“I’m serious, Malik…”
Now, when she said his name, it was thick with hurt and that did something inside him. He expelled a breath, kissing her gently as he laid her down on the bed. “I like to know you are thinking of me when we do this,” he said simply.
Her eyes flew wide and resentment gave way to compassion – which he hated. He didn’t want that. But she was giving it to him anyway, pushing up on her elbows and kissing him, her tongue dueling with his, her hands tangling in his hair.
“Who else would I be thinking of?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The ghost of Addan was alive enough for both of them to perceive him.
There was no point speaking his name.
She’d go soon. When her eyes were a little less heavy. And her arms less exhausted. And her… she fell asleep and woke with a start sometime before dawn, disoriented and starving.
It was still dark, but the air had changed. The cool of the evening was being drawn out, and heat was replacing it, thick and stultifying. She moved slightly and came up against something hard and warm.
Her body stilled. She spun in bed and it all came crashing back to her.
She’d fallen asleep in his bed.
And no wonder.
Her pulse began to throb inside of her as memories surged. Memories of the way they’d made love so hard and fast against the wall like two jungle animals. Of the way he’d made her beg for him, and how furious she’d been.
And then, his admission – the reasons it mattered to him. And her heart had burst. She’d felt… she’d felt sympathy and something far more dangerous. Something unwanted and unpleasant.
She’d wanted to hug him.
She’d wanted to tell him she’d never needed another person in the way she did him. That the depth of her physical desire was enough to make her want to walk to the ends of the earth. That she would do just about anything he asked of her, if it meant more of this.
That she was his very willing sex slave, and she wasn’t even sure she cared. But there was so much danger in even admitting that to herself; she couldn’t admit that to Malik. Not yet. He was too much. Too powerful and closed off to her. She couldn’t be vulnerable to him – not more than she already was.
They’d had sex, and then, he’d tormented her body in the best possible way for hours, driving her to the point of oblivion, his mouth moving over her most sensitive nerve endings, teasing her, delighting her, his hands controlling her body, showing him to be a maestro of her in every way.
It had been somewhere near three when she’d exploded, and he with her, their hoarse cries mingling, the sound of release ricocheting around the room. And she’d intended to get up and leave almost immediately afterwards, but he’d clamped an arm around her waist and fallen asleep, and it had felt so good just being there, her body had been weak and exhausted.
But daylight was coming and everything looked different now.
She shifted in the bed a little, moving away from him, watching him, making sure he stayed sleeping. She pushed her feet out and stood, swallowing as she turned away from him. The dress she’d worn the night before had been left on the floor; it was dreadfully crushed, but that wouldn’t matter. She pulled it up silently, dragging her hair over one shoulder and checking her appearance in a small mirror as she approached the door.
Her heart burst up a gear because she looked like exactly what she was: a woman who had been thoroughly made love to all night. Her eyes had silver grey circles beneath them, her lips were dark and heavy, her skin had stubble rash across it.
“Going somewhere, Cinderella?”
She startled, spinning around to find her husband watching her with indolent speculation, the sheet discarded so she could see for herself that last night’s release hadn’t abated his desire for her one bit.
She swallowed, staring at his arousal, feeling a flood of desire thick within her abdomen.
“Come back to bed.”
It was a command. That alone made her want to defy it.
“Please.”
And then he did something like that. She weakened, staying where she was but smiling a little.
“Playing hard to get?” He prompted, standing in one lithe movement, striding across to her, his powerful body mesmerizing for its strength and vitality.
“I’m not playing anything, Malik,” she murmured softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He made a tsking noise of disapproval. “And what if I want you to wake me?”
He reached for her hand, his eyes slightly mocking as they held hers. “What if I want you to do this?” He curved her hands over his length and she made a groaning noise as she felt his strength throb in her palm.
He brought his mouth closer to hers, brushing his lips over hers. “Stay here.”
Of its own accord, her hand moved up his length, her fingertips brushing over his tip. He made a noise deep in his throat of pleasure, and power exploded inside of her.
She had done that. She’d made him feel that. She moved her hand down to the base of his arousal and then up again, squeezing a little and he tilted his head back, exhaling on a hiss as he stared at the ceiling, before sweeping his eyes shut.
And suddenly, she wanted to feel all-powerful, even more than this.
“I was a virgin before our wedding night,” she said simply, and he jerked his head down, looking at her. “And now we’ve slept together. But I don’t know how to do… anything else.”
Holding his gaze, she dropped to her knees, her eyes huge in her face. “Will you tell me?” She darted her tongue out and ran it over his tip, a thrill of strength bursting through her as she felt him tremble.
“Sophia,” he moved a little, stepping back slightly, but she shuffled forward, her hands curling around the base of his arousal, holding him where he was.
“And I want you to say my name,” she warned, her eyes sparking with his, as she opened her mouth wide enough to take his tip into her moistness.
He swore, his body rigid.
