Sara held her breath as the man moved closer, reaching the hearth and circling around it, as if she were prey, until he stood behind her. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, hotter than the flames before her, as if she would be burned if he touched her. She closed her eyes, the world beginning to recede, her breath quickening, focusing only on the presence of the godly man behind her who she felt was about to consume her within a phoenix of lust.

“Sara.” The man’s voice jolted her. He had spoken her name, she was sure of it, although he had said it rather gutturally and it had come out sounding more like “Sareta.” His voice was low and sensuous.

“It has been so long. Do you not have any greeting for Arystan?” He lifted her hair and gently bit the side of her neck. Sara felt as if she might melt.

Suddenly, he whirled her roughly to face him. She stared up at him, her blue eyes wide. She was surprised, but not frightened.

“You look as if you’ve never seen me before, woman,” Arystan said, growling. “Has it been that long? I will have to make you remember me then.”

He pulled Sara to him strongly, causing her body to jerk. She let out a cry as her flesh met his. It was hard, god so hard, and firm, alive, fiery. And his touch, strong and lustful, as if he could, and would, devour her. She could feel his enormous erection beneath the cloth at his loins and without thinking, she pressed into it further, grinding it into her abdomen.

“I see your body recalls me now, consort,” the man said lustfully, giving her another jerk. His eyes flicked briefly to the small chain she wore around her neck, the opal ring tucked between her breasts, but he said nothing.

Sara looked up at him helplessly, her blue eyes glazed with desire, a powerful ache between her thighs. Something very dim in the back of her mind registered a warning, something cautionary. She could not quite identify what the voice was trying to tell her. Perhaps it was to take this more slowly. Fuck that. That was insane. She had a timeless connection to this man – to Arystan – that transcended rationality. She did not understand why, but knew it to be true in the depths of her soul. It was right to be here. It was right to be with him.

He ran his tongue almost savagely up the side of her face as she closed her eyes and tried to step back. He tightened his arms around her, holding her firmly in place.

“You are not going anywhere. You like my touch,” he said, taking the side of her chin in his teeth and pulling, biting just softly enough not to break the skin.

He licked at her lips brusquely and she opened her mouth to him, but he did not accept the kiss. Instead, he wrapped one hand in her hair and tilted her head back slightly, bringing his tongue and teeth to her ear, tracing it sharply and then biting around the delicate shell. She writhed beneath his touch, crying out, but he held her immobile.

“Yes, I think you like my touch very much, woman,” he growled.

Sara could feel wetness gush from between her thighs, unable to control her responses to his handling of her. She realized abruptly that she had nothing on under the leather skirt, as she felt the slipperiness roll down the inside of her leg.

Arystan stopped. “I can smell your arousal and it is like ambrosia to me. Nectar of the spirits. Before we are done, woman, I will taste it, swallow it, drink the honey from your fountain. Be sure of it.”

Sara’s knees buckled and he yanked her back up by her arms, letting go of her for a moment to reach toward her throat and unclasp the cloak. “You won’t be needing this for warmth tonight,” he said, tossing it carelessly toward the back of the tent.

He began to writhe against her body sensuously, his hands roaming over her curves, lifting her skirt and letting it fall back, pushing up her breasts, running his hands over her belly and hips, then grabbing her buttocks and pulling them forward forcefully. Sara moved against him, emitting little cries of pleasure, reason having abandoned her, the only thing that mattered now the dark god in the firelight, devastatingly handsome, passionate, intense, ready to have her, take her, fuck her senseless.

Arystan begin to back Sara up toward the large pile of furs against the wall of the tent. She felt the back of her legs brush against the bed and he stopped for a moment. He looked down at her hungrily, his eyes locked to hers, and then he fiercely kissed her. Sara felt she would explode with his ardor, his deep hunger, it was almost as if he was trying to consume her, his tongue forcing its way past hers deeply into the recesses of her throat. She couldn’t breathe, but didn’t want to, as she tried to kiss him back, Arystan all but taking over, controlling the speed, the depth, the possession of her mouth. Then he pulled away abruptly, looked down at her, his black eyes glinting, and pushed her back forcibly onto the bed.