The Devil's Match (The Devil DeVere #4)(34)

Ludovic had at first been annoyed that Salime appeared without invitation, but it didn’t take him long to deduce who the second veiled figure was, for he would recognize Diana’s form and movement anywhere. Had this been her purpose in delaying their tryst? Had she actually sought out Salime? It appeared so. And now she was in his bath to serve him. His lips curved into a smile. How very intriguing, indeed. Although he had yet to comprehend her stratagem, he was resolved to play along.

Heated by a furnace under the floor, the stone in the room permeated warmth that transferred into his body as he lay on the table. He heard the swish of dampened silk as Salime and Diana approached. They began by massaging his feet and legs, the kneading and rubbing sending random sparks of sensation straight to his cock. Although he normally enjoyed the traditional Turkish massage and often eschewed the more personal attention to his genitals—unless he was in particular need of sexual release—this time, he was already tumescent with anticipation. He shifted his hips to relieve the pressure.

“Your odalisque has good hands, Salime. Perhaps Didem would benefit from solo practice. What do you say?” He had to suppress a chuckle when the second pair of hands paused in their ministrations.

“As you wish, Efendi,” Salime answered. “Do you wish me to stay?”

“I don’t think it necessary. I am certain I can manage to guide her.”

“Very well, Efendi. Please know you need only send for me if Didem in any way fails to please you.”

He rose on one elbow to consider the veiled figure. “I think that all depends on how badly Didem desires to please.” Diana glanced up at him for only the briefest second, but the flash of fire in her moss-green eyes was unmistakable.

“She shall be beaten well if she fails, Efendi,” Salime warned and then gathered up her things and departed.

Ludovic remained propped on his side, studying Diana, his arousal clearly evident to both of them.

“You lie down now?” she prompted in a low voice.

“I think we are quite finished with my posterior,” he said, slowly rolling onto his back, and sprawling like a king. Knowing she gaped, he closed his eyes with a smile, allowing her to look her fill. She moved to his feet, but the hands that touched him trembled slightly. “It is too warm in here for all your clothing, Didem. I think it best you remove some of it, don’t you?”

“As you wish, Efendi,” came a muffled reply.

He cracked an eye open to watch her remove girdle and tunic.

“The trousers as well, Didem.”

She hesitated.

“You wish to please me, do you not?” He noted her furrowing brows, yet she removed the trousers. He also observed with satisfaction that she wore no stays, which allowed the thin linen to cling damply to her voluptuous curves, curves made for a man’s pleasure. She returned to him wearing only her shift and veils, again keeping her eyes downcast as she went to work.

He shut his own again to better appreciate the feel of her hands, luxuriating in the sensation of warm oil poured and massaged into his skin. The trembling of her fingers had ceased as she plied them with firm deliberation up his thighs, squeezing and molding the muscles, moving ever closer to his rampantly aroused kam??. Her nimble digits slid to his inner thighs, upward to skirt his testis, but she left him wanting, his yen for her touch unsatisfied. He groaned in disappointed anticipation. He cracked his eyes open in time to see her gaze flick over his face. So that’s how the game begins, eh?

She worked his pubic bone, driving him mad with the circular motions of her palms, stimulating circulation above a cock that was already fully engorged and throbbing with the need to spend. He wanted to shout for her to take him in hand and pump him madly. Breathe deeply, DeVere. Don’t let her know the effect this is having on you. You can’t afford to give her any more advantage than she already has. He ground his teeth in the effort, but then she mercifully moved on to his abdomen and chest. Her lush, full breasts moved freely. He could make out the hint of dusky nipple that teased his flesh as she reached across his body. He restrained the urge to grasp one of those magnificent mounds by clenching his fists by his sides.

She was close enough that he could smell the salty tang of perspiration mixed with Attar of Damask Rose, the scent Diana most favored. His nostrils flared in an effort to breathe her into his lungs, only to have a third component jolt his olfactory senses—feminine desire. He was not mistaken; she was becoming as aroused as he. But it was not enough to smell it. He wanted to see it—the passion in her eyes, the telling pink flush on her skin. With every nerve fiber in his body ignited, he could no longer control his breathing. The slow, deep respirations became erratic and ragged as she moved down his body, sneaking knowing glances through the slit in her veil. She knows damned well what she is about!

Her gaze fixed on his face, she poured more oil in her palm and with agonizing languor, wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft, squeezing and pulling upward with warm, slick motions. She repeated the task with her opposite hand, and his mind blurred from the sheer bliss of sensation. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back with a groan, giving himself up to the pleasure of her decadently dexterous and deliberate ministrations—by turns, milking and massaging his shaft, the bulbous head of his cock, and his bollocks until he thought he would explode. He was hard as stone, full to overflowing with his own essence, and ready to spend with violence when she arrested her attention to his shaft and slid her fingers to the sensitive spot behind his sac. A moment of pressure and the urgency of his need eased off. How the devil did she learn this? He was almost afraid to know.