The feel of her hands on his hips encouraged him to swivel her away from the side table toward the bed. Cupping her jaw, he kissed her until she mewled and writhed against him, brushing her curves against the harder lines of his body. Careful of her burns, he coaxed her back onto the mattress, insinuating a thick thigh between her knees while he palmed a breast and teased the nipple into a hard peak. Sliding his hands up the underside of her arms, he brought them above her head and pinned her wrists to the mattress with a hand.
“Leave them here,” he rasped against her mouth. He wanted her to resist touching him, to leave her arms above her head.
“I can't--”
“You can. You will.” Trusting her to do as he asked, he ground his hips down into hers and nipped a path to the pulse in her neck. Pleased at the way she moved beneath him, as if trying to get closer, to tempt him into another grind, he mouthed her nipple over the silk shirt until it was wet and clingy. With the skill of a lover well versed in the art of passion, he unclasped the buttons of her shirt and dragged the edges away from her skin, exposing a delicate but plain bra.
“But I want--”
“Leave your hands there,” he rumbled when he felt her arms start to unravel. She was so delicate and small beneath him—and lovely. Well shaped, narrow through the waist with ample curves above and below. Her hair came out of its style and splayed across his covers, a streak of auburn fire that he wanted to sink his fingers into.
He nipped and licked and bit her flesh while he undid the bra and stripped it away along with her shirt. She gripped his shoulders, leaving little furrows in his skin with her nails. He 'chastised' her with a hard suck on her nipple that left her squirming and panting beneath him.
Little did she know that her torture was only beginning.
. . .
Sessily couldn't remember when a man had ever driven her to the brink of pleasant madness. Ahsan accomplished it before he even had her pants off, grinding his hips in a rhythm that brought more and louder cries from her lips. He used his fingers in skillful swirls and circles that mimicked what his tongue could probably do, taking her right to the edge before deviating to finish stripping her clothes from her body.
Impatient, she exposed his flesh with less finesse, ripping a few buttons here and tugging at his belt which didn't seem to want to come free. Palming the ripple of muscle across his back and over his shoulders, Sessily begged him to hurry, resulting in him slowing way, way down.
He took his time with his belt, ridding it of the loops while he rasped his whiskers over the tender skin of her stomach. She got her hands in his hair, desperately arching under the methodical graze of his mouth and teeth. Taking her to unexplored heights, Sessily discovered just what it meant to be in the thrall of an expert lover.
No wonder the women were wild for him, she thought, a fine sheen of sweat breaking out on her brow. He wasn't all the way out of his pants yet, though he'd stripped her bare, stripped her to the core in more ways than one.
Then he was over her, in her, the hot brand of his flesh repeatedly grinding to deeper depths. She left marks on his broad back while he pinned her to the bed and showed her exactly what kind of stamina he possessed. The pace built until she mindlessly begged him for release. Release he gladly gave her, but denied himself.
Panting his name in the aftermath, she moved with him when he eased her onto her stomach. Just when she'd thought he would finish for himself, he found an entirely new angle and new rhythm, one that made her grip his covers with her fists and gasp praise over and over and over again.
This time, he left marks on her back, her nape, and her throat. Tangling a hand in her hair, he arched her head off the covers and used the tether as a tension rod, scraping his teeth along her jaw to her ear.
“Hold on tight,” he growled.
He rocked the bed, her body, her soul. Coming undone, he found her mouth with his and kissed her through an explosive end, the thrusts peaking then waning. Spent, Sessily encouraged him to cover her with his body while they both recovered.
Dizzy with spent passion, she stroked her fingers over his arms and shuddered until the last vestiges of their joining faded.
Rolling onto his side some time later, he stretched out and gathered her close with one hand. Sessily, in no mood to go anywhere, curled close and intimate, ready to find a semblance of rest and peace in his arms.
Who knew what tomorrow might bring.
Chapter Sixteen
The glow of mid-morning sunlight ushered Sessily up from her dreams. Blinking against the brightness, she rolled onto her back—and groaned. Sheets tangled around her ankles and legs, she touched the tips of her fingers to her lips and recalled the hot night of passion just past. She felt Ahsan everywhere. There didn't seem to be an inch of her body he hadn't touched, kissed or stroked.
Sitting up when she realized he wasn't in bed with her, she scanned his bedroom.
No Ahsan.
Then she remembered what day it was, and that Iris might be arriving soon. On the nightstand, she found a handwritten note. Breakfast is on the tray and there are fresh clothes in the closet. Rest as long as you need to. A.
