Duty, Desire and the Desert King

Heat stormed her cheeks, burning her skin. “You promised me.”

“But that was before you came out looking like whipped cream, vanilla ice cream and marshmallow sauce.” He rested his gaze on her face, and she saw the hunger in his eyes. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. “I could very easily eat you right now,” he added.

From the look on his face she didn’t doubt it. “Well, I’m sleeping here, on this side, and you’ll just have to take the other side, and tomorrow we can discuss whatever else we need to discuss.” Then, climbing into the bed, she plumped a pillow beneath her head, pulled the covers up to her neck and closed her eyes. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Zayed didn’t immediately join her in bed. He’d said earlier at the club he had reading to do, and although she hadn’t thought she could sleep in his room, in his bed, he dimmed all the lights except for his reading lamp and then settled in to read for hours.

Rou gave up trying to stay awake, and the next time she woke, she did because she was very warm. Very, very warm, and a little too confined.

Frowning, she tugged on the covers, trying to free herself and then realized it wasn’t the covers pinning her down. It was the big male arm attached to the big male body holding her snugly around her middle and securely against his body.

She stiffened in alarm. Yes, they’d slept close yesterday after they’d made love, but that was different. They’d had sex and there was the whole postcoital cuddle thing, but she didn’t just cuddle on demand. And she didn’t cuddle when she was sleeping. Sleep was sleep.

“Take a deep breath in, now exhale,” Zayed said, his voice raspy with sleep. “Do it again—”

“Maybe I’ll relax if you move over.”

“Maybe you need to address your intimacy issues.”

She lifted her head, looked over her shoulder at him. “My intimacy issues? Mine?”

He laughed softly, his breath warm against the back of her neck. “Calm down before you get all excited. You’ll never fall back asleep if you’re kicking and screaming.”

She held herself as rigid as she could. “I’m not kicking or screaming. I’m just communicating my discomfort at being held so close.”

“But it feels good.”

“To you.”

“And you.”

She threw an elbow, jabbing him in the ribs. “It doesn’t feel good to me. You don’t feel good to me. And trying to convince me that it does is a waste of time and breath.”

“Really?”

All of a sudden she realized that he wasn’t merely holding her around the waist anymore. His arm was higher on her rib cage, and his hand was dangerously close to her breast. “Zayed.”

“Yes, love?”

She closed her eyes, held her breath, tried to ignore the deliciously pleasurable sensation of his fingers stroking the soft skin beneath her breast and then the soft fullness of the side. He had the seductive touch of the devil, she thought, lips parting in silent protest as his palm circled over her jutting nipple, making her entire breast tighten and ache. “I’m not your love,” she gasped defiantly.

“No, you’re my wife,” he answered, flipping her onto her back and settling between her legs. He supported his weight on his arm but dipped his head to kiss her, his mouth covering hers in a hard, urgent kiss that demanded a response. Rou’s heart pounded hard and her veins felt thick with hot desire.

So many things in life didn’t feel right, but this did, she thought, twining her arms around his neck to hold him close as he parted her lips and drew fire with the tip of his tongue against her own.

His tongue played her lips and tongue, wakening nerves and heightening sensitivity until her hips were arching helplessly against his, her body craving release. But Zayed wasn’t in the mood to rush, and he sucked on her tongue, a fierce rhythmic caress that made Rou wriggle and pant, more desperate than ever for relief.

“Yes, laeela?” he murmured against her mouth, stroking her hair back from her flushed face.

“You know what I want.”

“I’m afraid I don’t.” He nipped her neck with his teeth. “Apparently it doesn’t feel good when I touch you.”

She nearly groaned with frustration as he flicked the tip of his tongue over the pulse running below her ear. It was a move designed to make her toes curl and her spine arch and her belly ache and it was regrettably most successful. “It feels good,” she choked from between gritted teeth.

“What was that?”

