The Reluctant Princess

by Carly Roberts

  “Oh,” I said, shocked.

  He gave a sexy smile and did the same to the other one. “It feels even better when I do it with my tongue,” he teased.

  I swallowed down my nerves, pushing away the horrible memory of my husband sucking hard there and tugging with his teeth, and nodded.

  The Prince lowered his head. I watched, fascinated, as with the tip of his tongue he traced around the edge of my nipple, then flicked the end before covering it with his mouth. Very gently, he sucked and stroked with his tongue.

  I closed my eyes and tipped back my head. The sensation was amazing, and it felt as if nerves running from there to every part of my body came alive and tingled.

  He lifted his head. “Nice?”

  “Yes.” I fought against tears. “Thank you, um…” I suddenly realized I didn’t know what to call him. I knew his name was Tashfin, but I had not heard Farah or Nedira address him like that. They always called him ‘my Prince.’ “Thank you, my Prince.”

  He smiled. “When we are alone, you may call me Tash.”

  “Tash?” I loved it. “It suits you.” I stroked his beard.

  He rubbed his cheek against my palm, then pushed me onto my back. “Now you know what it feels like, you can relax and enjoy.” He lowered his head to my other nipple and covered it with his mouth.

  I lay there, eyes closed, one hand buried in his thick hair, and let him kiss me, feeling a strange stirring deep inside that I had never felt before. It wasn’t just the physical pleasure that surprised me, it was the wonder of having a man devoting himself to my enjoyment that touched me.

  Lifting his head, he kissed my lips again, and I could feel his passion, carefully controlled, but growing within him like heat in a stoked fire. Looking down at me, he rested a hand on my thigh, and stroked up to my hip.

  “I would like to touch you here.” He moved his hand to the inside of my knee. “Will you let me?”

  By now I trusted him implicitly, and I took a deep breath and opened my legs to him. Pleasure lit his eyes, along with something else—desire.

  He kissed me, stroking his fingers up and down my inner thigh a few times, and then brought his hand up to rest between my legs.

  I inhaled, and he lifted his head. Propping it on his hand, he settled comfortably beside me, telling me without words that he was willing to wait until I was relaxed.

  His hand was warm on me, fitting snugly against my mound. Keeping his gaze on mine, he stroked there lightly. “Ready?”

  * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  I nodded.

  He brushed down, sliding his fingers into my pussy.

  For a moment I couldn’t breathe. The sensation of his fingers slipping into my sensitive folds was like nothing I had experienced before.

  He paused, withdrew them a little, and moved them down again. Small, light strokes that felt like feathers on my skin, and yet firm enough to send me tingling all over.

  I couldn’t look away from his eyes. His actions were turning him on too, and that in itself was enough to make me want to carry on.

  “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said.

  I kept my mouth firmly shut. I didn’t want him to stop. I had the first glimmer of what Farah and Nedira had tried to explain to me. I couldn’t tell what it was, but something was building deep inside me, and I had to find out what would happen.

  Encouraged by my silence, the Prince parted my folds with his fingers and stroked more firmly. He murmured something in his own language, and then, to my surprise, he stopped and reached for my hand.

  “Here,” he said, directing it between my legs.

  I resisted, my cheeks burning. I couldn’t touch myself there in front of him!

  He stopped and tilted his head, his brow flickering with a frown. “Eleanor, please. It is no sin to understand your own body. You have to trust me.”

  For the first time since I’d joined him in the room, his stare brooked no opposition. I bit my lip and relented, letting him slide my hand down.

  “There,” he said, moving my fingers into my folds. “Your body makes it easy for me, see?”

  My eyebrows rose as I felt the slippery moisture coating the swollen skin. “Oh!”

  He covered my hand with his and moved it up and down. I shivered at the sensation of our fingers sliding through my sensitive inner lips.

  “And here,” he said, moving my hand to the top. “Do you feel that?” He circled my forefinger over a small button.

  I gasped at the pleasant sensations that skittered through me. “Yes.”

