The Sheikh's Claim (Desert Nights 2)

From the depths of boneless bliss, she felt his hands stroking awareness into her satiated body. She was sprawled over him, her flesh still fluttering with aftershocks around him as he remained buried inside her.

A lion’s purr rumbled beneath her ear. “I need you to promise me you’ll frequently override my Neanderthal tendencies to dominate you and just have your way with me like that.”

Her lips spread lazily. “You got it. Very frequently.”

His chuckle changed into a groan as her inner flesh spasmed over his intact hardness. “Forget what I just said. The need to go all caveman over you is becoming unstoppable.”

She giggled as he heaved up, swung her beneath him and pressed her between the mattress and his hot, hard bulk.

A long time after he’d devastated her, he brought her over him again and sighed in contentment. “You feel…different.”

Euphoria screeched to a halt. “Not as tight as before?”

“No.” All bliss drained away as she wriggled, severing their union. He caught her, turned her on her back, rose above her. “I mean it’s not that. Physically, you’re the same, or it might be a bit less of a struggle to fit inside you. You just feel different.”

Still unsure, still worried, she probed, “Because of Adam?”

“Because of us. You’re different. I am. We’ve matured. We’re certain we want each other, no substitutes. It makes us better at this.” His lips quirked. “Though you must stop improving right here. Any better and I might expire.”

Flooded with relief, hoping she’d soon stop having those attacks of uncertainty, she looked up at him adoringly. “Do you know you have the most beautiful eyes in existence? If we have a girl, I hope she’ll have your eyes.”

He stilled. “You want more children?”

Every uncertainty crashed down on her again. She swallowed. “I’m just saying, if one day you think we should…”

He interrupted her agitation. “I think we should have as many children as you’re willing to have. I want anything you want, whenever you want it.”

Wobbling with yo-yoing anxiety and relief, her hand trembled as she smoothed it down his stubbled cheek. “Then I want to binge on you without interruptions a bit longer before we embark on our next miracle.”

“Then binge away.” His grin was delight itself as he swept her up in his arms and took her to the bathroom.

* * *

The rest of the night, followed by next day, were spent in a blur of lovemaking.

By evening, they reluctantly considered the rest of the world, called her family back to the villa and announced their news.

They’d agreed on a story. They met after Patrick died, sought solace in each other, got married. But she thought she’d made a mistake, insisted on a divorce. He’d been trying to get her back ever since. He’d told her it wasn’t far from the truth.

Her family’s reaction was one of dazed delight. And they were even more stunned, along with Lujayn, when Jalal announced they’d get married a week from now. He’d assured them it would be enough time to prepare a wedding worthy of Lujayn.

Carried on the wave of collective happiness and enthusiasm, Lujayn spent the next day at the royal palace where Jalal had decided to have the wedding. He gave her and her family, foremost Dahab, free rein to set the place up for a legendary wedding. Lujayn didn’t want any of that, but he insisted he wanted to give her this, and to please humor him.

Spiraling deeper than ever in love with him, she accepted this as another of his efforts to make up for the years they’d lost, and the unintentional pain and alienation he’d inflicted on her. Though she didn’t need any tributes or any amends, she knew he needed to make them. She’d always give him everything he needed.

She’d just left her family and Adam in the Qobba hall, literally the Dome, the name coming from its residing under the palace’s central, hundred-foot mosaic one. She had to find Jalal, get his opinion about the seating plan for his personal friends.

Entering the antechamber to the royal office on the first floor, she heard a voice that wasn’t his.

If voices could have colors, that one would be pitch-black.

“…already behaving as if you own the place.”

She heard Jalal exhale. “And it’s great to see you again, too, Rashid.”

That had to be Rashid Aal Munsoori, the third candidate for the throne. She knew he was a distant maternal relative of Jalal’s, and a once-best friend. She had no idea how things stood between them now, especially with being rivals for the throne.

From what she’d heard so far, it didn’t sound like they were on particularly friendly terms. At least, from Rashid’s side. He was more or less accusing Jalal of usurping the palace as his own.

But Jalal wasn’t abusing his power, had paid a major sum to the kingdom’s treasury to use the palace for their wedding. She’d said they could have rented the Taj Mahal for a month for that amount. He’d countered they could have used the royal palace of Zohayd for free, which was better than both places. In fact, King Amjad, his oldest brother, had snarked his head off, telling him to skip along and have a rehearsal wedding in his motherland to please his in-laws, then come have an actual one in his fatherland, in a palace really worthy of his wife and heir.

But Jalal considered he was hitting two birds with one stone having their wedding here. Giving her a wedding in her motherland, reinforcing her family’s status and pumping money into the kingdom without it looking like a charitable donation.

She chewed her lip as she debated if she should wait until Rashid left, or leave and return when he had.

Her intimate flesh quivered at contemplating the long walk to and from the Qobba hall. Though the soreness she’d begged Jalal to inflict on her was delicious, it did make walking straight quite a feat. She didn’t want to give everyone too clear an indication how they’d spent the time since their reunion. Now that Azmahar would feature heavily in their future, she had to get used to observing the land’s conservative tendencies.

Deciding to wait, she picked one of the Arabic books in the mini-library in the antechamber. Might as well brush up on her Arabic reading skills as she waited.

She started reading then everything inside her froze as something Rashid was saying made her listen.

“…after Haidar thwarted your plans to use Roxanne to gain the upper hand in the campaign, you think giving the fairy-tale-addicted Azmaharians a sob story about restored honor, estranged spouses and a secret male heir will sway them in your favor?”