She looked him over as boldly as he did her. Dear heaven, he was magnificent! There wasn’t an ounce of fat on the tall, well-formed body. His legs were firm, rising up into shapely thighs, slim hips, a flat belly, and the broad hairy chest. Between those beautiful thighs, within a dark triangle, nestled his manhood and, as she had suspected, he was large even at rest. When excited he would be enormous, like a damned stallion. She flushed with her thoughts and the sultan laughed as if reading her mind.
He lay down next to her and drew her into his arms. She stiffened, but he did nothing further. This only increased her suspicions. Then suddenly one hand began a gentle stroking motion, soothing the tenseness from her back and buttocks. She was confused. He should be ravaging her now. Her eyes sought his, silently questioning.
“Once long ago,” he said quietly, “in a moonlit orchard I loved an innocent maiden. She was taken from me once, and then I lost her another time. But now she is once more in my arms. This time no one will take her from me!”
She swallowed the lump that was rising in her throat. “I am no longer an innocent maiden, my lord,” she whispered. Why was he doing this to her?
“No, Adora, you are not innocent in the true sense of the word. You were brutally robbed of your maidenhead. You lived as my father’s wife and bore him a son. As to the Greek lord, he could not love you as I do. I believe that in your heart you are yet a virgin.”
“How can you know of these things?” she asked him tremulously. Tell him nought of Alexander, an inner voice warned her.
“Am I not correct, my dove?” And when she did not answer him he continued, “I am a fool, Adora! Knowing you, how could I believe you had betrayed our love? Yet I did. I believed you ambitious, and when I thought of you coupling with that obscene old man I nearly went mad! There was nothing l could do.”
“There was nothing I could do either, my lord,” she answered.
They lay quietly for a few more minutes, and her heart sang with joy. It was going to be all right. She knew the reason for his change of attitude. Ali Yahya had obviously told him what she had been too proud to tell him. Knowing the truth of her marriage to Orkhan, Murad’s anger had dissolved. She would be his wife now. She glanced at him shyly. “Will we be wed as soon as we return to Bursa, or have you already wed me?” she asked him.
She felt him start against her. “I will take no wife in either the Christian or Muslim sense and neither will my descendants. The Ottomans grow more powerful each day, and no longer need make political alliances through marriage. I will take kadins as did my ancestors.”
Angry, disappointed, and hurt, she pulled away from him. “Two men have wanted me enough to wed with me, my lord Murad! I will not be your whore!”
“You will be what I want you to be! Adora, Adora, my sweet, little love! Why do you deny the truth of your feelings for me? Will some words mumbled over us by a holy man make those feelings any different?”
“I am not some ignorant peasant girl to be honored by the sultan’s attentions,” she raged. “I am Theadora Cantacuzene, a princess of Byzantium!”
He laughed. “You are first a woman, Adora. And second, my dove, though you are not used to it yet, you are legally my slave. It is,” he teased her, “your duty to please me.” Pulling her back into his arms he kissed her. But it was like kissing a doll for she stiffened her body and compressed her lips tightly together.
Tenderly he rained kisses on her face, hoping to weaken her. It took every ounce of willpower she had to remain impassive to the soft lips that gently touched her closed eyelids, her forehead, the tip of her nose, the corners of her mouth, her stubborn chin. Angrily she turned her head away from him, foolishly exposing her slim, white neck to his mouth, and he quickly availed himself of the opportunity she presented. Deep within herself she felt the beginnings of a tremor as his lips moved swiftly down to nibble on her earlobe, then further down to her breasts. She managed to fight down the trembling, but panic was fast setting in, and her hands tried to push him away.
“No! No!” Her voice shook. “No! I won’t let you do this to me!”
He raised his head, and his black eyes looked deep into her amethyst ones. “You belong to me,” he said quietly in his deep voice. “I do not need papers of ownership to know that. You long to yield to me as much as I long to possess you. Why are you fighting me, my foolish love? Already you tremble with desire, and soon you will cry out your pleasure at the sweetness we will make between us.”
His dark head lowered again, and his mouth fastened over a taut nipple, sucking at it gently, tearing a sob from her unwilling throat. Her walls breached, he now increased his attentions, spreading her thighs so quickly that she had no time to fight him. Kneeling between them, he gained greater access to her lovely body.
Leaning forward, he found her lips once more. This time her sweet mouth was soft beneath his, the lips parting easily. Their tongues stroked each other until she tore her head away with a moan that he recognized as pure passion, and his desire for her flamed higher.
While his lips once more teased at her breasts she felt his great manhood growing hard against her and, unable to restrain herself, she reached down and grasped him in her hands. A groan of agonized pleasure escaped him as she caressed him. She felt his fingers seeking her, sighing with impatient pleasure to find her ready to receive him.
He could wait no longer. Slipping his hands beneath her buttocks he drove fiercely into her-again and again-until finally she cried out, “I yield, my lord!” Only then was he purged of the cruelty that had built up in him. Now she felt his hardness tenderly caressing her, moving with a voluptuous abandon that brought complete pleasure.
“Don’t stop! Oh, please don’t stop!” she was horrified to hear herself beg him. Her own body would not lie still. It moved frantically, seeking to absorb him. It was too intense, too sweet. “God! God!” she cried out, “you will kill me with it, Murad!”
“No, my insatiable little sweet,” she heard him mutter huskily, “I will only love you with it.”
She knew she should fight him, for he was using her shamelessly. Yet she could not fight him. She wanted his bigness, his hardness within her. She could deny no longer the desire racing through her veins and, with a sob of despair, she surrendered herself to him completely.
Through a half-conscious mist she heard him saying her name. Slowly she opened her eyes to find him looking passionately down at her. Color flooded her face.
“I will never forgive you for this, nor myself,” she whispered fiercely, the tears filling her eyes.
“For what?” he demanded. “For making you admit the truth to yourself? That you are a beautiful, desirable woman and that, though you deny it, you love me.”
“For making me your whore!”
“Allah, Adora! Why do you refuse to understand? You are my favorite. Bear me a son, and I will make you my kadin. I will set you above all other women in my kingdom.”
“No!” She scrambled off the bed.
“Stop!” Strangely, she obeyed the angry voice. “Now, slave, come to your master.” For a moment she remained frozen, and his voice cracked sharply again, “To your master, slave!” Reluctantly she turned back to him. “Now, slave, kneel and beg my pardon.”
“Never! Never!”
He quickly pulled her back into his strong arms and began kissing her passionately. She struggled fiercely and he laughed. “I’ll keep kissing you as a punishment until you obey me, Adora.”
“I apologize!”
“I said kneel and beg my pardon.”
She shot him a furious look. “I would rather kneel to you, you lecher, than endure your kisses.” She struggled from his grasp and, falling to her knees, burlesqued the humblest slave. “Forgive me, my lord.”