Surrender to the Sheikh

And all her thoughts and doubts and questions were driven from her mind as he began to stroke her, as if she were some pampered feline, and she wrapped her arms around him, kissing his neck and the bare warm flesh of his shoulders.

Khalim found that he wanted to touch her for ever, to run his fingertips over the creamy satin of her skin, to explore her body until he knew every curve and every dip of it. It was a new sensation for him—the wish to prolong the waiting, until it reached such a fever-pitch that neither of them would be able to resist it.

‘Khalim!’ gasped Rose, as his skilful touch took her down erotic pathways she had never encountered before, so close to the edge that if he didn’t…‘Khalim!’

‘Mmm?’ What exquisite pleasure it gave him to see his Rose lying there, her hips in frantic grind, powerless to resist him. The sight of a woman yielding to him had never before had the power to make his heart thunder as though it really were the very first time. He knew then that he could make her beg for him, and knew also that it would leave a bitter taste in his mouth. For he was as much in her thrall as she was in his. ‘It is time,’ he whispered against her hair.

He moved to lie above her, dark and dominant and utterly, utterly in control as he parted her thighs, smiling as he felt her honeyed moistness.

And he entered her not with the powerful thrust of that first time in the desert—as though he would die if he didn’t join with her as swiftly as possible. No, this, thought Rose as an unstoppable warmth began to unfurl deep within her—this was a long, slow movement which seemed to pierce at the very heart of her.

They moved in conjunction, in perfect synchrony, her pale, curving flesh complementing the hard, lean lines of his. Each lingering thrust set her trembling, until her whole body seemed to shimmer with some unexpected light.

Khalim felt as though he were enveloped in some dark, erotic enchantment, and he had to use every once of self-restraint he possessed to hold back. Until he saw the sudden arching of her back, the inevitable stiffening and then indolent splaying of her limbs as rapture caught her in its silken net.

And only then did he let go, with a moan which seemed to be torn from his soul itself.

Only then did he shudder with the pleasure of fulfilment, until he came to a perfect stillness—and allowed his head to fall upon the cushioned splendour of her breast.

They dozed on and off for most of the afternoon, and then he made love to her again. And again. Until she sat up in bed with her blonde hair all tousled and falling in disarray around her shoulders, while he sucked erotically on her fore-finger.

‘Khalim?’

‘Mmm?’ He loved the salty-sweet taste of her skin.

‘I’m hungry.’

‘Hungry?’ The thought of food had not occurred to him, not with such a feast here in his arms, but then he had taught himself to transcend hunger. When reaching puberty he had been sent into the desert with his tutor and taught to go without food for days. Existing on a little water and what few berries were available. It was the simple code of the desert: that you should learn to do without, because you never knew when you might need to.

‘Yes, starving, actually!’ complained Rose.

He released her finger and lay back on the pillow, the sheet rumpled by his ankles, his dark body gloriously and proudly naked. ‘You want that we should ring out for some food?’

She opened her mouth to say yes, when she remembered, and shut it again. They were trying to be ordinary, weren’t they? And if they were an ordinary couple who had just moved into their first home, then they would certainly not have an excess of cash to throw about.

‘No. Let’s have something here,’ she said and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. ‘I brought a load of groceries with me, remember?’

Khalim shrugged, and gave a satisfied smile. ‘Whatever you wish to prepare will taste like manna, Rose.’

She was about to get out of bed when she frowned at his easy assumption that she would cook. ‘Why don’t you make us something to eat, Khalim?’

‘Me?’ he questioned. ‘Me?’

‘Yes, you! I’m not asking you to run naked up and down Park Lane—just make us a cup of tea and a sandwich!’

‘A cup of tea and a sandwich,’ he repeated, on a low growl, damned if he was going to admit to her that he hadn’t ever had to prepare a meal for himself in his adult life! He swung his long legs out of bed and stood naked in front of her, a mocking question in the dark eyes as he saw her unconscious little pout. He put his hands low on his hips, in a gesture of pure provocation.

‘Sure?’

Rose licked her lips. So he was trying to use his sexuality to get out of making her a sandwich, was he? What place equality now? ‘Quite sure,’ she answered primly, but immediately turned over to lie on her stomach so that he wouldn’t see the sudden tightening of her breasts.

He returned after so long that Rose was certain he must have fallen asleep in the kitchen, carrying a loaded tray with him. And he still hadn’t bothered to get dressed!

But to her surprise, the sandwich was creditable.

‘That looks really good, Khalim!’ she exclaimed.

He sizzled a look at her. ‘Don’t patronise me, Rose,’ he warned.