That made her curious. “What were you taught?”
“I was taught that sex was natural and normal and healthy, but also something powerful, something sacred.” He slid his hand down her bare torso, until it rested against her lower belly, his eyes looking straight into hers. “I was taught that women carry the altar of life inside them and that a man must treat a woman’s body with respect.”
Heat washed through her at his words, leaving her breathless, something about what he’d said deeply arousing. She managed a single word. “Oh.”
“I was taught that women come from men and that men come from women. They leave their mark on one another, so neither men nor women can mistreat the other.”
“What do you mean?”
He took her hand, pressed it against one of his nipples. “Men have nipples, like women, but they serve no purpose beyond sexual pleasure. I was taught that nipples are a mother’s mark on her sons, a reminder to them to honor women.”
Naomi thumbed the dark brown velvet of his nipple. He sucked in a quick breath, the muscles of his abdomen tensing, his nipple drawing tight.
He left her palm where it was, slid his hand down her belly again, then cupped her, one finger delving between her folds to touch herthere.
She sucked in a breath, her hips jerking as he stroked her.
“The clitoris looks like a tiny penis.” His finger explored her, stroking, flicking, the ache inside her almost unbearable. “It serves no purpose beyond sexual pleasure. It’s a man’s mark on his daughters, a reminder to women to honor men.”
Naomi could barely breathe. “That’s … not what I was taught.”
His voice was deep and soft. “Forget everything they told you about your body, about sex. It was all a lie.”
Then he lowered his mouth to her nipple and suckled.
Chaska drewa perfect nipple into his mouth, suckled at one breast and then the other, his hand busy between her legs. She moaned, threaded her fingers through his hair, her thighs parting to give him access. She was wet, her clit swelling and growing hard at his touch.
He focused on her response, not the ache in his groin or the drumbeat in his chest. Hell, yes, he wanted her. He wanted her so much it hurt. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman. But more than that, he wanted her to enjoy this.
Life hadn’t been gentle with her, but he damned well would be.
He’d told her to forget what she’d been taught, but he knew she couldn’t, not all at once, not until she’d been shown again and again and again that sex could be something free of shame, something good, something right.
Are you the man for that?
He couldn’t be sure. He could only try.
He circled the tight entrance to her vagina, drew her wetness onto his fingers and rubbed it over her clit, waiting until he was certain she was ready and willing before entering her body with any part of himself.
She slid one hand into his hair, holding his head where it was, her other hand moving to grasp his wrist as if she were holding on for dear life.
And maybe she was.
Her breathing was ragged now, every exhale a moan, the knee of her left leg bent, her thighs wide apart. He circled her entrance again, her hips rising to meet him.
“Yes!” It was a frantic whisper.
He slipped two fingers deep inside her.
She moaned, her inner muscles closing around him.
He tried not to notice how tight she was, tried not to think about being inside her, thrusting into her with his fingers, stroking her inside and out, the tension inside her building, her nails digging into his wrist. This was what he wanted for her—to forget everything but the pleasure he gave her, the pleasure they gave each other.
She came with a cry, ecstasy on her sweet face, her beauty in that moment leaving him awestruck. He kept up the rhythm until her climax had passed, then held her, pressing kisses to her breasts, her cheeks, her forehead. Slowly, her breathing returned to normal, her body now limp.
She looked up at him, an expression of disbelief in her eyes. “Chaska.”
He lowered his mouth to hers, kissed her soft and slow.