“I hear the sound of family stories there.” Mina leaned in, observing her own ease for the first time she could remember in months—certainly since long before she’d learned of her parliamentary interview.
He lifted his hands, palms up to her. “You’ll have to ask my mother yourself. Everything I know I learned secondhand from my cousin Helene, who learned it piecemeal from her mother. There are rumors that my mother was quite the wild child in her youth, though.”
“Queen Barbara? Absolutely not. She is dignity personified.”
Zayn lifted an eyebrow. “You buy the image? For shame, Mina.”
She laughed. “Well, I’ll just have to ask the source.”
“What about you? Do you have any wild stories from your youth?”
She knew a frown flashed across her face at his words, but it was gone as soon as it appeared.
“Not me,” she said, with a self-deprecating smile. “I really just studied. Nothing exciting about my past—I’m just your average citizen,”
Zayn snorted. “I find that hard to believe. You were about to be appointed to the King’s council, you speak multiple languages, you’ve been to Ecuador on a research expedition. That’s a lot more than the average citizen.”
Mina smiled. “When you put it like that...”
He laughed, and she wondered if he knew that the low rumble of that sound was the key to the lock that kept the heat of her core at bay.
“I do,” he insisted.
He was iron and charm, threaded together through both King and man, and the combination created a powerful magnetism.
Heat bloomed in her cheeks, her breath catching a bit as she said, “Well, it takes a lot of study to do those things, which doesn’t leave much time for wild stories.”
He raised an eyebrow. “In my experience, wild stories make time for themselves.”
The heat in Mina’s cheeks took on a different nature at his words. Wild stories, it would seem, had just purposely avoided her then—because she had none. She had stories of falling asleep with her nose in a book, and spending her rare free nights tucked away in her mother’s living room. All to keep alive the memory of a man she apparently hadn’t ever really known.
“Not even a love affair to distract from your focus?” he asked.
She shook her head in response. “Not even a love affair, I’m afraid. Just boring study, night after night.” She blushed again. She hadn’t meant to say that, emphasizing that her nights all the rest of the life she had spent alone. She took a sip of her water to wash down the knot of embarrassment lodged in her throat.
“It sounds like you’re ripe for something wild, then.”
His tone implied that he was open to being the one to introduce wild into her life, and she choked on her water before trying to brush it off as a chuckle.
“Ha-ha.” She enunciated the sound as if she was new to the process of laughter, before adding, “The only thing I’m ripe for is a bath.”
He shook his head, amusement alive in his eyes, but simply said, “I can handle the dishes, Mina. Go upstairs and take your bath.”
She didn’t wait for him to say it twice. Making her way into the living room, it was impossible for her to miss the gorgeous wide staircase that led to the second floor. Taking it, she wandered the hallways, every now and then stealing a glance down through the open-plan living room into the kitchen to see Zayn in his towel.
It occurred to her that the towel was the first thing she’d seen him wear that wasn’t black. A bubble of laughter escaped at the thought, and the edge to its sound reminded her that, regardless of how relaxed things were now, she’d pushed her body past its limits over the course of the day.
Away from Zayn’s temperature-raising presence, the aches and pains of the day made themselves felt. And why shouldn’t they? She had drunk and danced late into the night the night before, been woken up too early, with a hangover, survived an emergency plane landing, and gone on a four-hour hike within the last twenty-four hours. It was a wonder she was even upright at this point. A hot bath and a date with a pillow were exactly what the doctor ordered.
Offset from the other doors, at the far end of the long upper hallway, was a pair of large French doors. The master suite, if she had to guess and, she suspected, the location of the hot tub.
Inside, the bedroom was bright, plush, and clean. A massive bed covered with a well-stuffed white duvet demanded attention, but it didn’t begin to dominate the enormous room. Much like the Queen’s Suite at the palace, small archways led form it to what she assumed were closets and additional rooms.
Moments later, she squealed with delight to find the bathroom.
She searched the cabinets, gleeful when she discovered a gratuitous selection of luxury bath salts and balms. She turned the water on in the tub while reading the package labels. Settling on a combination of relaxation and muscle-soothing, she added the salts and quickly peeled off her clothes, before stepping over the high edge of tub and into heaven on earth.
A moan slipped free from her lips as she sank in, feeling hot jets of water working her tender muscles the whole time.
The tub was everything Zayn had promised and more—deep, powerful, big enough to drown in—and she couldn’t have designed it better in her imagination.
“Mmm...” Her hum of pleasure was unstoppable.
For the first time since she’d left her apartment for her interview, weeks ago, she was completely alone. The relief that came with that was more profound than she would have believed possible before meeting the King.
She closed her eyes and leaned back, thinking there was a real chance she might fall asleep in the tub. Slowly inhaling the lavender and eucalyptus combination of the bath salts, she bent her mind to the task of relaxing, beginning at the crown of her head and working her way down, part by part. By the time she reached her toes her mind floated in a Zen haze, lulled into stillness by aromatherapy and hot water.
