left her enticing breasts to slip his hands over her flat belly. She had a washboard stomach beneath her soft woman’s skin. He soaped the tiny little curls guarding her treasures before he urged her thighs apart.

His hands were big and her thighs small. A surge of male pride shook him. She had given herself to him, put herself into his hands and willingly cast her fate with his. She was an extraordinary woman and yet she had chosen to trust her heart, mind, and body to him. His hand cupped the vee between her legs, a deliberate sensual touch, a brand of ownership in his own way. He didn’t dare linger too long. Small pearly drops beaded the head of his cock, and with every breath he drew, he wanted her more.

She was definitely as aroused as he was, her breasts rising and falling and her inner thighs slick with her welcoming cream. He soaped her slender legs carefully, memorizing the shape and feel of her. He wasn’t surprised that under all that soft, glorious skin were muscles of steel. Yeah, that was his woman, beautiful, sensual, and as lethal as hell.

He took his time just as she had done, careful with her small feet, noting every single scar on her body and inwardly cursing Dr. Whitney for treating her like a lab rat. She’d been less than human to him, and yet, to Sam, she was everything. He turned off the shower and carefully set aside the sponge and wand.

“Now we must cleanse our spirits, Sammy,” she said softly, again almost shyly. She took his hand and tugged him toward the steaming water in the deep, two-person tub.

He had bought the large bathtub to accommodate his size, but now he was very grateful it would hold both of them. She climbed in, giving him an excellent view of the perfection of her butt. He didn’t try to stop himself from cupping her buttocks, his thumb sliding possessively over one smooth cheek. She didn’t protest, but instead, smiled at him over her shoulder as she stepped into the very hot water and scooted to the far side to give him room. She drew up her knees and waited, her dark gaze on his body.

Sam settled into the hot water with a soft sigh. His body instantly surrendered to the heat, steam, and soothing aroma. He stretched out his legs and rested his head against the high end of the back, allowing peace and tranquillity to settle over him. He lay quietly, her legs over his, small feet resting on his thighs. He watched her through narrowed eyes. She allowed her head to loll back as well, her eyes closed, peace surrounding her.

“Open your mind to mine,” he ordered softly.

Her lashes fluttered, but she didn’t open her eyes, merely complied, pouring into him to fill him up with sweet serenity. They drifted together in a slow tangle of heat, sensuality, and tranquillity. The sensation sent him to a place he’d never been, melded together with her, entwined in spirit rather than in body. The water lapped softly at his skin and he felt every knot unravel until he was boneless. Neither spoke; they didn’t need to, not with their minds so tightly welded together in peaceful oblivion.

Her mind moved in his and he opened his eyes to find her looking at him with slumberous, sexy eyes.

He smiled at her. “Is there more to this ritual of yours? I think this will be my favorite part of the day.” There was more, he could see it in her eyes. He didn’t think, he knew. She had given him the best evening of his life and he hadn’t even made love to her yet.

She nodded her head in the unhurried way she had and drew up her knees to allow him out of the tub. She’d left two large bath towels lying folded neatly on the shelves beside the tub. He climbed out first, caught up a towel and then swung back to her, his gaze hot as he rubbed the towel over his wet skin.

“If I forget to tell you later, thank you for this night. You’ve made me feel as if I truly have a home.” He wrapped the towel low on his hips.

She looked around the spacious bathroom and then back to him. “I feel as if this is my home,” she admitted. “The moment I entered, I felt safe and secure. I felt as if I belonged. I’m glad you enjoy the things that are important to me. I wish to make my rituals yours and yours mine.”

How could pleasing her not be important to him? He crooked his finger at her and she rose gracefully from the water, a beautiful mythical phoenix rising from the ashes of her past to embrace the future. She walked to him unafraid, unashamed of the small, fractured body tattooed to cover the scars. When she moved, the tattoos moved with her, rippling as if alive. Those fine gossamer threads shimmered in the soft candlelight, playing across her skin and accenting her small waist and small breasts. That little spider moved, as if challenging him to catch it.

When she stood in front of him, he wrapped a thick towel around her body and dried her body gently. “Show me the next step, Azami,” he encouraged, nuzzling her slender neck.

She took his hand and tugged him toward the bedroom. His heart tripped a little. He loved her confidence, the way her body moved sensuously beneath the towel, and he couldn’t wait to take those pins from her hair and let it fall around her face. She looked all woman, yet she walked without a whisper of movement, placing her feet automatically and lightly on the floor. He could tell it was a reflex with her to test her footing and memorize floor plans. He would bet his life that she could describe in detail everything in his house and exactly where it was placed. How many men had a woman like that?

She turned to look at him over her shoulder, a small smile on her face. “No one but you wants a woman like me, Sam. Most men don’t like that a woman is dangerous.”

“You’d be surprised,” he countered, “although let’s not try finding out.”

Her eyes laughed at him for that possessive streak he hadn’t known he’d had until Azami had come along. He found himself laughing with her.