  “I do not know its name in French, but I should because it is very important.” He smiled, releasing my hand and continuing to stroke the button with his finger. “This is the most sensitive part of you, and it is the key to your pleasure, Eleanor. Does it feel nice when I touch it like this?”

  My breaths were coming fast now, my pulse racing. “Yes.”

  He moved closer to me, rising on an elbow so he could kiss me, continuing to stroke firmly. “Relax,” he instructed, pressing light kisses on my lips. “Let the pleasure take you.”

  How could I relax? Something was building inside me, and it felt as if I was going to explode. “I can’t…” I wanted to push him away, but my fingers clutched at his shoulder, my body arching toward his.

  “Let it happen, Eleanor. Don’t be scared.” He lowered his lips to my breast and covered a nipple with his warm mouth.

  I was scared, because I didn’t understand what I was feeling. It was wonderful, and yet I felt out of control, and I didn’t like it.

  The Prince lifted his head. He had one arm tucked under my shoulders, and he tightened it, holding me against him, his mouth brushing mine as his fingers continued their relentless stroking.

  “I’ll catch you,” he murmured.

  He knew what was happening to me, what I was feeling, and I realized he wasn’t going to stop. His eyes were alight—he was excited to watch me.

  “Let go,” he whispered.

  I closed my eyes and focused on his fingers. Muscles deep inside me were tightening. It was almost painful—it was going to hurt! I opened my mouth to object and put my hand on his arm to push him away, but he wouldn’t move, he wouldn’t stop, and it got stronger and I squealed. But he just laughed, and then suddenly an intense wave of pleasure took me away, pulse after pulse of blissful clenches as he pressed his fingers down, and my fingers curled, my nails digging into his arm as I gasped and gasped my way through the exquisite sensations.

  They had just started to die away when he lifted his hand, and I fell back onto the pillow, struggling to draw breath. Blinking hard, I focused on his face.

  He smirked. “Now tell me you don’t want another one of those.”

  I was speechless. Oddly, one of the strongest emotions I felt was anger.

  Pulling away from him, I half-fell off the bed and lurched away.

  “Hey.” He rose and came after me. “What is it?”

  I sank my hands into my hair. “That bastard! The way he treated me… and he made me feel as if I was to blame! And I never knew… I never knew…” Emotion washed over me, and my breath hitched.

  “Hey.” The Prince pulled me into his arms and glared at me. “You have to forget him.”

  “I can’t!”

  “I will make you.” He spoke fiercely. “I will make love to you every day, and give you a thousand orgasms, until his face fades from your memory and all you can think about is me.” His eyes blazed.

  I stared at him. And in an instant, all my anger faded away.

  “Tash…” I touched his face with wonder. I am unique, he’d said, and I truly believed that to be so.

  “Marry me,” he said. “Let me make you happy.”

  “You want to make all the women in the world happy, don’t you?” I spoke without accusation, finding it amusing.

  He tipped his head from side to side. “Maybe.” Then he smiled. “Is that a yes?”

  Joy was rising within me,
but I copied his movement and tipped my head from side to side. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  He stared at me. Then I giggled, and he laughed and bent and picked me up, wrapping my legs around his waist.

  I squealed, shocked, but he ignored my feeble attempt to smack his arms away, and carried me to the bed. Climbing on, turning, he lay back, leaving me astride him, and pulled my head down to his.

  He kissed me, somewhat fiercely, but it just fired me up inside now I knew what lay in store.

  He released my mouth and held my hips, pushing up with his own. I felt the tip of his cock press against me, and my heart rate doubled.

  “I want to be inside you,” he said, his voice husky. “But you do it. As slowly as you want.”

  I looked down at him, into his large brown eyes, already more than half in love with this man who had such a fierce, tender heart and a wealth of love to give to others.

  I understood now what Nedira had meant about learning to give pleasure as well as receive it, because I wanted to please him—I wanted to return the gift he had given me.

