The Prince's Harem Box Set: The Prince's Harem Books 1-5

by Carly Roberts

  He cupped my face in his hands and examined my features as if that was the only way he could truly tell if it was me.

  I blinked rapidly as I looked up into his large, dark brown eyes. I wanted to tell him that I’d missed him, and that I’d never stopped loving him, but the words wouldn’t form, and all I could do was gaze up at him and hope my eyes said it all.

  He pulled me into his arms, wrapped them around me, and held me tightly.

  I buried my face in his shoulder and bit my lip hard so I wouldn’t cry. Behind me, I was sure I heard Malik breathe a long sigh of relief.

  The slave’s footsteps padded across the carpet, and then the doors opened and shut. He would return later.

  But first…

  I put my hands on the Prince’s chest and pushed a little, and he loosened his grip and moved back. He didn’t drop his arms, though.

  “I searched for you,” he whispered. “I looked everywhere.”

  My heart lifted, but I placed two fingers against his lips. “Later, we will talk. First, I’m still yours, Tash. I haven’t been with another man since I left you. Make love to me.”

  Half of me expected him to step back at that, to tell me I had no right to make such a demand. He had a whole harem full of women—why did I think I had any special claim on him?

  But he didn’t. He cupped my face in his hands again, and then he lowered his lips to mine.

  I’d dreamed about his kisses for three years, and I’d thought that over time I’d embellished them and made them out to be far better than they could ever have been. But I was wrong.

  I gave a long sigh as his lips moved across mine, tender and gentle as the desert breeze that was making the curtains billow at the open windows.

  Within moments, though, fire shot through me as the memory of everything we’d done together lit my mind. I pressed up against him and opened my mouth as he stroked his tongue across my lip, and he must have felt the same because he sank his hands into my hair and kissed me deeply.

  It was as if, since I’d been apart from him, I had been hibernating, and his kiss had awoken me, because I hadn’t felt so alive since the last moment his lips were on mine. My body sang with joy, and when I threw my arms around his neck and jumped up into his arms, he laughed.

  Taking me over to the table, he used one arm to sweep all the papers onto the floor before lowering me onto the surface. He tugged off his tunic and threw it on top of the papers, and I sighed at the sight of his beautiful body, his muscles glistening in the candlelight.

  He’d filled out over the last three years, his body maturing and hardening from the time he’d spent training for battle, and he was the perfect specimen of a man.

  I wanted to kiss him—I wanted to press my lips over every inch of his body, to taste his skin, to envelop myself in his smell. I wanted to take my time to sample him, and to imprint my mind with fresh memories of him to carry with me.

  But our hunger was overriding our desire to be slow, and I did not protest when he pressed me back onto the wooden surface and kissed down my neck to my breasts. My nipples were already tight from the coolness of the table and the sensations he was arousing in me, and when he covered them with his mouth and sucked, I groaned and arched my back, pushing them toward him.

  In the times we’d made love before, he’d always tried to ignore any attempt I’d made to make him go faster, and although it hadn’t always worked, he’d usually managed to slow things to the pace he preferred.

  This time, however, his hunger matched mine. Malik had said the Prince had not called a woman to his bedchamber for two weeks. For any ordinary young man, such a time without sex was just about manageable; for the Prince, it only served to show how distracted he’d been, as I could not imagine him going more than a couple of nights without taking his pleasure from a woman.

  He wanted to take it slow, to make sure I was aroused, but I knew I was ready, and after only a few minutes I sat up and loosened his belt.

  “Wait,” he groaned, but I ignored him, released his eager cock, and pulled him toward me.

  “Samira…” He tried to pull back, but the tip of his cock brushed against my moist flesh, and he groaned again and sank inside me.

  We both gasped. The Prince leaned forward and rested his forehead against mine. I reveled in the sensation of being stretched and filled the way I hadn’t for so long, and I touched his face, sliding my hand along his beard and into his hair.

  “I’ve missed you,” I whispered.