In that state, Zayn’s image formed in her mind.
A smile curved her lips.
In her imagination he rose from a steaming spring, the same broad chest she’d barely been able to tear her eyes from all day glistening with beads of heated water that begged to be traced with her tongue. As usual, his violet gaze burned, but this time the fire was fueled by desire—and all of it for her.
She shivered in the tub, despite the heat of the water. There was an undeniable thrill that came with the image. To have the King burn for her...
The bathroom door hinges creaked and Mina shot up, her eyes popping open, arms crossing in front of her breasts.
Zayn stood in the doorway, his movement halted mid-entry.
Their eyes met—hers wide and bright, and her cheeks flushed from more than the heat of the water, his piercing and focused, entirely zeroed in on her.
He cleared his throat. “I apologize. I was looking for my clothes. They are not in my old room.”
Swallowing, Mina nodded, not trusting her ability to find words.
Entering the bathroom, he made his way toward the closet in the corner with gentlemanly decorum, not glancing toward the tub as he passed, and though she didn’t know what else she could have wanted, Mina was disappointed.
He turned to leave with equal restraint, a folded black T-shirt and black cotton pants in his hands.
Mina watched his back as he walked toward the door, a heavy sense of urgency growing in her chest. His hand was on the door handle when she called his name.
“Zayn.”
He turned, meeting her eyes without a word.
Mina lowered her arms and the air left the room.
Time was transformed, racing as Zayn’s eyes locked with hers to rip an irrefutable confirmation of her invitation from her at light-speed even while it slowed, going still as they sensed the invisible precipice they stood on.
And then he was moving toward her, a predator gone beyond stalking his prey, ready to pounce.
Her throat caught. She was suddenly nervous, but not enough. Not nearly enough. Not when they were alone in the cabin. Not when they were man and wife, their union not just sanctioned but sanctified. Certainly not when his eyes burned with an intensity that put her imagination to shame.
Her life’s dream had been revealed to be a sham. Her academic reputation was in tatters. There was no more research to complete, no more grants to apply for. No more benchmarks to reach. She could make up no more excuses or distractions from taking a chance on real life—not when her husband was looking at her like that.
She stood, wearing only the water that ran down her skin.
The King stilled, not frozen but hyper-aware, his attention locked.
And then he was on her, closing the distance between them and cupping the back of her skull in his hands as he lifted her face towards his to take her mouth.
Her breasts pressed against the bare skin of his chest, her pebbled nipples exploding into sensation on contact. He snaked his arm around her waist, bracing her as he pulled her closer, pressing the hard length of his body against hers.
Held fast in his arms, she gave herself fully into the kiss, her senses wide open, etching each feeling into her memory. A hungry, desperate voice in the back of her mind was urging her on, warning her that this might be her only opportunity to feel this way.
Blood rushed through her, each vessel a river of heat coalescing at her core.
His hand found her breast, and the faintly roughened skin of his fingertips and palms against her skin was the most sensuous contrast she’d ever experienced. She arched into his grip, her breath catching in her throat.
The movement elicited a painful groan from him before he took her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Rolling it gently, he experimented with pressure, watching her face intently as he set off mini waves of electric pleasure through her system.
She gasped when he replaced his fingers with his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive hard bud. A moan of protest escaped her as he transitioned to the other breast, and she was bereft until he once again took her in his mouth.
Her fingers raked through his hair, thrilling in the silky texture she’d wanted to touch since seeing its midnight sheen up close in the chapel, and she had the strong urge to lift her legs and wrap them around his waist, press the burning heat at the juncture of her thighs closer to him.
Reading her mind, he scraped a palm down her back, over the curve of her behind, then down along the outer edge of her thigh to cup the back of her knee, drawing her leg higher, her heat closer.
When he had her leg where he wanted it, he scooped the other leg up, lifting her with an ease that belied her height and weight. She wasn’t petite. But he held her.
Her ankles locked behind his back as his palms found the rounded cheeks of her behind and dug in. As if she weighed nothing, he swung her around, catching her mouth with his again while walking them into the bedroom.
Mina was now grateful for the enormous bed that had seemed too much when she’d entered the room earlier. As it was, it took too long for him to reach it, where he laid her down, his eyes taking her in like a pillaging conqueror.
It wasn’t hard to picture him that way. Her very own dark warrior with piercing violet eyes. His body was perfection personified—that of a man who obviously believed in hard work—a wall of well-defined muscles all the way down.
There was finally nothing left to the imagination, and for that Mina was intensely grateful. Her imagination had been woefully inadequate when compared to the real thing. The trail of fine hair began at his navel expanded into a wider, thicker plateau from which a manhood jutted that put every diagram and model she’d ever seen to shame.
Looking at him, her heart pounding, she began to truly understand that the urge to join was about far more than basic biology. It wasn’t biology that had her lips parting, that filled her with the boldness to meet his eyes as she let her legs fall open, not hiding any part of herself from him.
