Thirteen

CAULIFLA

By Rosella Brielle

Chapter Eight

(Please do not read if you are not a fan of sex scenes because i do not really want my story to be reported)

Shuah. - King (Persian Meaning)

Robū. - Robe

In her room that is twilight and shadow Shuah Azar stands close enough for her to breathe in his scent. His arms wrap around her back and in one gentle pull their skin touches. She could feel his hand in her hair, how he loves the softness, watching it tumble as he releases it. Then his hand moves down her cheekbones to her lips.

"I do not know why i am so attracted to you. What are you doing to me Caulifla?" He asked, his eyes not letting go of hers.

"My King........"

"I could do anything to have you Caulifla. You feel so important to me. Your beauty and everything about you challenges me. I could lose everything to have you"

"This is not good My Lord, you are a King and i am just a servant. You have seven wives and children and it is not right to be with a man that has wives"

"I could separate with them to have you. I could give you the world My Queen. Because i love you"

"Shuah i do not think..."

Hush,' he said, 'hush. Yes, it has to be given.' And he kissed her eyelids again, then her lips, And the kiss continued. Then, slowly, he pulled away.

She groped for him, as though she were blind.

And he was kissing her again, and slipping her Robū over her head. His strong and gentle hands began to stroke her, his hands, his lips, his tongue.

Gentle. Not frightening. Knowing what he was doing. She felt her nipples rise, and it startled her.

'Shhh,' he whispered. 'Shhh, it's all right, don't worry, just relax and listen to your body.'

He was slow, rhythmic, gentle, moving down my body, down …

and she was nothing but her body

oh, the

and then she, panting

She hugged him closer than she could ever have.

Not that she hated what he did.

But because she was scared he would disappear, he would leave. She would wake up thinking this was all a dream.

A nightmare.

There was no doubt she was in love.

There was no doubt that she had found love.

She was in love with the Persian King. And she never wanted to lose him. She wanted to tell him how much she meant to him.

How much she loved him.

But she never ever wanted him to know. Even if it was only this night she gets to me with her first love, she does not mind giving him her innocence.

Because she love him.

In that split second before his touch made every nerve in her body and brain seemed to be electrified. She felt electricity in her skin, hormones shutting down of her higher brain and the rise of her animal self. From there on in it was all passion, intense, intoxicating. It was her release, her escape, her drug... not that she was easy, she knew well enough to avoid letting a man lay his hands on her. Yet with chemistry, with real love, too many of her switches were flicked for a reverse gear to be possible. If she was smitten all she could do was go along for the ride and pray her instincts were right.

It is the anticipation of being together in a way that is more than words, in a way that is so completely tangible. He suddenly became her drug. One touch and the intoxication seemed instant. Whatever he want to do is what she would do and there is not a thing she could do to stop him or herself - not that she wanted to. She seemed lost in his arms.

Just his scent alone sends her into an imaginary heady trance, one that does not end until their bodies are still once more, just warm and snuggled in as close as two souls can be.

She was so lost that she did not know how to find her way back to sanity.

They start to move like partners in a dance that is written in supposedly their DNA. Their bodies fit together as if they were made just for this, to fall into one another, to feel this natural rhythm.

His finger tips are electric, they must be, for wherever they touch her skin tingles in a frenzy of static. As his hands move over her skin her body has a transitory paralysis, her mind unable to process the pleasure so fast. His head moves around to her left ear and suddenly hee body is off pause-mode and she pull back for a kiss that's both soft and hard. Both of them move in an intoxicated dance of limbs, never making the exact same moves twice, not in the decade we've been lovers. You could say he was her cat-nip, She was his whiskey on ice.

They lock eyes for just a moment, just enough for them to feel safe with one another. Then he's all business as he pulls off his royal robe, kissing from her toes upward, slowly, his hands on her legs, always just a little higher than the kisses. She could feel her back arch in anticipation, knowing where his fingers will soon reach. Her head rocks back against the pillow as her first moan escapes her lips.

What was he doing to her?

there was a sharp brief pain

brief

and then a sweet spasm went through me

and she seemed to rise into the air

no more pain

just the sweetness

She could not get enough of him. She was in pain but she did not care. She could not believe she was one with him.

She wanted the pain.

She wanted the ache.

She wanted him in her, all the time. His weight on top of her. She wanted to squeeze him in further and further. She wanted to watch his handsome face and beautiful eyes. She wanted his sweat to drop onto her. She wanted to drop hers on him.

He fell on her as soon as they were done and she did not know when she fell asleep. But neither did she wake till morning and it broke her heart that he was not the first person he saw that morning.