  Raising his head, he put both arms around me and lifted me, then carried me across to his bed. Climbing onto the mattress, he lowered me onto my back and settled himself comfortably, beginning to move with slow, rhythmic thrusts.

  As much as I craved fulfilment, and I knew his body must be doing the same, I tried to relax and enjoy being with him. I’d wondered whether he would just lose himself in being with a woman again, but in between kisses he kept lifting his head to study me, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was me, and he wanted to keep reassuring himself.

  I stroked down his back, studied the curve of his defined muscles and felt the bunch and flex of them beneath my fingertips, and let him overwhelm my senses. For a brief while, the only things that existed in the world were the feel of his skin, the smell of sandalwood, and the slide of his tongue against mine as he teased me toward the edge of my climax.

  Of course nothing can go on forever, especially when it’s the Samarkand Prince making love to you, and it wasn’t long before I felt the familiar, exquisite tensing of muscles deep inside me.

  Obviously sensing the approach of my orgasm, he increased his pace, raising up onto his hands to thrust firmly, and we came together, clenching and stiffening in a glorious paroxysm of bliss.

  Chapter Ten

  The desert breeze riffled the curtains at the windows, and a shimmer of sand glittered in the light of the candles on the table.

  I lay next to the Prince, curled up against him, my head on his shoulder. We hadn’t yet spoken, both enjoying the quiet afterglow of pleasure as our breathing slowed and our bodies relaxed.

  Eventually, though, he shifted on the bed, turning toward me and propping his head on a hand.

  “Thank you,” he said, lifting my fingers to his lips and kissing them.

  I smiled. “Thank you. I’ve missed that.”

  “Me too.”

  “I’m sure! Two whole weeks without sex! No wonder you were so easy to seduce.”

  He gave a short laugh. “I was easy to seduce because it was you, my midnight dancer, who stood before me without a stitch on.”

  “It worked, then?”

  He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Yes. It worked.”

  Our gazes met, and his smile faded. “I looked for you,” he said. “When you left, I sent guards to the caravans, but you’d already left. I sent men all over the country looking for you, but it was like you’d vanished into the desert wind. I began to think you were a figment of my imagination.”

  “The leader of the troupe told me I could not stay,” I said softly. “So I just walked away. I’ve been travelling ever since. I felt that all the time I kept walking, it might stop me thinking of you, but of course it didn’t work.”

  He stroked down my arm, then back to my shoulder. “Why did you choose to come back now?”

  I nibbled my bottom lip. “I need your help.”

  His gaze met mine again, his brown eyes thoughtful. I reminded myself that he was the Prince of Samarkand, a rich and powerful ruler who had more on his mind than the exotic dancer he’d once known.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but at that moment the door to the chamber opened. Malik came in, and in his arms he carried a young child.

  My heart racing, I rose from the bed, pulled on my long tunic, and knelt as Malik placed Rafiq on the floor. He ran up to me and I hugged him, feeling his little arms tight around my neck.

  “Where did you go, Amma?” he said.

  “I’m sorry I left y
ou, sweetheart,” I whispered back. I tried not to look over to where the Prince had risen from the bed and was currently tugging on his trousers. “I have someone for you to meet. Do you remember me telling you about the Prince of Samarkand?”

  “Yes,” Rafiq murmured.

  I moved back, took his hand in mine, and pushed myself up, turning to face the Prince. Finally, I raised my gaze to his.

  His eyes had widened, and he was staring at my son.

  I walked forward to stand before him, bringing the little boy with me. “My Prince, this is Rafiq.”

  The Prince finally turned his gaze to mine. “Your son?” he said softly.

  I nodded. The Prince held my gaze, his eyes questioning. I let my lips curve a little, and nodded again. “I cannot prove it,” I whispered. “But I have been with no other man since that week we spent together.”

  We looked at Rafiq, who had the same dark hair as the Prince, the same lock of hair falling over his forehead. The boy was two years and nearly three months old—surely the Prince could see that the dates coincided? I would never be able to prove he was the Prince’s son, but I hoped he could see enough resemblance there to at least listen to my plea.