  I already knew it was not going to be the same as it had been with my husband. Part of me was still frightened, but the Prince had said you have to forget him, and I was determined to do that. I would not let the man who had made me so miserable have power over me anymore.

  I loved that the Prince was allowing me to do this at my own pace, in this position, which was so new and exciting. Moving my hips, I maneuvered myself so the tip of his cock parted my folds and pressed against my entrance.

  His pupils were dilated, his breathing coming fast, but he didn’t push up or force me to take him. He waited, stroking my hips, until I was ready.

  I pushed down. My slippery moisture eased the way, and he slid inside.

  We both gasped, and I stopped, feeling myself stretch to accommodate him. It didn’t hurt though—it was a natural feeling of expansion as my body allowed him inside.

  Holding my hips, he withdrew a little, then pushed in again. Doing this a few times, he lubricated himself, and then he held me firmly and thrust up until he was all the way in.

  I closed my eyes and gave a long moan. It felt heavenly. I could feel every inch of him, thick and blissfully hard, all the way up inside. My pussy was so wet and swollen, it was highly sensitive, making every movement he gave pleasurable.

  I didn’t stop him when he took my hand in his and moved it between my legs. He guided my fingers so I could feel him inside me, and I met his gaze, loving the passion that blazed in his eyes.

  He pushed me upright, and I sat back, the position allowing him to fill me completely. As I moved my hips the way Nedira had, I discovered that I could make his cock slide in and out, and he muttered his approval, lying back with his hands above his head and letting me proceed at my own pace.

  So I did, rocking backward and forward, conscious that with each thrust my body was beginning to stir again, being teased toward ecstasy by the feel of him inside me.

  He lowered his hands onto my breasts, and when he brushed my nipples with his thumbs, then gave them a gentle squeeze, I tipped back my head and groaned. Tell me you don’t want another one of those, he’d said smugly, and he was right—now I’d tasted what it felt like, I wanted it again.

  I could feel it building, so sweet, so beautiful—and then suddenly, without warning, he rose up and tightened his arms around me. Before I knew it, I was on my back and he was on top of me.

  “Can’t wait,” he said, and kissed me as he thrust his hips.

  My memory flickered briefly with the memory of the other man heaving on top of me, but it was gone in a flash. The Prince was nothing like him, and this was nothing like what had happened before. I could no more compare my previous husband’s rutting to the Prince’s lovemaking than compare a child’s handprints to a work of art.

  Above me, the Prince’s body was tight and firm, every muscle defined, and although now he had lost some of his gentleness, I found myself excited by his passion, turned on by his desire.

  He asked me something in Persian, obviously forgetting what language he was speaking.

  I just laughed. “Fuck me,” I replied, also in Persian, and his eyebrows rose.

  He laughed too, then kissed me, supporting himself on his hands as he began to thrust with intent.

  With each movement of his hips he ground against my pussy, and I felt the same deliciousness tightening begin that I had felt before. It was going to hurt. I was sure it was going to be excruciating…

  “Oh,” I said with a moan, and he growled and kissed me.

  “Come,” he demanded.

  “No,” I said, and came anyway. It was a whole new sensation, clenching around his cock as he thrust, burst after sunburst that radiated through me, so beautiful I wanted it never to stop.

  Just as the pulses began to die, his muscles went like rock beneath my fingers, and he stopped moving.

  I watched his face crease with pleasure, and delight filled me that I had given him this feeling, only me, and no other.

  “Fuck,” he said in Persian. His hips jerked, and then he thrust slowly, riding out his climax as he filled me with his seed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  “You need to teach me something new to say,” I whispered, panting in his ear as he pulsed inside me. “I can’t use only that word at the Palace.”

  “Ah, don’t make me laugh.” But he laughed anyway, dropping onto his elbows to kiss me. He rubbed his nose against mine, then lifted his head, startled. “Oh no. Eleanor.”

  “I am sorry. They are tears of joy,” I said, trying to wipe them.