His bedroom was spacious. He liked room-lots of room. And he enjoyed being surrounded by nature. He knew it wasn’t the best idea to have trees close to his house; they could always come down in a storm-or worse, an enemy could use them both for cover to creep up onto his house, or to gain the roof via one of the branches. He didn’t care. He loved fresh air and detested the city. He wanted as much forest around and as close to him as possible. A bank of windows overlooked the stream and surrounding trees, with a verandah just outside where he could sit and watch the deer come in close to drink.

Only three candles spilled light around the room. One was much smaller than the other, and a small pot sat over it, warming whatever was inside. Azami lowered the pot so that the flame was close to the bottom and could heat the contents faster. She waved him to a mat on the floor, tugging on his towel. He obligingly handed it over to her and, following her silent direction, lay facedown on the mat.

She slipped out of her towel, folding both neatly and setting them aside before going to the obviously old pot and lifting it away from the candle. He inhaled her exotic fragrance as she straddled him, her warm body sending heat rushing through his veins. He closed his eyes and prayed for strength to endure-to allow her to finish whatever she felt needed to be done before he claimed her wholly for his own.

“This is very ancient and sacred oil,” Azami explained as she lifted the lid on the old pot. The scent drifted to him, surrounded him, and seemed to enfold him, all before she ever laid her slick, oiled hands on his shoulders and began a slow, methodical massage. “Each generation has added to the formula. The oil is hand pressed and will absorb quickly into your body, invigorating you even as it soothes tired muscles.”

Already he could feel the tingling heat invading and spreading like a wildfire even as, for the second time that night, he felt absolutely boneless. He drifted in a haze of love and lust, of complete contentment. Her hands moved down his back to his buttocks, kneading and working out every kink, but the ritual gave them much more than relief from sore muscles. The more she worked on his body with her small, sure hands, the stronger the connection between them grew, as if that ancient oil created a bond that cemented them together. She massaged all the way down his legs and each foot, with that same easy, slow pace.

“You must turn over, Sammy,” she whispered.

He opened his eyes as he rolled over. She had placed both feet flat on the floor on either side of his hips and lifted herself just enough to allow him to turn over. Immediately she lowered her body over his, straddling his lap, her hot, damp center sliding intimately over his heavy erection. Her hands immediately went to his shoulders.

Sam held up his hands. He was aching to touch her and this wasn’t going much further, not without him taking her. “Share, Azami.”

She smiled at him and swiveled slightly, causing a wealth of sensations to course through his groin. The candlelight played over her skin, the swell of her breast and narrow rib cage. The spider moved, showing itself briefly before she turned again to give him a full frontal view. She held the pot of oil in her cupped hands as if it was precious to her. Her gaze locked with his, she offered him the oil.

Sam coated his hands in the warm, slick oil and waited until she placed the pot carefully on the floor just within reach. When she would have bent forward to resume massaging his chest, he shook his head and lifted his hands to her shoulders. She sat back a little, watching him from under those long, luxurious lashes. He took his time massaging her shoulders before sliding his hands to cup her breasts. The oil disappeared quite fast, just as she’d said it would, leaving her skin softer and silkier than ever.

Watching her face, he brushed his thumbs over her nipples, saw the flush creeping under her skin and her heightened breathing. “Are you afraid, Azami?” he asked. It was a legitimate question. He wasn’t a small man, and she was quite diminutive by comparison.

“A little nervous,” she admitted, “but I want you quite badly.”

He expected nothing less than her honesty. Azami didn’t have it in her to play personal games with him. She would tell him what she wanted and provide for his needs as best she could. He knew the ritual bath had helped to calm her nerves and allow her to familiarize herself with his body while allowing him to see hers.

“I love this spider,” he whispered and lifted his head so he could taste the oil.

As he expected, some previous ancestor had considered that a husband and wife would be anointed with the oil and want to consummate their marriage bed. Her skin was more than just pleasant, it held a hint of cinnamon, citrus, and maybe apple. He would never forget the smell of her skin or the way she looked with the flickering light dancing over her. He took possession of her breast, drawing the soft flesh into the heat of his mouth.

She let out a soft sigh and bunched her fist in his hair. He teased her nipple gently, his mouth moving over that intriguing spider guarding his woman. “I’m going to roll us over, baby,” he said softly.

He wanted her under him. She’d shown him her world and now he was going to introduce her to his. She nodded and straightened her legs as he caught her around the waist and rolled, pulling her small frame beneath his. The oil on their bodies made them both so silky smooth their skin seemed to caress one another as they shifted and moved. He caught the quick nervousness in her eyes and immediately lowered his head, kissing her mouth over and over until she went boneless and pliant beneath him.

“Would you feel safer with a dagger in your hand?” he asked as he kissed his way to the tip of her breast.

“I’m safe with you,” she said. “This is new to me, just as the ritual bath was new to you.”

“I’ll make your experience every bit as wonderful as you did for me,” he promised. She was nervous, yes, and maybe, just maybe, there was that little hint of fear for the unknown, but she trusted him.