  The Prince cleared his throat. To my alarm, he turned and walked away, but it was only to bend and pick up a box, which he brought back to us.

  He sat on the ground, legs crossed, opened the box, and took out a smaller box full of large colored cubes. “I am afraid these have got all muddled up,” he said to Rafiq, “and I need to sort them into colors. Do you think you could help?”

  Rafiq gnawed on his thumb and looked up at me. I nodded, and he toddled forward, sat opposite the Prince, and began to stack the blocks in their various colors.

  My throat tightened. I looked across at Malik, who winked at me, and then I lowered myself to the floor and sat beside the Prince and our son.

  The Prince offered a blue block to Rafiq, who carefully placed it on top of the other blue blocks. “What color is it?” the Prince asked.

  “Turquoise,” Rafiq said.

  The Prince laughed and ruffled his hair. “Very good.” He glanced at me, and his smile faded. “Why did you not tell me, Samira?”

  “I could not—cannot—prove it. A whore’s son is just an inconvenience to a Prince.”

  His eyes hardened. “Do not use that word. You were never that to me.” I said nothing, and he glared at me. “The bracelet was not payment for your services,” he snapped. “It was a gift, and all I meant was that if you did not like it, I did not mind if you sold it. It was not payment by another method, whatever the two of you decided.” He tossed his glare over to Malik, who studied his feet.

  “I am sorry.” I put a hand on the Prince’s arm, and was relieved when he didn’t shrug it off. “I knew our time had come to an end, and it was too hard for me to stay.” I quivered as he continued to glare. “My Prince, I am sorry for any pain I have caused you. I thought I was doing the right thing by leaving and making it easier for you.”

  “I decide whether something is easy or difficult for me,” he said irritably.

  “I know, and I apologize. Now, I wish I had stayed. It has not been an easy three years.”

  That was a huge understatement. A kind owner of an inn had let me stay there to have the baby, and I’d worked there afterward for six months until the owner’s son—who’d tried to get me into bed and had received a knee in the groin for his efforts—persuaded him to get rid of me. I’d then dragged Rafiq from city to city as I’d undertaken menial jobs in return for a night’s lodging and some food.

  The Prince’s expression softened, and he reached out to stroke my face. “I can only imagine.”

  I swallowed down my emotion—I’d promised myself I wouldn’t cry. “My Prince, now you can see why I am asking for help. I love my son, but I cannot provide him with what every child should have—a safe and secure place to stay, decent food, and a basic education. I wondered whether you would have any contacts in the city—someone who would take in a child, look after him, and ensure his welfare in return for work. He is a good boy—he is no trouble, and he can do little tasks around the house, plus he will make an excellent apprentice when he comes of age.”

  “You wish to be parted from him?” The Prince stared at me.

  I bit my lip and waited until I’d calmed myself. “No, my Prince. But even more than wanting to stay with him, I want him to be safe, comfortable, and happy.”

  He stared a moment longer, then pushed himself to his feet. I watched him walk over to the windows and look out at the starry night. Then, hands behind his back, he began to pace the floor.

  I remembered him doing so in the past—it was what he did when he was thinking. I glanced up at Malik, who frowned thoughtfully. Neither of us could tell what was going through the Prince’s mind.

  I thought about begging. I had always refused to do so in the past, no matter how bad my predicament. I wouldn’t hesitate to do so now if it meant helping my son, but somehow I knew the Prince wouldn’t respect it.

  So instead, I stayed quiet and handed Rafiq the blocks, watching as he stacked them high, then tipped them over with a push of a finger and clapped his hands. Suddenly emotional, I leaned forward and kissed his dark hair.

  He was a little piece of the Prince I had carried within me for nine months, and that I had loved for three years. He had been a far more precious present than the necklace the Prince had wanted me to have. The thought of giving him away now almost made me sob, but I kept it in.

