Duty, Desire and the Desert King

With an arm beneath her breasts, he held her to him, and stroked her with the other hand, first over the delicate damp silk, and then when she was clenching her jaw, groaning at the pleasure, beneath the edge of silk, his fingers tracing the delicate folds and inner folds and then the tight highly sensitized bud between. One flick of his finger there and she bucked wildly. Another stroke and she felt her eyes burn, her body dancing for him to touch her, take her, possess her.

By the time he slipped a finger inside her she was desperate for him, all of him. Reaching backward she grabbed his hips, and ground down onto his lap. “You better finish what you started,” she panted, “and quickly, before I lose it completely.”

With a rumble in his chest he shifted her off him, dispensed with his shoes, socks, shirt and pants in no time and then she was back down on his lap, but facing him. Rou panicked, though, pushing her hands against his chest. “I can’t do it this way,” she said, “can’t be on top—”

“Yes, you can. And you can look at me, because you need to see what you do to me.” And then, cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her, deeply, fiercely, taking her mouth and tongue as though they were his, and in a way, they were. She knew somewhere inside her that a very real part of her belonged to him, had always belonged to him and that was why she’d been so afraid. She was afraid of this power he had over her, and he did have a power. Just look at her. She was putty in his hands.

And, kissing her, he lifted her up, and drew her slowly, so very slowly down on his hard, thick length. Rou exhaled in a quick puff, shocked by his size and the sense of fullness and invasion. He was stretching her, opening her and it stunned her body as much as it stung her heart. She wasn’t used to being shared, wasn’t used to being part of anyone else.

“Easy, baby,” he murmured against her mouth, hands beneath her bottom, supporting her weight until she could relax again and better accommodate him.

But she shook her head and wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her face against him. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. I don’t know how to do this, don’t know how to feel this.”

“It’s just me, laeela.”

She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“You’re afraid of me?”

Despite her panic she heard the hesitation in his voice, and the shadow of sadness. Tears seeped from beneath her lashes. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him. “Not of you. Just afraid to love you.”

He didn’t move. She wasn’t even sure he was breathing.

“Someone has to love me,” he said after an endless moment.

Rou’s heart convulsed and the tears she’d been fighting fell. Lifting her head she looked into his eyes. He was so beautiful, and the expression in his eyes was so alone, so alone and lonely, and yet here they were, naked, pressed flesh to flesh.

Her lower lip trembled. “Let me try then,” she said, fresh tears falling. “Let me be the one to try.” And then she clasped his face in her hands and kissed him, kissing him the way he’d kissed her, deeply, hungrily, desperately.

He, this beautiful man, needed her, and she needed him and her heart cracked open to let him all the way in, to allow her to feel something other than fear. And as her heart opened, her body opened for him, too, taking him inside her, joining them, making them one.

She didn’t ride him, but instead they moved together, his hands on her hips, her lips clinging to his. She buried her fingers into his hair, her breasts crushed to his chest as the friction became a bittersweet sensation and then a maddening tension. The pleasure grew, intensified, the sensation of their bodies became everything. She felt her heart drumming, felt her body glow hot, felt every nerve ending from her toes to her head tighten. Her nerves and senses focused, and her mind closed to everything but the intense pressure building, ruthless, relentless, until there was nothing she could do but explode in a firestorm of feeling.

Dimly she was aware of Zayed’s body tensing and thrusting hard and deep into her. Dimly she felt his release. Dimly, because she’d never felt anything like this orgasm before, had never even climaxed before, and it was unbelievable, indescribable.

Exhausted, she leaned weakly against him, their bodies warm and damp, hers still quivering with aftershocks.

They sat there like that for several minutes, until Zayed lifted her off and into his arms and carried her into the bedroom where he pulled back the covers and put her down in the cool, smooth sheets and then lay down beside her.

“What now?” she asked.

He wrapped an arm around her and drew her against him. “Sleep,” he answered gruffly. He did, and after several minutes, she did, too.

