The Sheikh Surgeon's Proposal

The sight of her tears seemed to snap something inside him, and with a rumble of surrender the tension holding him away deflated, bringing his proud head down to hers with a dark groan, pressing, rubbing his longing.

He let her drag him down, only to graze her lips in an open-mouthed kiss before burying them, and his whole face, into her neck, her breasts, his growls of enjoyment and suffering elemental, jolts of molten agony to her core. And that was before his thick, ragged confessions tore into her.

“Ahebek ya rohi, ya galbi, ya agli—k’m ahebbek, k’m abghaki …”

Oh, God, was he saying he loved her? That she was his soul, his heart and mind—how he loved her, craved her.?

And it didn’t matter what came next. She had to convince him that it didn’t. Nothing did. He loved her now. She knew he did. With all his indomitable, magnificent being he did. For now. And she wanted to have every spark of it, of him. For as long as possible. If even for one day. One hour. She wanted it. Needed it. Had to have it.

She started struggling in his arms for more, opening herself up, offering all she had, all she was. She frantically locked her legs around him. She arched back on a wild moan with the feel of his hard hips filling her legs’ hug as his muscled bulk filled her arms’, with the feel of his erection pressing into her core, daunting, assuaging even through the barrier of clothes. She pressed his head harder, leading him to her bursting breasts, and with another growl of voracity he gave in, opened his mouth over her sweatshirt-smothered flesh, bit into it. She screamed, bucked with the slam of pleasure, losing what remained of her coherence with wanting more. He gave her more.

He pinpointed her nipples, nipped and suckled through her clothes until her moans became keens. Then he came up, devoured her vocal, irrevocable confession of need, of surrender, his tongue plunging inside her mouth, filling her, mating with hers, each slide spearing ecstasy to her core, each thrust layering arousal until her tears poured again, unable to withstand the build-up. He was as lost as her now, a constant rumble echoing in his chest. He ground his erection into her, simulating the plunging she was burning for. She writhed in his arms, snatched at him, lost, mad, blackness frothing from the periphery of her vision, a storm front of pleasure and suffering advancing from her core, where he was so near, so far.

She sobbed it all in his mouth. “I love you, Malek, love you—just take me—just make me yours, oh, please, please.”

He jerked up, staggered away, leaving her to crumple to the floor without his support.

She sank in a heap of mortification, his rejection hacking at her. But it was the look of horror and contrition on his face that hurt most.

He sagged down on her bed, as if he couldn’t stand any more, in every way. He dropped his head into his hands. His distress poured strength into her limbs, made her lurch up to her feet, rush to his side, trying to contain it in her hug.

He shook his head, groaned, “Aasef habibati, aasef-ya Ullah—I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have …”

She hugged him harder. “Don’t, Malek. I just want to love you. I never for one second thought you could be mine, in any way, but I just want to be yours.”

He shook her arms off him, his eyes boring into her, incensed. “No. Don’t offer, Janaan, don’t be a fool. It doesn’t matter that I’ll always be yours in my heart. I’ll never be yours where and how it matters. Do you understand?”

She’d always understood. But she understood something new now. She was compounding his burdens, tearing at his heart, compromising his sanity. Just by being near, she might destroy him. She’d die first. She must leave him alone. And she would.

This time she knew what she’d say. “Don’t do this to yourself. I can’t see you so—so anguished. I’ll leave Damhoor, and you’ll forget me.”

He gave a short, savage laugh. “Aih, right after I forget myself. When I said rohi wa galbi wa agli ya, Janaan, I wasn’t plying you with sweet nothings. I’ve never said those things, and I’ll never say them again to another. You are your name, ya hayati, you’ve become my very soul and heart and mind.”

When would the pain reach its peak?

“You—you don’t know what you’ll feel a month from now, a year. Time will—”

“Time and duty and another woman will only plunge me into a lifetime of withdrawal, will destroy my spirit with deprivation.”

“But I don’t want that.” She almost screamed it. “Don’t make me hate myself for being the reason for all this. You have so much to live for, so much to give so many people. I don’t matter. What happens to me doesn’t matter.”

Malek stared at her, love tearing at him, demanding fulfillment, surrender. Then her words registered and a tidal wave of dread inundated him.

Could she, like her mother, love too much, destroy herself with the force of her desperation? Could she end up harming herself, snuffing out her life? Ya Ullah, laa, laa!

His hands sank into her flesh, shook her, as if he’d jog her back from the brink of an abyss. “Never—never, ever say, ever think anything so insane. I forbid you, do you hear me? You matter, you matter more than anything!”

She almost smiled at him, as if reading his fear, letting him know how far-fetched it was. But was it? Was it?

He could swear he heard his heart fracturing when she smoothed his hair, leaned her head on his shoulder and murmured, “I’m just telling you that you have more important things to think about, a whole country, and more, sooner or later. I don’t matter compared to that. I—I just want you to fulfill your destiny and be happy.”

Before he could rave he’d never be anything but miserable for the rest of his dismal life, she pushed away, swayed up to her feet. “Just go now, Malek. Please, arrange for my return to Halwan at once. I’ll leave Damhoor and you won’t see or hear from me again. I’ll never cause you discomfort.”

He exploded to his feet. “Discomfort? Discomfort?”

His storming footsteps came to an abrupt end. He had to end this. He was damaging her further. He had to deliver the words that had been gathering like a storm inside him ever since he’d known he loved her and would have to give her up.

“Ya habibati—yahayati, ana—ana …” He stopped, struggled to bring his voice, his emotions under control. “I may not be able to give you all of me, but you have all my love. All of it. And you will have all my support, all through your life.”