  He took my hands in his, linking our fingers, and held them from my face as he kissed the tears away.

  Finally, he kissed my lips. “I understand. You bring me great joy, too.”

  “You have made me so happy,” I said. “Farah was right. You are very good at it.”

  He chuckled. “I’m glad I have convinced you.”

  “Oh, I still haven’t made up my mind whether I’m going to marry you.”

  He gave me a wry look as he withdrew, and then pulled me into his arms, collapsing onto the bed. “I have a feeling you will still be saying that when we are sitting next to each other in forty years’ time, old and gray.”

  The notion gave me more pleasure than I could put into words, and I curled up by his side, sated and content.

  “You can come out,” he called. “I know you’re watching.”

  The sheets parted, and Farah and Nedira rushed up to the bed.

  Farah jumped on behind me and snuggled up to me, her arm around my waist. “I am so happy for you.”

  “Oh!” I blushed furiously, then laughed as Nedira bent over her to kiss me. “Thank you!”

  Malik and Jasim came out too, and suddenly wine was being poured and everyone was sitting on the bed, all talking at once.

  Slightly overwhelmed, I went to rise, but the Prince tightened his arm around me, keeping me there. He chatted to Malik in Persian, gesturing as he spoke, but I could see that he wanted me to stay.

  This was how it would be, I realized. What I enjoyed with the Prince would never be truly private. I had to learn to share him, and understand that all his other wives and companions felt the same way about him that I did.

  And yet… I remembered the way he had placed my hand over his heart, and stated: Yours. His heart was so big that he could spare a little for everyone. I had my own piece, and it would never belong to anyone else.

  Looking at me, he smiled and leaned in to give me a kiss. I accepted it with a sigh, then rested my head on his shoulder, my eyelids drooping.

  Tomorrow, we would reach Samarkand, and then I would be married.

  And it would be the first day of the rest of my life.

  *

  Follow the adventures of the Samarkand Prince in Book 5: The Eternal Princess

  Kindle US, Kindle UK, Kindle AU, Kindle CA

  Samira first met Prince Tashfin when she was only eighteen, and she�
�s never forgotten him. Catching sight of her in a crowd while on a state visit to the city of Qarshi, he sent for her to come to his rooms, where she spent a blissful, erotic night the like of which she’d never experienced before, or since. Now, three years later, alone and in trouble, she arrives at his Palace in Samarkand hoping for help, only to discover that the young Tash she fell in love with has grown into a powerful man with a whole harem of women of his own. Aware of the time that has passed and knowing he might have forgotten her, she realizes she’s going to have to do something drastic to catch—and keep—his attention…

  Excerpt

  He stopped before me and held out one of the glasses. “Good evening.”

  My heart pounded, loud in my ears. He was younger than I’d realized at first, his face free of lines beneath his dark beard and mustache, his eyes bright with the zeal of youth.

  I took the glass. “Hello.” I had to tip my head back to look at him. “Goodness, you’re tall.”

  “Thank you. At least, I presume it was a compliment?”

  “Of course. I like tall men. As long as they don’t ask me if I want a box to stand on.” I was thinking about Bashir’s comments earlier in the courtyard, and only realized I’d spoken aloud when the Prince laughed.

  “Then I promise not to ask.” He gave Malik an amused glance.

  The slave shrugged. “You were right.”

  “Right about what?” I asked.

  The Prince sipped his wine, his eyes gleaming over the rim of the glass, but didn’t answer.

  Ordinarily, I would have demanded to know what he’d said, but something about him stopped the words leaving my mouth. I wasn’t sure if it was just because he was a prince. He moved with grace, languidly, like a leopard. I had the feeling I was being stalked, and it made me nervous.

  “Thank you for coming,” the Prince said.

  I stifled a hysterical giggle. He was thanking me! “Thank you for asking.”

  He tilted his head, studying my face. “May I ask your name?”

  It might be polite if we’re about to fuck. The words went through my head, but I didn’t voice them. “Samira,” I said instead.