Forged in the Desert Heat

by Maisey Yates

  Her breath caught, choked her. She’d never seen a more beautiful sight than the view of him, lit by the sun, his shoulders broad and powerful, the muscles in his back sharply defined, his waist trim, dimples just above his truly glorious butt, round and muscular and just everything she thought a man’s backside should be.

  And when he turned, she was certain her heart stopped. He was really, well and truly beyond her experience. She’d never seen a naked man in person. She’d seen limited pictures of the male member. But hadn’t seen much in the way of erect men. Unwanted spam emails, the contents of which she always closed her eyes against and deleted as quickly as possible, hardly counted.

  A textbook drawing outlining the different parts of male anatomy also didn’t count.

  He was much larger than she’d imagined he might be, but she wasn’t worried. She knew that generous size was supposed to be a good thing. So she was fairly certain that, first time, mandatory pain notwithstanding, his proportions were an asset to her.

  He made his way back to her and took her hand, leading her to where he’d left his robes laid out on the sand.

  He pulled her down to the soft ground with him and pulled her into his strong arms, stroking her hair as he kissed her, as he held her up against the hard, bare length of his body.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, tangled her legs, still clad in jeans, with his. He put his hand on her back, spread his fingers wide over her skin before grasping the clasp of her bra and releasing it, pulling the undergarment off and tossing it aside.

  He continued to kiss her, not giving her a moment to be concerned about her nudity as his hands skimmed over her curves, sending delicious sensation all through her body. She already knew how good Zafar could make her feel, with just ten minutes and one hand he’d rocked her world completely. Now, with him pressed to her, his hands roaming her entire body, no scratchy lace between her chest and his, no chance of anyone discovering him, she had a feeling he might truly demolish her world and build a whole new one.

  And she didn’t mind.

  He gripped her hips and pushed her onto her back, settling between her legs, his erection pressed hard and firm into the cradle of her body, still covered by her jeans.

  He kissed her deep, his hands bracketing her face then roaming down to cup her breasts, tease her nipples, drawing a hoarse cry from deep within her.

  He moved his hand down between her thighs then, stroking her through the denim. She arched against him, needing more. Needing everything.

  He undid the snap on her jeans and reached inside, his fingers brushing over the thin fabric of her panties, the touch enticing, the lace’s sheer veil adding something to the feeling, making her more sensitive somehow.

  Then he reached beneath the web of lace, his fingers touching her damp heat. “Oh, yes,” she breathed, resting her head on his shoulder, her fingers curling into his skin, her nails likely digging into his flesh, but she didn’t care.

  She had to hold on to him, had to keep herself anchored to the ground somehow.

  He pushed her pants and underwear down her hips, and she helped, pushing the bundle of fabric off to the side with her foot, then returned to the very important task of kissing him. Everywhere. His lips, his neck, his chest and back to his gorgeous, perfect mouth. She thought of all the years he’d gone without being touched.

  Oh, yeah, she knew he’d had lovers. Mistresses. Bed partners. But they hadn’t touched him like this. They hadn’t wanted to just have his skin against theirs to feel close. Hadn’t wanted to touch him because not touching him was as unthinkable as not breathing.

  She knew it. She just did.

  She could feel herself getting close to the edge again, his hands in between her thighs, stroking and teasing as he’d done that night at the palace.

  “Not like that,” she said, kissing his neck. “You. Inside me.”

  “Not yet,” he said. “Not yet.”

  He lowered his head and kissed her between her breasts, before shifting and taking one nipple deep into his mouth, sucking, sliding his tongue over the tightened bud.

  Then he worked his way down her body, his lips and tongue creating an erotic path that she was so glad he’d decided to forge.

  Then his broad shoulders were spreading her thighs, his breath hot against her sex. And he leaned in, his tongue stroking long and wet over her clitoris. She arched against him, her hands going to his head reflexively. To pull him away, to hold him there, she wasn’t sure. But instead of doing anything, she just laced her fingers through his hair and let the dark pull of pleasure drag her under.

  Her orgasm swept over her like a wave, crashing through her, robbing her of breath, leaving her spent and shaking in the aftermath. Gasping for air.

  And then he was claiming her mouth again, hard and deep, while the head of his penis met the entrance to her body, her slickness easing the way for him as he pushed inside of her.

  It was tight, and painful at first. No sharp horrible pain, which some of her friends had professed to experience. But it was still more something to be endured than something she was enjoying. It was so foreign, being filled by another person, being so close to him.

  She looked up into his eyes, just as he thrust fully into her, and a sharp cry escaped her lips.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, concern written on his face.

  “Yes,” she said, feeling so full she might burst. “Yes. I’m so much more than okay.”

  “I didn’t know,” he said, his voice choked.

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not.” He put his hand on her thigh, lifted it so that her leg was draped over his hip, seating him deeper inside of her. “I’m not.”

