His hands were shaking and so was his voice as he pulled his mouth away from hers and cradled her face in his palms. ‘I don’t know how gentle I can be.’
‘You don’t have to be gentle.’
‘You’re carrying my baby, Ella.’ She turned her head so that her lips brushed against his fingers. ‘Well, unless you were planning to tie me up and suspend me from the ceiling.’
‘Stop it.’ For a moment he bit back unexpected laughter as he ran his fingers through her hair so that the glorious waves of her red-brown hair tumbled free. ‘How about if we take it very slowly this time?’
‘I’m not sure that I can,’ she whispered. He wasn’t sure that he could either, but he would make sure that he was careful. He led her over to the bed and slowly peeled the silken robe from her body. And this was a first too. He’d never undressed a woman who was wearing his own traditional robes and it seemed to add another dimension to the surreal aspect of what was taking place. It was as if all his certainties had been shaken up and scattered haphazardly, like a handful of dice thrown onto a gaming table. And everything was up for grabs. Including his blushing wife.
Clad in exquisite lingerie, her lashes half shaded her blue eyes as she watched his reaction. The cami-knickers clung to her slender hips and the silk bra caressed the curve of her breasts. Eyes narrowing, he studied the pale, creamy colour of the garments which looked distinctly bridal.
‘Did you choose this especially for me?’ he questioned unevenly, curving his finger around the lace edge of her bra.
‘Of course I did. I went out shopping especially.’ Hadn’t she slunk out almost shamefacedly to buy it in the few hours available before their rushed wedding? Wondering if she was being a hypocrite by purchasing brand-new underwear for a wedding which felt distinctly empty. Yet now Ella was pleased she’d done it. It had been worth all those doubts just to see the dark fire which had shifted the emptiness from his eyes. ‘It’s called a trousseau. It’s what every bride should wear on her honeymoon. I know that, traditionally, it’s supposed to be white, but I don’t really qualify for white, do I?’
‘Who cares about that?’ he questioned roughly.
‘You mean you don’t?’
He shook his head. He hadn’t seen her body since the night of the party and it had changed. Of course it had. The breasts were fuller and her belly curved over the edge of her lace panties. He gave a groan which was part lust and part admiration as he let his fingers curl over the gentle swell, because beneath her silken robes, he hadn’t realised how big she was getting. Did all men experience a rush of possessive pride when they witnessed their child growing in a woman’s belly? he wondered.
‘You look beautiful,’ he husked as he pushed her down onto the bed, quickly removing his own robes before joining her and pulling a throw over them both.
‘I’m not cold,’ she murmured as they were cocooned in the light concealment of silk.
‘No?’ He kissed the soft flesh of her shoulder. ‘Then why are you shivering?’
‘You know very well why,’ she whispered as she curled her hand around his neck and brought his head down to kiss her. It was the second assertive thing she’d done that evening and it seemed to liberate Hassan from his porcelain-like treatment of her as he opened her lips with the thrust of his tongue.
Ella could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with hers. His kiss was like a drug—one taste and she was hooked. Deeply and passionately she kissed him back, her fingers kneading at the silken skin which played over the muscles of his back. And then he began to touch her.
Everywhere.
She closed her eyes. This was unbelievable. Even better than last time. She could feel the relentless heat building inside her as he unclipped her bra to free her aching breasts, capturing first one and then the other in the hot, moist cavern of his mouth. She was restless and gasping by the time he slid her panties off. She knew he’d said he was going to take it slowly, but really …
‘Keep still,’ he urged her mockingly.
‘I can’t!’
Concerned that his weight might press on the baby, he brought her instead to sit on top of him, positioning the tip of his erection against her slick, moist folds. But even as he gripped her hips to slowly guide himself inside her, he was aware of a sudden sense of discovery. Of something unfamiliar happening to him. He felt the warmth of her thighs as they pressed into his sides and he shuddered as she pushed her hips forward to make him go even deeper. And then he realised what it was. That this was the first time he’d ever had sex with a pregnant woman, and the first time he’d never worn protection.
And it felt …
He closed his eyes. It felt unbelievable. He’d overheard men talking about the joys of ‘riding bareback’ while knowing that, for him, it would never be an option. Because royal seed was too precious to squander by careless lust or an inability to wait. But now he was experiencing it for the first time in his life, and it felt almost unbearably intimate as he thrust deep inside her. Skin on skin. Her slick heat against his hard heat.
‘I’m not hurting you?’ he managed.
Ella shook her head, barely able to speak, realising that she had wanted this so much. To feel this close to him again. To experience the pleasure which only he had ever given her. ‘I’m going to … going to …’
‘I can see that for myself,’ he murmured, watching as her head tipped back with helpless joy. She made a moaning sound as she came, a low note of uninhibited pleasure which initiated the beginning of his own orgasm. Holding tightly onto her hips, he felt the powerful spasms which swept him up in a mindless spill he never wanted to end.
Afterwards, his head fell back against the pillow and he felt as drained and as elated as a battle-weary soldier. Yet even as his hand encircled her waist to draw her closer and he found himself breathing in the raw scent of sex, he found himself thinking that this could get addictive. Dangerously addictive. The combined warmth of their damp skin made their bodies seemed glued together and he found himself absently kissing the tangle of her hair as long, silent minutes ticked by.