He rewarded her action by devouring her with his eyes, the heat of their caress as physical as if it were his body leaning down to cover her. He brought his palms down to the bed, his arms bracketing her on either side of her head, his face above her own before he once again claimed her lips.
She pressed into his kiss, returning it with everything she had, their tongues dancing with one another. His hardness pressed hotly against her core, its temperature somehow registering despite her internal inferno, and she wiggled her hips towards his, instinctively seeking the angle that would bring them even closer together.
Smiling into their kiss, he said, “Patience, Mina amora. I want to savor you.”
His words danced across her bare skin, leaving shivers in their wake. Bringing her arms up to wrap them around him, she traced patterns on his back with a light scratch of her nails, reveling in the unbridled access to the broad expanse of skin.
For this night, the King—no, Zayn—was hers and hers alone, and she didn’t have to worry about whether she was Dr. Aldaba or Queen Amina. Here he was Zayn and she was Mina—a man and a woman in a dance as old as time.
Leaning close, he set a trail of light kisses at her jaw, then travelled down her neck and along her collarbone, along the outside edges of her breasts and down her ribs beneath, before circling around to find her nipple once again.
She arched her back to meet him, moaning as the heat of his mouth enveloped the tender tip.
Then he was pressing his lips against her sternum, and lower, in a path that would soon intersect with her navel and beyond.
A tremor shook her body when his lips reached the upper edge of the patch of hair at the junction of her thighs. Rather than continue in a straight path from there, as she’d expected, he took a detour, tracing feather-light electric kisses teasingly along the edges and her inner thighs. Her skin tightened, pulling taut with each press of his lips, her breath catching every time he exhaled against her skin.
Her hips lifted of their own accord, inner heat building as each breath was hitched, caught and released, no match for his sensory onslaught.
When his lips finally pressed against the seam that held her together she cried out with relief, the thrumming anticipation reaching a fever-pitch she knew would break her apart.
He explored her with gentle strokes of his tongue, slowly delving deeper into her core, traversing ground no man had ever walked before with an intimacy that should have left her shaking with nerves but instead threatened to undo her with pleasure. It rolled through her in waves, each one closer, tighter, more intense than the last. Moans escaped her lips with growing urgency, though what was so urgent she didn’t know.
“Let me take you, Mina.”
The hum of his words against her most intimate center pushed her over the edge. Shockwaves of sensation ravaged her system. She was arching her back as every muscle in her body tightened then released, leaving her to collapse into a tumbling shell against the bed, her mind dissolved.
But he wasn’t done with her yet.
Kissing his way back up, he made quick progress until he once again hovered above her.
“Bend your knees and lift your hips.”
The command was absolute. A king’s will to be obeyed. And she didn’t know if it was due to shock or desire, but she obliged him immediately and shamelessly. His groan at her acquiescence was almost reward enough for her obedience. Almost.
And then he positioned himself at the gateway of her slick entrance and paused, drawing every ounce of her attention to the hot, pulsing point where their bodies touched. She gasped and he grinned rakishly, twitching the head of his shaft against her, teasing her with each flickering movement.
Leaning down, he kissed the hollow behind her ear tracing his lips down along her jaw, wh
ispering as he went. “Do you like the way that feels, Mina?”
She answered with a moan, her body tensing, anticipation building once more. Again her hips wiggled toward him of their own accord, in an instinctive motion urging him to finish what they’d started.
Leaning slightly to one side, he freed his arm to wrap it around Mina’s hips, holding her steady as he angled his body and pressed gently against the smoldering heat of her. Her breath caught, her attention zeroing in on the pressure of his hardness, stretching her open, and then he pulled her body closer, catching her mouth in a deep kiss, setting off a sensual onslaught on another front and overwhelming her ability to focus on any single sensation rising inside her.
He entered her slowly, pausing for her slick body to move past the sharp sting of his presence before he pressed deeper, inch by inch, his pace deliciously teasing, luring her to lift her hips and meet his as she stretched to accommodate him.
The thick pressure of him inside her was a wholly new experience, his heat a pulsing rod, radiating warmth from her core outward. Her heart beat in time with its pulse, and the rhythms of their bodies connecting and syncing threatened to dance her into oblivion once again.
She gasped his name and he increased his pace, sliding deeper and deeper into her with each stroke. The veins in his neck and arms were pressing taut against his skin, his own breathing becoming choppy and irregular.
Sensing he was nearing the same peak, she locked her ankles around his back, angling her hips to allow him even deeper access, driven by primal instruction. He growled in response and the sound sent a wild thrill of possessiveness through her. Tightening her arms around his back, she dug her nails into him, marking him as hers even as he irrevocably claimed her body with each thrust.
“Ay, Dio, Mina!”
The words were ripped free from his lips, their strained tenor nudging her own system ever closer toward the edge they both teetered on. They moved in sync, drawn together by a kind of magnetism that had nothing to do with poles, their breath coming fast, their bodies slick with sweat.
Stolen To Wear His Crown (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Royal Guard, Book 1) Page 11