  Then he lowered his head and started moving inside of her, his thrusts steady, measured, and the more he moved, the less it hurt, the more pain gave way to pleasure, discomfort to dissolving and making way for a deep, soul-rending sensation that was building low in her body, in her chest, spreading through her, taking her over.

  She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, beginning to find her own rhythm, moving her hips back against his, bringing her clitoris into contact with his body, like striking a match every time he pushed back inside of her, sending a streak of heat through her veins.

  “Zafar,” she said, her climax rising inside of her, everything in her tightening to an unbearable degree, preparing for the release she knew would come. A release she wasn’t sure she could withstand.

  “I’m here,” he said, his words labored. “I’m here for you, Ana.”

  Her name. Not an endearment. Her name.

  His pace increased, his movements becoming erratic, hard and intense. She cried out her pleasure, ripples of it working its way through her body endlessly.

  Then, too soon, far too soon, he withdrew from her, still over her, his hand on his shaft, stroking himself twice until he found his own release, spilling himself before lowering himself to kiss her lips again.

  “Ana,” he said, breathing hard. “I...”

  “Later,” she said. “There will time for yelling at me later. I’m so tired now.”

  “We need to get in the tent.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “You’ll burn out here.”

  “I can’t move.”

  He hauled himself into a sitting position and scooped her up against his chest, standing, and walking her into the small structure, bigger by quite a bit than the one they’d traveled in at first. “Wait here,” he said.

  She stood in the center of the bare, clean tent, feeling dizzy. Shocked. Wonderful.

  He returned a second later with a large bedroll under his arm. He spread it out on the floor of the tent. “Sleep now,” he said. “We’ll talk later.”

  “Will you sleep, too?” she asked.

  He shook his head, his d
ark eyes unreadable. “I don’t sleep with anyone.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ANA FELT LIKE she’d been wounded. “Not even with me? Not even...after that?”

  “I can’t,” he said, turned and walked out of the tent, closing the flap behind him.

  She lay down on the mattress, her knees curled up to her chest. She had just given everything for this man. Her virginity. Her future.

  Because she loved him, she realized that now.

  That was why she just wanted to touch him. It was why she wanted him to hold her.

  Of all the stupid things.

  Loving Zafar wouldn’t make her father happy. It would make Tariq very unhappy. Hell, Zafar would probably be pissed, too.

  A slow smile spread over her face. She didn’t care. She just loved him. It didn’t matter if it would make anyone else’s life easier. It didn’t matter if it made other people unhappy.

  She wasn’t sacrificing her life to make other people happy. She wasn’t marrying a man who didn’t inspire her passions. She wasn’t marrying a man she didn’t love just to make her father love her more. Just to find a piece of security.

  She was Analise Christensen. And there had been a time when she’d had fun. When she’d run instead of walking. When she’d lived loudly.

  But she’d let life blow out her spark.

  And Zafar had helped her find it again. So this was all his fault, really, and if he didn’t like it, he was going to have to deal with it.

  Her smile broadened. Two or three weeks ago, she would never have done this. Wouldn’t ever have stepped so far off the path she’d been assigned to.

  But now she was off that path. Pushing her way through the forest, through the trees and bushes, finding her own way. Terrifying. Liberating.

  She rolled into a sitting position and pushed up off the mattress, suddenly not so tired anymore. She was completely naked, but she didn’t much care.

  She pushed open the tent flap and saw Zafar leading the newly named Sadiqi down to the water.

  He was dressed now, but not in his robes. In thin pants and a tunic top, his hair ruffled, standing on end. Because of her.

  “You can’t just walk away.”

  Zafar looked up from where he stood at the edge of the lake, his heart lodging in his throat, all of his blood rushing back to his groin as he looked at Ana, standing in the sun, pale and pink and completely naked.

  Her blond hair tumbled over her shoulders, her breasts highlighted by the late-afternoon light. So round and soft. Utter perfection in his hands. In his mouth. Against his chest while he was inside of her, chasing ecstasy.

  But she’d been a virgin, and he’d made a very grave error. Even without that little revelation, it had been a grave error. But now he knew there would be no hiding their affair.

  “I think it’s pretty rude to do all that to a woman and then walk away,” she said.

  “Ruder still would have been staying and doing it again,” he said, his throat tight.

  “I don’t think I’d mind that.”

  “Perhaps not.”

  “But you don’t want to come back in there with me?”

  “This cannot be... Ana, you were a virgin and you are not now. I imagine Tariq will notice.”

  “First of all, you can’t undo what’s been done. Second...I’m not going to marry Tariq.”