He was touching her, caressing her, licking her, and there was no way to think clearly, rationally, when he made her body feel like a lovely sweet. “I was wrong,” she gritted. “You do feel good.” And then she gasped as his lips found her nipple through the cool silk of her nightgown. His mouth was so hot against her skin, and her breasts, already swollen, grew even more heavy and sensitive as he sucked on the nipple, making the fabric wet, which felt almost cold against her feverish skin.

She was beyond control now, and, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she ground her hips up against him. He groaned against her breast as she discovered the rigid length of his erection straining against his thin cotton pajama pants. Wantonly she pressed and rubbed herself against him, feeling the hard shaft, the thick smooth head, the satisfying length.

He groaned again as her movements grew wilder, more desperate, her legs kicking up her nightgown to tangle with his. And then his control snapped, and he shoved the delicate fabric up over her hips, exposing her legs and the blond curls at the juncture of her thighs. Head lifted, he watched her as he stroked a hand over her flat belly and hip and then back up again to the other side.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he said, voice husky. “You make resisting you very difficult.”

She’d been biting her lip as his fingertips caressed her stomach and hip bones, the sensitive inner thigh and outer thigh and then just when she didn’t think she could stand it, he’d found the cleft of her, her body hot and liquid and melting for him. “Then don’t,” she panted. “Because I don’t think I can handle resistance now.”

He parted her knees with his own, pushing her legs wide enough to accommodate his body and then he was between her thighs, the silken knob of his erection pressing against her body. With a smooth, hard thrust he entered her, and she inhaled sharply as he filled her, pleasuring her.

Amazing, she thought, pressing her mouth to his shoulder, amazing as he drove into her again and again, waking every nerve with each hot, hard, insistent thrust until she gave up control, giving her body and will over to him. The orgasm was wrenching, catching her by surprise and sending shock waves of sensation through her as her body tightened and spasmed around his. And just when she thought it was over, she was hit by another ripple of pleasure, and the tension started to build all over again, wave after wave building even hotter, higher into a second orgasm even more powerful and unrelenting than the first.

Rou went limp beneath Zayed, perspiration beading her skin, her pulse still racing. She opened an eye and looked

at him. He was trying hard not to laugh. “Are you alive?” he asked.

“Barely.”

“Two, laeela? Isn’t that a bit greedy of you?”

She blushed and wrinkled her nose, hating that she even had to ask him about his own satisfaction. “Did you…uh, um…come?”

His lips twitched and his warm eyes glowed. “Yes, I managed, thank you.”

“It’s not my fault,” she protested defensively. “You’re the one that does this to me. You weren’t content to stop at one—”

“I wondered if you could manage two.”

“And thanks to you, I did.”

He lowered his head, kissed her gently, and again. “My iceberg runs hot,” he murmured against her mouth before kissing her again.

And Rou’s heart just turned over. She loved him.

She loved him.

She was in such trouble now because she loved him, and her gorgeous, brilliant, sexy, tormented husband loved another.

There were no words. She had no words, so she met his kiss with hunger and urgency, using her lips to convey what her heart longed to say.

She loved him. And she hoped, prayed, that maybe one day he’d love her back. Even just a little bit.

The next morning, Zayed had breakfast brought to Rou in bed. Rou had still been sleeping when Manar arrived with a tray filled with fruits and pastries, yogurt, juice and coffee. Zayed waited while Manar arranged the tray on Rou’s lap. “I’ve a phone conference in a few minutes,” he told Rou, “but once I’m done I’ll return for you and then we’re going to sneak away.”

She was adding cream to her coffee and nearly spilled the cream when she jerked her head up to look at him. He’d showered already and dressed and looked immaculate with his combed hair, smooth jaw and pristine robes. “Sneak where?”

“To my summer palace in Cala. It’s a beautiful retreat right on the water, and we do need a honeymoon.”

She flushed at the mention of honeymoon, remembering how they’d spent the very early hours of the morning. “Can you afford to leave now?”