She took him deeper, slowly, letting herself get used to this new feeling, to this different kind of invasion. She moved her mouth up and down his length, challenging herself with how deep she could take him each time, until finally his tip hitched against the back of her throat and he groaned low and harsh.
His fingers found her hair, curling in its blonde lengths, the pressure gentle but incredibly arousing. She rolled her hips, desire sparking inside of her as she tasted a drop of his come in her mouth.
He swore, the sound so intensely hot, and then his hands were beneath her arms, lifting her, pulling her away from him, and he cradled her against his chest as he carried her back to bed.
“This damned dress,” he grunted, pushing the skirts up around her waist, his eyes showing impatience that made her laugh, despite her own needs being just as desperate.
“I didn’t want to go naked through the corridors,” she pointed out, but then his hands pushed her legs apart, wide and strong, and he thrust into her, so speech and thought became utterly impossible as pleasure seared her.
She arched her back, and he made a noise of impatience, one hand lifting to the top of her dress and pulling it. The dress tore.
She barely noticed. His hand cupped her breasts and then his mouth came down on her nipple, his tongue lashing her in time with each thrust, and then his teeth clamping on the engorged flesh until she was moaning his name over and over – no need to be asked this time.
“Malik,” she arched her back, pushing her hips up, taking him deeper and he drove into her as he moved his mouth to her other breast and she writhed beneath him, lost to this utterly and completely. “I need…”
“I know,” he reached up, his fingers curling into her hair, holding her head still as he took completely possession of her body and finally, she exploded, a burst of stars on the outside of her mind as pleasure contorted her being.
She closed her eyes, her body flooded with sensations, her mind u
nable to think of anything outside of this. She lay beneath him, his weight a pleasure, his closeness a godsend, and she simply felt.
She felt everything.
And then, he shifted out of her, moving to his side of the bed. “Go back to sleep, sharafaha. It is still dark out.”
She frowned, following his gaze to the window. It was dark, but there was a glow on the very edges of the horizon. Soon, morning would come, and there’d be light again, because light always followed the dark.
Chapter 8
SHE WOKE TO THE ringing of the phone and an empty bed. Pushing up, squinting, Sophia focused her gaze on the clock across the room. It was still early. Seven something.
She blinked, turning to the phone, reaching for the receiver on autopilot.
“Yeah, hello?”
Rapid fire Abu Fayan greeted her. “His highness is required immediately. Please ask him to come to the State rooms in the East wing.”
She frowned as the line went dead, replacing the receiver and pushing out of bed in one movement. She padded across the room, naked, and peered into the lounge area of the suite. Empty.
The bathroom was also empty. The kitchen likewise.
With a frown, she moved towards the balcony and it was here that she saw him.
Naked from the waist up, wearing only a pair of black briefs that showed his powerful trunk-like legs, tapered waist and muscular shoulders, her brow beaded with fine perspiration.
Why did she love his hair so much? He seemed to habitually pull it up into a very messy bun, himself, undoubtedly for comfort. But there was something so hot about that, about the way it sat there all dark and straining against confinement.
He turned, his eyes latching to hers, and Sophia’s breath snagged in her throat at the fact he’d caught her unashamedly staring.
“You’re awake.”
She nodded, her throat thick.
“I thought you might sleep all day.”
“No.” She shook her head. “The phone rang.”
His eyes narrowed. “I apologise. I told my assistant I was not to be disturbed.”
“It sounded important. You’re wanted in the State room of the East wing immediately.”
His expression tightened. “Damn it.”
“What?””
“Laith. It doesn’t matter. It’s something I have to deal with.”
But the name was familiar to Sophia. “The Jakari?”
He nodded dismissively. “Yes.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know any more than you do. I must go.” He moved past her but then, thought better of it, turning back to her. “I’ll come and see you before I leave.”
“You think you’ll have to go out into the desert again?”
His lips compressed. “Yes, sharafaha, I think I will have to go to him and sort this out in person.”
She didn’t say what she was thinking. There was no sense in having a battle with him until they both knew what he was dealing with. But as soon as he left, she gathered her torn dress to her body and moved back to her own room.
She showered and changed at speed, choosing loose linen pants and a flowy shirt. Her hair she scraped back into a low pony-tail before throwing some clothes and toiletries into a simple backpack and returning with speed to his suite.
It was empty.
She made a coffee, sipping it, trying to calm the kaleidoscope of butterflies that was battering her tummy.
It was almost an hour before he returned – or, three coffees and a sticky almond biscuit that tasted like sunshine and smiles.
He was distracted when he entered, his expression tense, and he was flanked by two ministerial staff and two servants, all dressed in the traditional white robes of Abu Faya. It was strange that, even when dressed in similar clothes, Malik looked so different.
So primeval and elemental.
Her stomach swooped as his eyes dropped to the bag at her feet then lifted to her face, clashing with hers again.
“Leave us.” He spoke to his staff without addressing them. It mattered not. They bowed low and exited through the wide doorway, pulling it closed behind them.