  He felt like he’d been punched in the chest. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to. Because I was only doing it to appease my father. I thought it was love, but honestly, if you put your mind to it I think you can manufacture love quite simply. That’s all it was. I was told marrying him would be good for our family, and so I set my mind to loving him so that I could please my father. And...and I thought, if I had a husband who was a sheikh, who was bound by this kind of duty...no matter what happened he would never cast me out. A royal couple stays together, if for no other reason than the media. And that’s pathetic, and sad, but I didn’t know how else to keep someone with me, Zafar. But now...now I don’t care. I just don’t. I’m the one that has to live my life. I think...I think I started feeling this way when my friends and I went on the desert tour. I wanted to experience a taste of freedom, of something a bit wild. Something not strictly sanctioned, and so I arranged that. But it was more than that. I just think I wanted something more. Then I was kidnapped, and then there was you. And now here we are. And I feel different. I feel like this was the journey I had to take.”

  “I’m glad that my personal hell was a step along the way of your journey,” he bit out.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “It’s what you said.”

  “You...Zafar, you were unexpected. Unwanted.” A tear slid down her cheek, her face crumpling. And he just wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her everything would be okay. But he couldn’t promise that. He could promise her nothing. “But you are absolutely the most important thing...I could never have found this, I could never have found me, without you. I would have made vows to a man that I had no business making them to. I would have...I would have ruined my life and never fully realized it. Like suddenly the fog cleared and now I see everything, where before I could barely see past my nose. And I didn’t even know how far life went, how broad the scope. I would never have known.”

  Zafar left Sadiqi standing at the river’s edge. The horse wouldn’t wander off. He never had. He truly was a faithful friend, regardless of what he’d said earlier.

  He was glad she’d talked him into giving him a name. What was she doing to him?

  “I must take you back still. You know that, right?”

  “I do.”

  “I need to see you returned safely, and from there whatever you choose to tell your father and Tariq, whatever decisions you make, are yours.”

  “It’s hot.”

  “I know. That’s why we stopped.”

  “Will you come into the tent and lie down with me?”

  Such a sweet, open request and he felt unable to refuse it. The truth was, he wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms, her sweet softness against him, his face buried in her hair, inhaling her scent, a hand cupping her breast. He wanted it so much it made him ache.

  But it wasn’t her status as another man’s fiancé, which she claimed she no longer was, that made it an impossibility.

  It was him.

  He couldn’t sleep with her. For fear the darkness would swallow them both. That he would lash out against her in the night. He couldn’t ask her to stay with him because he would use her as a dying man used an oasis. He would quench his thirst with her body, her soul, and give nothing back.

  He would be able to give her nothing. He would be worth nothing.

  He had to keep his eyes on his people. He had to focus on his kingdom. Wishing he could love a woman, aching over a woman, was that same old weakness, and he simply couldn’t allow it.

  Yet he wanted to. So much it was a physical need that tore through him, leaving emotions he’d thought long dead in tatters.

  “For now,” he said. “While we travel...I will have you in my bed.”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  He would endure days of not sleeping just for that privilege, for this little moment out of time where he would be Zafar as he was meant to be. So that he too could be unmade, here with her, and simply be the man he might have been.

  A man whose past wasn’t stained with blood. Whose future wasn’t filled with endless, rigid responsibility.

  Just a man who wanted a woman. He looked into Ana’s clear blue eyes. Yes, just for these few days. It would be enough.

  It would have to be.

  * * *

  He watched her walk around the tent from his position on the mattress. She’d never dressed after the first
time they’d made love. She reminded him of Eve, walking around naked and unashamed. As though she was comfortable just as she was made. As though she had sprung from creation, formed...not just for him.

  For herself.

  She was so fierce. Glorious in her nakedness.

  He was undone.

  “Come here,” he said.

  She smiled at him and it hit him hard. There was such warmth in her expression, such desire. She looked at him and saw the man he might have been, and that was a gift he treasured. Something he wanted never to destroy. But if he stayed with her, he would.

  She would see.

  “Zafar?” She got down on her knees in front of him and bent to kiss him, her hair sliding forward, creating a glossy curtain around them. “You look too serious,” she said, kissing him again.

  He put his hand on her back, lowered it, cupping her backside. “It is nothing,” he said, looking at her clear blue eyes, like the sun-washed Al Sabahan sky. Only there was caring there. Forgiveness. And he deserved none of it. She was too much beauty, too much strength.

  “Let me help you forget.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her deeper, pulling her down so that he was on his back and she was over him. He wanted her, no matter what it meant for him. No matter if it meant all the honor and purpose he purported to have wasn’t nearly as strong as the weakness of his body. No matter if it reached in and undid the years of exile.

  Almost especially because it reached in and undid the years of exile.

  He was parched, so thirsty for touch, for connection, for her, that there was no way he could deny it. A man who would drink poisoned water in the middle of the desert just for that moment of satisfaction.

  Though Ana wasn’t the poison. It was all in him.

  He shut that thought out, turned his focus away from the flames of hell, still licking at his ankles, as they had been for the past fifteen years, and focused on the heat of her lips, of her bare body against his.

  He pushed all thoughts and recriminations away so he could listen to the sound of her palms sliding over his chest, her breathing increasingly labored as she became more aroused, the breathy sounds of pleasure that came from pale lush lips.