  The Prince wouldn’t turn Rafiq away, would he? I thought of the fun we’d had together, and the obvious anguish he’d felt when I’d left. He wouldn’t refuse me out of spite, would he?

  Finally, he stopped pacing. He walked over to me and held out a hand.

  Heart pounding, I placed mine in it, and let him pull me to my feet.

  The Prince released my hand and returned his behind his back. “I will acknowledge Rafiq as mine. He will be tutored alongside my other children, and I swear to you now that he will never want for anything.”

  I held my breath for a long moment. “My Prince, I am…” I couldn’t think what to say. It was more than I’d ever dreamed of. Rafiq would be brought up in the harem with the other children, and he would be safe and comfortable for the rest of his life. “How can you be sure he is yours?”

  The Prince snorted. “He’s obviously far too smart to be the son of any other man.” He grinned, and Malik chuckled.

  My throat tightened. It was wonderful news for Rafiq, and I was overjoyed. But equally it had terrible repercussions. I was going to have to say goodbye to him—to both of them, and I would probably never see them again.

  “Samira.” The Prince caught my hands, and I dragged my gaze back to him. “You understand that I want you to stay too, don’t you?”

  For a brief moment, I thought I was going to faint. I only held onto consciousness because I knew that if I did, I’d never hear the end of it from him and Malik. “What?”

  He cupped my face with both hands. “I will marry you, my midnight dancer, my eternal princess, and you will be welcome in my harem. It is a pleasant place of light and laughter. All my wives and concubines are happy, and they all love and support each other. We will see each other often, and I swear you will never want for anything.”

  The dam broke, and tears cascaded down my cheeks.

  “Aw.” He pulled me into his arms and hugged me. “Don’t worry,” I heard him say to Rafiq over my shoulder. “Amma is just being a girl.”

  I was too upset to laugh and just sobbed into his tunic.

  “There, there.” He stroked my back, and then I saw him gesture to Malik, who came over and pulled me into his arms.

  Letting him hug me, I watched the Prince drop to his haunches beside our son.

  “Rafiq? Do you know who I am?”

  Rafiq put down his blocks and looked up politely. “Yes, you are the Prince.”

  “I am more than that,” the Prince said
softly. He placed a hand on his chest. “I am your Abbi.” Father.

  I pressed my fingers to my lips.

  “Abbi?” Rafiq looked up at me for confirmation. I nodded. I had never told him, because I had never dared hope that the Prince would acknowledge him.

  “Would you like to stay here at the Palace with your Amma?” the Prince asked. “You will have your own room, and lots of toys to play with.”

  Rafiq nodded. “Amma said you look at the stars,” he said in his little high voice. “In the observamatory.”

  The Prince laughed. “Observatory. Yes. Would you like to do that?”

  The boy’s eyes lit up. I had told him stories about the stars every night, knowing that the Prince had a love of astronomy. “Yes, please.”

  “Then we will do that together.” The Prince held out his arms. To my surprise, Rafiq—who usually hated going to strangers—immediately clambered to his feet and put his arms around the Prince’s neck.

  The Prince stood, bringing Rafiq with him, and came over to where Malik was still comforting me, his own eyes glistening with emotion.

  “We will be one big happy family,” the Prince said, “won’t we, Amma?”

  “We will,” I whispered, and leaned forward to give him a kiss.

  *

  If you liked The Prince’s Harem…

  Carly Roberts also writes contemporary romance as Serenity Woods. Serenity’s romances aren’t quite as erotic as Carly’s, but they’re pretty spicy! If you enjoyed reading about the Prince, you’re sure to love her other heroes.

  The Heartfelt Series

  Mr Sinful

  Excerpt

  Faith’s heart pounded at the desire in Rusty’s eyes as she sat astride his legs.

  He surveyed her, his lips curving. “Very nice,” he said. He was breathing heavily, and as she looked down at his crotch, his erection swelled under her hungry gaze.

  She crawled up him, letting the hard length of him brush against her sex, but didn’t allow him to enter her. She paused when her lips were millimeters from his, her breasts touching his chest.