Before he could speak, she straightened, her eyes holding a challenge. “You’re going into the desert? To the Jakari?”
If it was possible, his expression tightened. Slowly, he nodded. “I’ll be away a week or so.”
“That’s fine. I’m coming with you.”
He didn’t visibly react. “Your place is here.”
“No,” she shook her head. “My place is at your side, remember? We’re married. I’m Sheikha. I’ve spent a long time training to be a Queen to your people. I don’t intend to have all that education go to waste.”
“Reading about ancient feuds and living amongst them are two entirely distinct prospects.”
“Undoubtedly. So?”
He compressed a sigh. “You are…”
“American, yes, I know. And tougher than steel boots.” She reached down and lifted her bag up, hoisting it over one shoulder. “So? I’m ready when you are.”
He walked towards her, his fingers clasping over the bag, sliding it down her shoulder.
“You cannot come with me.”
Her eyes locked to his, her chin tilted to angle her face upwards. “You don’t want me to come?”
His expression shifted, as the empty, lonely nights of his last foray into the desert played out before him. “It is not a trip of pleasure. The tribe is a long ride from here, in the hot sun.”
“I like the heat.”
He ground his teeth together, his jaw moving with the action. “That sun would peel this delicate, creamy skin from your body in no time.” He softened the words by dropping his head and pressing a kiss to her lips. Just a gentle brush of his mouth to hers but enough to set her alight. Never mind the sun burning her skin – his touch was enough to incinerate her!
“I’m coming with you.” It was a simple ultimatum. She lifted her eyes to his and he shook his head.
“You are headstrong.”
“So?”
He laughed, but it was a sound of impatience. “I don’t have time to do this with you now.”
She felt the weight of worries on his shoulder and frowned. “What’s happened?”
He lifted his face away, focusing on the sun-filled day beyond the window.
“It’s complex.”
“And what? I’m too simple to understand?” She snapped with sarcasm.
He made a clicking sound of frustration. “I didn’t say that. Only right now, I need to get out there, not to be here with you…”
“Take me with you.” She challenged him. “You can fill me in on the way.”
She lifted her bag once more, side-stepping her man-mountain of a husband and moving towards the door. When she turned back, he was staring at her, a look on his face she couldn’t interpret.
“You have no idea what you are asking for.”
The words were said simply but with an undercurrent of sympathy that goaded Sophia into straightening her spine and locking her shoulders squarely into place.
“You married me. We didn’t speak, before the wedding, about the kind of Sheikha I want to be. Well, this is it. I’m not ornamental, Malik. I don’t want to sit in this lovely palace wearing beautiful dresses and tiaras, taking tea with the wives of foreign dignitaries.” Her eyes sparked with his. “I’ve studied this country, its people, its politics. I come from a long line of American senators. I have instincts for this stuff. I’m coming with you.”
He didn’t speak for a long moment and she waited, with bated breath.
“These people live a completely different life to what you’re used to.”
“I know all about Bedouin traditions.”
“Knowing about them and seeing them are two different things. You would not be able to speak to me like this in front of them.”
She waited, a bag over her shoulder. “I wouldn’t speak to you like this in front of anyone – and
nor would you to me. No one needs to know the acrimonious state of our marriage behind closed doors.”
She’d been making a statement of fact, but his eyes narrowed and something like anger crossed his features.
“Abu Faya is a modern country, here in the cities. But out there, the ancient laws and ways prevail. Women are not seen to have the value you presume to be your birthright.”
“Of course it’s my birthright. Don’t stand there and act like you disagree with gender equality.”
He dipped his head in silent concession.
“They are old fashioned. Every generation brings them closer in step but it cannot be forced. It is a fine balance. You are…”
“If you’re worried that taking me out there will be like setting a cat amongst the pigeons, don’t be. I understand the line you must be walk. I understand that my role, while in the desert, will be to appear somewhat... submissive.”
He didn’t speak but his eyes showed absolute disbelief.
“I get it. The culture of the tribes is different. I understand.”
“Do you?” His eyes roamed her face and something shifted inside of her, because she would have put money on the fact he was angry about this, angry about the idea of her needing to appear even slightly subjugated, simply because of her gender.
“Addan hated that it would be necessary, but he explained everything to me.”
“What did my brother explain?” He asked, the words thick and unnatural.
“That I would need to walk separate to my husband. That I would only be able to partake in morning coffee and evening yashal with you. That I would be left to speak to the women of the tribe.” Her eyes glowed. “And still I want to go.”
A muscle jerked at the base of his jaw.
“I am your wife,” she said simply. “Don’t deny me a chance to see all of this country, all of its people.”
He crossed the room to her, wrapping his hands around her upper arms and holding her still, so he could look into her eyes. “It’s dangerous out there, completely unlike anything you’ve ever experienced.”
She met his eyes, her lips compressed in a line of determination. “I am not afraid, Malik.”
Billionaire Brides: An Anthology Page 9