The Unlikely Mistress

‘Indeed.’

He looked slightly taken aback, as if her reaction wasn’t quite what he’d been expecting. Was that what renewed the sudden spark of fire in his eyes? He turned onto his side, a smile playing at the edges of his lips as he took her hand in his and kissed each finger in turn.

‘Purely in the interests of fairness,’ he continued softly, ‘don’t you think I should teach you how to pleasure me in return?’

It was a question which would have shocked her profoundly just a few short weeks ago, but it shocked her no longer. Jane stared into the gleam of his jet-dark eyes. She wanted a sexual education, yes. She wanted to learn all about her body and what it was capable of and learning had always been the thing she was best at. But for once in her life it was difficult to be objective. Difficult not to give into the desire to trace a finger over his lips and tell him he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

But she knew that unwanted affection would serve no purpose in this very functional marriage of theirs. Wasn’t it vital to keep emotion out of it? Composing her face into an expression of neutrality, Jane smiled.

‘I think that sounds like a very sensible suggestion,’ she said, in the same kind of voice she might have used if he’d asked her to pull out a reference book from the library.

CHAPTER NINE

IT SHOULD HAVE been enough. More than enough. And yet it was not nearly enough. Zayed found himself feeling intensely frustrated, despite pleasuring and being pleasured by his virginal wife whenever there was a window of opportunity. He taught the earnest Jane everything he knew as well as stuff he’d never tried—because stopping short of actual consummation meant his imagination needed to be engaged as never before. During long and inventive encounters in their marital quarters of the Kafalahian palace, he discovered a whole new definition of sensuality.

He’d never had to hold back like this before, nor to temper his desire. Women were always instantly compliant when they were with him. They always told him they wanted to feel him inside them and the feeling had been mutual. He’d certainly never been made to wait for anything before.

‘Not even when you were a teenager?’ asked Jane curiously.

They were lying on top of the bed, while the desert sun streamed in through the unshuttered windows in great shafts of gold.

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Women always gave themselves completely to me, right from the start.’

‘So you never tried frottage before?’

‘Jane,’ he murmured as he remembered the way she’d just been rubbing her fully clothed body against his and his groin hardened as he recalled the intense orgasm which had followed. ‘How can someone as innocent as you talk about frottage so uninhibitedly—and how do you manage to be so damned good at everything you try, when it’s all brand-new to you?’

‘Because I’m an academic,’ she said. ‘Which means I have a need to use the correct terminology for what we’ve been doing. As well as an enquiring and open mind, which enables me to research and excel in the subject of my choice. And that’s what I’ve been doing.’ She stroked her hand over his thigh. ‘Haven’t I?’

‘Jane.’ Zayed closed his eyes and groaned. ‘By all the stars in the night-time heavens, will you please stop?’

Her hand stilled.

‘Is that what you want me to do?’ she whispered.

‘Yes. No. Hell!’ He sucked in a ragged breath because the truth was he didn’t know what he wanted any more. His clever wife had captivated him and kept him guessing, while demonstrating a vivid sexual imagination which took his breath away. Even the intense debate in the international press which had followed the news of his grandfather’s surprising bequest had failed to engage him, because all he could think about was Jane. Jane, who had blossomed beneath his daily tutoring. Jane, who had learned her lessons all too well.

He felt her fingers inch their way a little further and his erection grew almost unbearable. ‘I was planning to go and inspect my new brood mare,’ he growled.

She appeared to give this some consideration for her fingers slowed just long enough to frustrate the hell out of him. ‘Okay,’ she said lightly. ‘I’ll see you later.’

Why wasn’t she begging him to stay? Why was she about to sit up as if to take her leave of him? Why was she so headstrong beneath that calm and sensible exterior?

‘No,’ he growled. ‘Stay. Stay and bring me pleasure.’ He pulled her back towards him and expelled a pent-up breath as her hand resumed its journey, beginning to stroke reflectively at a thigh which had tensed with longing.

She bent her head to brush a kiss over his lips. ‘I thought you might value a little more down time. You’ve been working very hard since we got back from Washington.’

He opened his mouth to say something, but whatever he was about to say was forgotten because by now she was pushing aside his silken robes and not for the first time he cursed the fact he wasn’t wearing western clothes, because at least they provided a kind of natural barrier to these encounters. It was easier to stop a woman when zips and buttons and the unyielding nature of suit trousers got in the way. But when all that lay between you and a determined hand were several filmy layers of robe—what chance did a man have? He felt as if he were being caught inside a silken web, with no immediate means of escape. As if she were binding him tighter with each intricate strand she wove. And wasn’t the truth that sometimes he felt himself resenting it? Hating the fact that she seemed to be so in control of her emotions, when women usually were not?

She began to lick his balls, concentrating on each one with a soft kind of intensity, as if she were working her way through an ice cream and trying to make it last as long as possible. Zayed sucked in a hot breath as he held back another groan, unwilling to distract her from her erotic task. His hands tensed like the claws of a falcon

as the fabric was pushed to his waist and cool air rushed over his groin. Golden-brown hair fanned over his belly as she slid her fingers over his rigid shaft, her eyes glancing up to meet his gaze as slowly she began to lower her lips onto it. He held his breath, terrified she was going to stop, even though he knew she wouldn’t. Each movement of her head took him deeper into her mouth until he felt he was drowning in pleasure. Once again he tried to control his reaction—holding off for as long as possible until a sudden maverick flicker of her tongue was his downfall and his fingers held onto her head as he jerked his seed helplessly inside her mouth.

Afterwards he slumped back, his throat dry and his brow damp with sweat as his heart beat out a primitive tattoo.

‘This is driving me crazy,’ he growled. ‘You are driving me crazy.’

She kissed his bare stomach and looked up. ‘You’re not complaining, are you, Zayed? You’ve just had an orgasm. And a very satisfying orgasm, judging by your reaction.’