He must have slept more deeply than usual because when he opened his eyes, sunlight was filtering through the open shutters and the early-morning scent of roses was powerfully intoxicating. For a moment he didn’t remember where he was, but as he turned to see the sleeping form of Ella beside him, it all came back. Her shy and stumbled entreaty at dinner. A hesitant seduction which had proved inordinately irresistible.
Yawning, he thought that his senses had never felt so finely tuned, nor so richly satiated. Last night had been, he realised, the most erotic experience of his life.
More than that, he felt a rare moment of contentment which allowed him to push away the nagging questions which were hovering at the back of his mind. He knew that there were a million things he should be doing. He should rouse himself and move away from the warm comfort of this bed….
But instead, he picked up a handful of Ella’s hair, watching as it fell in satin tendrils across his chest before bending his lips to her ear. ‘Awake?’ he questioned lazily.
She wriggled and smiled against the pillow. ‘I am now.’
He guided her hand towards his aching groin. ‘You are the most amazing lover, do you know that?’
Ella froze as her fingers encountered the steely shaft of his erection, and in the cold light of day, fear began to run through her veins. What if he now expected her to run through a repertoire of sexual skills—skills she didn’t have, and which would leave him sorely disappointed?
Before, she had not cared about his good opinion of her but suddenly it became vital that he should know the truth. ‘I’m not the person you think I am,’ she said, pulling her hand away from him. Even though she saw his eyes narrow with disappointment, he needed to realise that she wasn’t the sexual expert he imagined her to be. Not some uber-experienced party girl with dozens of men in her past and a long list of lovers she could barely remember.
Hassan win
ced, wondering why women always chose precisely the wrong moment to pour out their feelings. But he was in no position to move. He registered the heavy aching at his groin and realised he was in no position to do anything except … ‘And what kind of person is that?’ he questioned unsteadily.
She drew in a deep breath. ‘I don’t make a habit of seducing men.’
‘I’d kind of worked that out for myself, Ella.’
‘You had?’
‘Mmm.’ He moved his hand between her legs. ‘Last night you came over as sweet, rather than seasoned.’
She wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing. In fact, it was difficult to wonder anything when he was stroking her like that. ‘Up … up until that night of the party, I’d … well, I’d never behaved like that before.’
‘I’m very pleased to hear it,’ he replied gravely.
‘I’d only ever had a relationship with one other person. And I went out with him for ages before we had sex.’ Through her growing waves of pleasure, she met the question in his eyes, admitting to herself for the first time that she’d been scared of sex. She’d seen from the example set by her own parents what fools men and women could make of themselves in its pursuit. ‘When eventually we did it, I … well, I tried my best. But I never … never …’ She shook her head, the words sticking in her throat.
‘You never had an orgasm before me?’ he guessed as he remembered the way she’d clung to him that first time. And suddenly it all made sense. The breathless little words which had sounded almost like gratitude as she had bucked wildly in his arms.
‘Right.’ She looked into his eyes, wary now that she had given too much away. Wouldn’t a man like him hate such transparency? ‘So I misled you. I’m not the woman you thought I was. Are you angry with me, Hassan?’
His mouth twitched. ‘Absolutely furious,’ he said.
‘Seriously?’
His laugh was low as his fingertip thrummed against her heated flesh. ‘Oh, Ella,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t you know that it’s every man’s fantasy to be the first person to awaken a woman in that way? I like the fact that I am the only man to have shown you true pleasure. That everything you learn will spring from my lips and my loins.’ His voice dipped into a throaty murmur. ‘Shall I show you how good it feels when a man tastes a woman?’
Shyly, she nodded, her cheeks growing warm as he began to move his lips slowly down over her body. And in that moment she thought she’d just discovered the real danger of sex. Because when a man made her feel this good … When his tongue was licking her in places where she’d never imagined being licked. It was easy to start imagining what it might be like if Hassan loved her.
And that was never going to happen.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘HASSAN.’ Ella paused long enough to ensure that she had her husband’s complete attention. ‘I can’t spend much more time doing this.’
Hassan looked up from his newspaper. The light was flooding into the breakfast room and glimmering off the red-brown curls which spilled over Ella’s shoulders. The silk robe she wore was loose and flowing but the unmistakable swell of her belly drew the eye like nothing else. And the by-now familiar sense of wonder settled over him as he surveyed the blossoming body of his wife.
The passing weeks had made obvious the unspoken secret within the palace—that the queen was with child. And Hassan couldn’t help but question if that was the reason for his brother’s continuing absence from court life. It was unlike Kamal to be away from Kashamak for so long but attempts to contact him had proved fruitless and Hassan had been forced to accept that his nonappearance was deliberate.
Was his younger brother hurt that his position as heir apparent might soon be assumed by a newborn baby? Or just angry that Hassan had done what he had vowed he would never do: marry and procreate?
