Master of the Desert

Antonia, meanwhile, was lost to reason. ‘Oh, yes,’ she gasped as Saif’s lean fingers delicately parted her swollen lips. She was on the highest plateau of sensation and greedy for more. ‘Please touch me there.’ She should be shrinking from this man she hardly knew, not using him for pleasure. But Saif had opened a door and she had walked through, and now he was exposing her to his gaze in a way she could never have imagined feeling easy with—but she did. She’d had torrid thoughts for as long as she could remember, but had never put those thoughts into action. Now all she could say was, ‘Please…Please…’ when what she really meant was, oh, yes, that’s right… and, oh, yes, thank you…thank you…

Easing her legs over his shoulders, Saif dipped his head to touch her with the tip of his tongue. She shuddered with delight, wondering how she was supposed to hold on—and then he increased the pressure. Was this a test? She had never wanted to fail a test quite so badly. Then he tasted her, and in that moment, that string of moments, she knew she had found the exquisite high point of her life. Saif had taken her to a realm she hadn’t even known existed where he could order her pleasure with the skill of a maestro.

Governed entirely by raging hunger, she reached her goal and dissolved into a starburst of pleasure, her shuddering screams slicing through the sultry night. But it wasn’t enough. Rather than slaking her hunger, Saif had woken a slumbering tiger, and now all she could think about was having him deep inside her so she could claim him for her own.

Losing control with Saif had laid her bare, Antonia realised when she quietened. He might not have taken her fully yet, but she had given him something that could never be recaptured—her trust. Saif had taken a girl and made her a woman, and now there could be no turning back.

Forgetfulness was one of the most valuable commodities for men who could afford anything, and, briefly, Tuesday would provide that. She was resting, but not for long, he suspected. He anticipated a long and deeply satisfying night, but for now he was content to let Tuesday set the pace, especially with the news from the palace still nagging at the back of his mind. Why, with so many rooms to survey and create inventories for, had they rung him tonight of all nights with the news that the treasure room of his father’s concubine had been uncovered?

It certainly killed off Tuesday’s romantic notion of some rosy destiny for them. Did he need a reminder of the rapaciousness of women? Did he need a reminder of that other woman on a night like this?

He should forget the past, shut it out of his mind, but when he stared at Tuesday he thought he understood his father’s weakness perhaps for the first time. He understood, but could not excuse it. He was a very different man from his father, and had not pledged himself to a country and its people to be distracted by anyone. His father might have squandered his reputation, but, ma sha’a allah, there wasn’t the remotest possibility that Ra’id al Maktabi would do the same.

‘What are you doing?’ he demanded as Tuesday, having stretched languorously, came to kneel before him. He wanted her, but not like this—not like a king with his mistress on her knees in front of him, waiting to serve.

‘I wanted to repay you,’ she said innocently.

He frowned. ‘Explain…’

‘The pleasure? I would have thought you knew,’ she said, blushing.

He knew that she had never looked more beautiful, but the sight of her naked and proud and on her knees in front of him made his head pound. In that one innocent and provocative gesture, Tuesday had thrown him back into a world where sycophants knelt and equals stood at his side.

Springing up, he brought her in front of him. Embracing her, he kissed her hungrily, and by the time he released her she had forgotten the moment that could have gone so badly wrong for her. He knew then that she had been right to say this was more than a sexual encounter, but he would never admit it, because he had nothing to offer her.

But this was…sweet.

Holding Tuesday safe against his chest, he rested his face on her tangled hair and savoured the uncomplicated moment. This could be as straightforward as he wanted it to be, he reasoned. Taking hold of her hand, he kissed her palm, and, closing his eyes, he inhaled her innocent scent, as if the magic of the desert could make everything right.

Saif’s touch made her arch against him. Hot flesh on hot flesh inflamed her past reason. ‘Pleasure me,’ she demanded, drunk on sensation, rubbing herself against him. She was completely lost in the fantasy of the desert and the dark stranger she had always known she would find there. She trembled uncontrollably as the hardness of Saif’s muscle bore into her soft flesh, and she was impatient for him to move lower so he could satisfy her needs. ‘Oh, please,’ she begged him, bucking helplessly beneath his touch. ‘I can’t wait any longer.’