Rou didn’t know how long she slept in the cool, dark room, but when she finally woke, she was alone.

Padding to the door, she peeked into the living room. It was empty, their clothes now folded and neatly stacked on the table between the couches. She then headed for the ensuite bath to see if he was there.

The bathroom was empty, but she could still feel the humid warmth and smell a whiff of lingering aftershave. It was subtle but spicy, and it filled her with the strangest feeling—tenderness mixed with lust. She glanced around, noting the used towels hanging from a hook on the door, and the wet mat in front of the large marble-and-glass shower. He’d showered, shaved and gone.

Duty fulfilled, she thought sardonically, he was now free to become king.

And even though she knew she was being petty, it still hurt inside her. She’d enjoyed what had happened between them, and yet she was also a little shocked by it. By her. She’d wanted him, wanted it all, and he’d answered her need beyond a doubt.

But now, alone, she felt empty. And scared. When they’d made love, she’d given him more than her body, she’d given him her heart.

He could hurt her now. It’d be so easy to hurt her now.

Turning, she caught movement in the mirror and stared at the woman in the mirror, perplexed. Who was that blonde? Who looked like that? All lips and blue eyes, all softness and passion, fire and need?

She looked at herself long and hard and then with a sinking heart, whispered, “It’s me.”

But her vulnerability scared her; her softness threatened her, and, climbing into the shower, Rou turned the water on full force, as cold as she could take it, and washed her hair, and ruthlessly washed her body, particularly the tender skin between her legs. Her teeth chattered by the time she’d finished showering but she’d done the job. She’d chased away the warmth and tenderness, chilled the passion and need.

Stepping out of the shower, she wrapped a towel snugly around her body, and with hair dripping wet down her back, she looked at herself in the mirror again.

Shuttered eyes, firm lips, serene expression. No fire, no desire, nothing that could be used against her. Good. This was the woman she knew, this was the woman she had to be.

Still wrapped in a towel, she went to the living room to retrieve her clothes and then noted a garment bag from her closet resting on the back of a chair.

Clothes had been sent to her here. Was she supposed to wait here for Zayed then?

The idea of sitting around his suite and waiting brought back the vulnerable feeling with a vengeance. Rou went through the garment bag and grabbed a pink-and-white cotton dress with a wide, white belt and smocked neckline. She didn’t like pink, but it’d cover her while she made the trip back to her wing.

It was late when Zayed came looking for her. She barely glanced up as he descended the steps into the living room, too engrossed with answering her e-mail.

“You’re angry,” he said, walking toward her.

She kept her eyes glued to the screen. “Not angry, just busy. I’ve neglected my clients while I’ve been here.”

“I heard you refused dinner.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“I can’t believe that.”

She finally looked up at him. “Maybe I didn’t feel like another m

eal on a tray.”

“Feeling neglected, my love?”

“Not neglected, just trapped.”

With his stealthy grace, he sat down on the couch next to her. Rou wasn’t having any of it. She scooted as far away as she could, but even then she could see his legs, those sinewy thighs, from beneath her lashes, and she flashed back to this afternoon when she’d sat astride those muscular thighs, and how it’d felt, skin on skin, their bodies joined.

The erotic memories flooded back, and she reached for her computer and set it between them. There would not be a repeat of this afternoon.

“Is the computer supposed to intimidate me?”

She glared at him. “Maybe I should throw it at your head instead.”

He gave her a long, considering look. “You don’t seem like the sort to throw things.”

“I don’t think you know me.”

“I think I do.”

She didn’t want to do this, she really didn’t. It was late, and she was hungry and she was hurt and angry, too. This afternoon might have meant nothing to him, but it’d been earth-shattering for her.

“Are you going to make this a guessing game, or are you going to tell me why you’re angry?” he asked, picking up her computer, closing it and setting it on the table out of her reach.

“You just left me.”

“You were sleeping.”

“You just left.”

“I had the coronation.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “You couldn’t wake me to say goodbye, or even leave a note?”

“I was coming back.”