Yet maybe it was better that Kamal wasn’t here, demanding to know what his position would be once the baby was born. Leaving Hassan to admit for the first time in his life that he just didn’t know. That nothing was as it seemed, or as he had thought it would be. That he had been lulled into a curious state of contentment by the sweet nights he now shared with his wife. A false contentment, he reminded himself grimly, and nothing but a pleasurable distraction while they awaited the birth of their child.
Because hadn’t there always been the underlying certainty that they would divorce soon afterwards? Hadn’t the thought that she might go back to England leaving their baby for him to raise been his secret desire?
But he had come to realise that was never going to happen. Sex taught you much about a woman beyond how she liked you to play with her breasts, and Hassan had discovered a dangerously sweet and soft side to Ella which had defied all his expectations.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he looked at Ella’s faintly disgruntled expression. ‘What did you say?’
‘That I can’t carry on doing nothing all day!’
‘You are bored?’ he questioned.
‘Not bored, exactly. More a little restless.’ She shrugged her shoulders, aware of the heavy swell of the baby as she moved. ‘The gardens are wonderful and so are all the books in the library, but I …’
‘What?’
She met his black gaze. What would he say if she told him that she wanted to spend more time with him? Quality time which involved finding out more about him as a person. That seeing him only at breakfast, dinner and when they were in bed at night was proving oddly frustrating. Or maybe the source of her frustration was Hassan’s ability to keep her at an emotional distance. She felt as if she could never actually get through to him. That after the confidences she’d shared with him during their first night together at the palace, the shutters had come slamming down again. Why did he do that? she wondered. Why did he guard his feelings so that she never really knew what was going on in his head?
Oh, he played the part of attentive husband to perfection. He fussed around and made sure she was comfortable, sometimes causing the servants to smile as he positioned a cushion behind her back, like some over-zealous nursemaid. Sometimes he even did cute things, like picking her the sweetest pomegranate from the bowl and having the chef prepare it just the way she liked it. And things like that got to her every time.
But somehow it all felt like some sort of displacement therapy. She still felt as if he was pushing her away from him. She fixed him with a steady look. ‘I need to get my teeth into something.’
He put the paper down and gave her his undivided attention. ‘By doing what, exactly?’
‘I want to paint you, Hassan.’
He slanted her a reflective look. ‘Run that past me again?’
She took a deep breath, her well-rehearsed words coming out in a rush. ‘In London, you promised that I could paint out here if I wanted—and I do. When … when the baby arrives …’ She met his eyes, acutely aware of his sudden watchfulness. ‘Well, I certainly won’t have time to paint then, will I? So I’d like to do it now, while I can.’
Hassan drummed his fingers against the table, but could see instantly that her idea had merit. His aversion to sitting still was legendary. So wouldn’t his people be pleased to have a new portrait of him, as well as giving her something to do?
‘I suppose it’s a possibility,’ he conceded slowly. ‘As long as you’re aware that my schedule is packed and my time is very precious. I can’t sit for hours on end.’
‘I know that. I’m not expecting you to. Please, Hassan?’ Ella made no attempt to hide her eagerness because she wanted this. She didn’t care how snatched their sessions were; she needed to do something other than wait. To focus on something other than the baby and her uncertain future, and the sense that her feelings for Hassan were growing stronger than she’d ever intended them to be.
Was that what happened when a man made love to you every night, so beautifully that sometimes it was as much as she could do to prevent tears of joy spilling from her eyes afterwards? Was nature a cunning as well as a random mistress
, making a woman form a strong attachment to the man whose child she carried, no matter how emotionally distant that man was?
Well, painters always learned masses about their sitters during portrait sessions—everyone knew that. Maybe this was the only way to get through to him and to find out what really made him tick.
She looked at him enquiringly. ‘So can I?’
‘How can I possibly deny you when you ask so sweetly?’ He picked up his newspaper to resume reading. ‘Tell Benedict what it is you need and he’ll make sure you get it.’
‘I will. And, Hassan?’
‘Mmm?’
‘Thank you.’
‘Just go away and let me read my newspaper, will you?’ he growled.
Ella was smiling happily to herself as she went off to find Benedict and, as always, the English aide was surprisingly friendly towards her. Surprising considering he’d delivered the replacement dress and underwear the morning after Alex and Allegra’s party. At the time Ella had wondered what he must think of women like her, and how many he had to deal with in the course of a year. Women who fell into bed with a powerful man without really knowing them. Was it strange for Benedict Austin to see that same woman now installed as queen?
But he was nothing if not efficient and had soon allocated her an airy, north-facing room at the far end of the palace, close to the perfumed garden. Deliberately, she left the shutters open so that drifts of sweet scent could waft inside. As a place to paint, it took some beating.
Ella prepared the room thoroughly before the first sitting, intending to make rough sketches in charcoal before attempting to put oil to canvas. She positioned a chair against a completely plain background and decided that she would depict Hassan in his everyday robes. She’d taken the opportunity to study existing portraits in the palace and the few of her husband showed him looking resplendent in his various military uniforms and his more formal sheikh regalia. But she found herself wanting to show the person behind the position, the man not the king. As if by doing that, she might discover more about the man herself.
The Sheikh’s Heir Page 11