Free Dark of the Sun by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

“You say such strange things, foreigner.” She touched the standing collar of his sen-hsien. “Not that I mind them.”
    Zangi-Ragozh slipped his arms around her and gathered her close to him. “Then I hope you will not mind the other foreign things about me.”
    She returned his embrace with practiced ease, pressing her body to his through the many layers of silk that separated them. “You have been most gratifying thus far.”
    He took the compliment with a nod that led into another kiss. This time their lips met less gently and remained together longer, drawing more than titillation from Jo-Hsu; Zangi-Ragozh felt a change in her flesh as the first quiver of authentic passion ignited deep within her. He nuzzled her neck and worked open her sen-lai, exposing the slight rise of her breasts. “What gives you most pleasure?” he whispered.
    “Your touch is very nice,” she answered, her pulse becoming a little faster.
    “Then let me offer you more of it,” he murmured as he unfastened the last of the closings on the sen-lai.
    The soft jade silk slithered off her, spilling onto the couch like a waterfall. “Oh. I will be cold soon.”
    “I will keep you warm,” Zangi-Ragozh promised her, turning her a little so that the warmth from the hearth could enhance what his hands did.
    “That’s … wonderful.” Jo-Hsu sighed once more, and opened her body to his eyes and hands with the practiced ease of her profession. She had done this many times before, but now there was a new sensation in her limbs that made her feel heavy and light at once. When he bent and touched his lips to her nipple, she gave a sharp little cry that turned to a quiet moan as he cupped her small breast in his hand and kissed her other nipple. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to her arousal.
    “What would you like me to do next?” he asked, his voice low.
    “I don’t know,” she said, not quite truthfully, but as she had been trained to respond. “Whatever seems best to you.”
    “It is what you want that suits me best,” said Zangi-Ragozh.
    She considered this for a long moment. “Then do as you like; I will tell you if I am not pleased.”
    “It will be as you wish.” With a patience that was nearly reverence, Zangi-Ragozh sought out all the rapture her body contained. Hands and lips paid unhurried homage to her breasts, her flanks, her long, lithe torso, to her hips, to her legs, to the deep, warm recesses in the folds at the apex of her thighs. His touch was gentle and exciting at once, his nearness protecting her as well as fueling her ardor. With enchanting leisureliness, he ventured along the curves and hollows of her flesh, discovering the many ways in which she could be inspired with passion. So intent was he on learning the whole extent of her elation that he even devoted his attention to her feet and the backs of her knees. Every apolaustic response she possessed was awakened, so that as he continued his exploration, he brought her transports she had not realized she could attain, until every fiber in her was shivering with ecstasy. Only when she reached the culmination of her fervor did he fold her close to him, his mouth pressed to her throat while she trembled her fulfillment.
    Gradually, as the wondrous riot in her flesh softened to a thrill, she opened her eyes and stared up at him. “How do you know such things?”
    “My foreign nature,” he said, and gently kissed the corner of her mouth.
    She reached up and fingered a dark strand of his wavy hair. “Like so much of you.” Her face seemed suffused with light. “I didn’t notice until now—your eyes are dark as mine, but they’re blue. Are you a Celestial Turk?”
    “No,” he said. “My people come from far to the west, in mountains called the Carpathians. My father ruled there until his enemies overcame him.” It was true as far as it went; he did not add that those events had taken place more than two and a half millennia ago.
    “Like what is