Sam bent his head to her flat belly and began tracing the delicate lines of the spiderweb with his tongue and lips the way he’d wanted to from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her tattoo. His tongue swirled in her intriguing belly button and moved again to trace her ribs.

“You need another spider right here by your belly button for me to tease,” he whispered against her skin.

His body wanted to go fast and take her, burying himself deep over and over, but another part of him wanted to savor her in that same unhurried way she’d built such anticipation. He wanted her soft, breathless cries pleading with him. He wanted her so ready for him there would be little discomfort to her.

Her stomach muscles bunched and rippled beneath his exploring hand and mouth, her breasts rising and falling as his mouth moved closer. His heart nearly exploded when her mind slipped into his, a little hesitant at first, as if she needed reassurance that he wanted the added intimacy. She would know then-he wouldn’t be able to hide what she meant to him. He wanted her with every breath in his body. He needed her just as he needed air to breathe, and he didn’t even know how it happened.

Something had happened when their minds connected, out there on the battlefield, and when she’d left his mind, she’d taken a part of him with her. The slow ritual bath had only deepened that bond, pushing his desire so far, creating a hunger so endless for her that it clawed and raked at him. He caught her hands and drew them around his neck, lifting his head to look down at her face. Her eyes were wide-open, and he could see the passion and desire shining back at him. The same hunger clawed at her. He lowered his head to kiss her again, sharing her breath, sharing his mind, one hand sliding down all that smooth skin to find the vee between her legs.

She was all heat and dampness. A private sanctuary for him to get lost in-and he didn’t give a damn about trying to find a way out. As his palm covered her mound, his thumb sliding deep into her sheath, she flushed, her body growing hotter. Her eyes went wide with shock and her breath turned ragged, but she parted her thighs wider for him.

“It’s all right,” he soothed. “You’re safe with me, Azami. We’ll do this together.”

He didn’t think he’d survive that long. His body had never raged at him like this, never made such demands. The candlelight made her skin glow and the threads of the spiderweb actually appeared luminous, a trick of the ink. Watching her, mesmerized by her reaction, he slid his finger into that slick heat. She was tight and hot, and with her small body writhing under his, all that silky skin rubbing against him, he feared he might lose his mind.

He talked to her to keep sane, to keep from being a primitive idiot when she needed to be introduced into the world of lovemaking gently. “I dreamt of you when I was young, back on the streets. So long ago, Azami. I would spend the night huddled in a doorway, afraid I’d have to kill someone to stay alive, hungry, alone, and when I’d be so tired I couldn’t stay awake, I’d be with you. You were so beautiful and exotic and unattainable, and at the same time, the only solace I had.”

“I dreamt of you too,” she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I never thought to find a man I would want to share my body with.” She lifted her head and waited until their eyes met. “A man who would see me in spite of my flaws.” She brought her hand up a little self-consciously to her misshapen breast. The scars zigzagged across the soft mound and just to the side of the nipple, where the spider resided, in that small nook where a small part of her breast was missing. The scar was shiny white beneath the spider.

Sam bent his head to brush kisses across that spider. “The only flaw you have, my beautiful Azami, is that you didn’t find me sooner.”

Azami laughed softly, but her eyes were overbright and tears shimmered on her long lashes. “Only you could say that. Even my father did not think that. He said I would have to learn to curb my temper. I spent many hours scrubbing the floor of our dojo for losing my temper and nearly taking off the head of my brother when practicing.”

Sam nibbled his way up to her chin. “Did you chase him around with your sword?” He moved his finger deep inside her, stretching her enough to add a second finger.

He took possession of her mouth, catching that breathy little moan. He kissed her over and over, savoring the sweet taste of her and the way her lips were soft and firm and her tongue danced with his. He lifted his head enough to kiss the corners of her eyes, removing those tiny, sparkling tears.

“Did you? Did you chase your brother with a sword?”

“Yes.” Azami lowered her gaze, clearly ashamed.

Sam laughed. “I knew it. What did he do?”

“He teased me about my white hair and I wanted to chop all of his hair from his head. Father made me scrub the dojo from top to bottom.”

“That seems fair to me, shaving his head, I mean.”

She shook her head. “No, Father was right. I was learning to be quite lethal and I needed to hold my temper over silly matters. Although, I have to say, I was quite secretly pleased when the next time I saw Daiki, his hair was chopped off. He did it himself when he saw me punished.”

Sam kissed her neck and then branded her there before kissing his way down to her tempting breasts again and tracing his way along her ribs back to her belly button. His teeth nipped occasionally, his tongue swirling, dancing over her bunching muscles. Her soft moans were like music to him, playing through his body and stroking caresses in his mind. He kissed her belly button and slid lower, inhaling her exotic fragrance. His dreams hadn’t been this good. Nothing was this good. He parted her thighs and bent his head to lap at her slick crease.

Azami cried out and clutched at his hair, tossing her head back and forth on the pillow. She tasted as good as he knew she would, an addicting, exciting blend of spice. He took his time, indulging himself, bringing her to a fever pitch of need.