Even in the face of possible hostility from abroad, Ahsan had seen to her needs. He'd taken the time to have food brought up and clothing found, both which she was grateful for.
Scrambling from bed after a glance at the clock and discovering it was already well past eleven, Sessily hurried to the enormous master bathroom and helped herself to his shower. She could smell the scent of some masculine body wash or another, letting her know he'd already gone through the cleaning ritual and was off somewhere, tending to business.
Drying quickly, she hung the towel up and brushed her teeth with a new toothbrush she found near the sink. Along with a comb, lotion and a few other feminine toiletries. She had to wear her hair down to obscure a few telltale marks on the skin of her neck, marks that made her feel suspiciously his. No matter what other problems they still had to work through, Sessily felt bound to Ahsan in ways she wouldn't have thought possible. He had overcome his own annoyances and troubles and gave himself over to her without hesitation. Where intimacy was concerned, his arrogance evaporated and a mature, experienced lover took its place.
Dressed in white slacks and a baby blue sleeveless top, Sessily found the pair of flats she'd discarded the evening before and prepared to depart Ahsan's bedroom. She gave the rumpled sheets a last, lingering look then let herself out.
When she reached the bottom of the staircase, the sound of several male voices drew her in the direction of the foyer. A group of men stood just inside the large front doors, gesturing between the palace and something outside. It took her a second to recognize the faces as those belonging to Ahsan's friends at the gala. Several saw her at the same time and inclined their heads in polite greeting.
“Good afternoon,” she said as she drew closer. Ahsan wasn't among the men. He was probably elsewhere dealing with the Bashir situation.
“Afternoon,” the gentlemen said as one. They were of the same nature as Ahsan, men of means, of importance, of regal or elite bearing. It was in their posture, that definitive air of power and control.
“I'm sure you're already aware, but I'm Sessily Pavel. It's a pleasure to meet you all.”
“The woman in white,” Leander said with a boyish grin. He held out his hand, the first to lead in a round of shakes. “Leander.”
Sessily smiled at the reminder and met them all one by one: Leander, Mattias—a Prince, she thought—and Chayton. They were faultless with their cordial greetings and did not make her feel awkward or like an intruder. In fact, they were warm and welcoming and treated her as if they'd known her for years. Gone were the suits she'd seen them wear at the gala; instead, each man wore dark clothing better suited to physical activity than balls or boardrooms.
“It's not my place to offer, really, but can I get you anything?” she asked the men with a glance at the open doors. She couldn't see what was goi
ng on outside, only hear a low din of voices and the occasional rumble of an engine.
“We're fine for now, thank you,” Mattias said. “I hear you nearly beat Ahsan in the race.”
Sessily smiled and brought her attention back to the group. Had Ahsan actually told his friends that? “An exaggeration on his part, I think. He beat me soundly. It was exhilarating, nevertheless.”
“And it seems you got an awful lot of sun,” Leander said with a gesture at her sunburns.
She saw no reason to hide the truth. If they were good friends—and why were they here if they weren't—then they all probably knew something had happened. Maybe, even, knew the whole sordid story. She wouldn't embarrass herself by lying again. “A mistake on my part. And a misunderstanding.”
Mattias set a hand lightly on her elbow. He had kind, dark eyes. “The good thing about mistakes is that we always learn from them and are not bound to repeat them.”
Not expecting such compassion, Sessily inclined her head in agreement. She shouldn't feel compelled to talk about it to these strangers—yet she appreciated the reassurance. “Indeed. I hope—well. I hope Ahsan can see his way clear to overlook it.”
“Ahsan can be a real horse's ass,” Leander said. “He's about as arrogant as any man I've ever met, but he's got a good head on his shoulders. If I had to guess, he's already overlooked it.” Leander dropped Sessily a quick wink.
Taken aback by the blunt assessment, she laughed. “Does he know you feel that way?”
“I remind him every chance I get,” Leander retorted.
Chayton and Mattias took turns rumbling laughter.
In awe of their easy camaraderie, reminded of how tightly knit they seemed the night of the gala, Sessily found herself glad she'd met the men on a more personal level. The talk of Ahsan, however, diverted her attention to the goings on outside.
“Is Ahsan out there, do you know?” she asked with another glance past the doors.
“He's organizing the influx of men,” Mattias said.
“Influx of men? Does that mean Bashir sent a convoy with my sister?” Her heart raced at the thought Iris was already on the premises.
“No, unfortunately. These are men that the Emir himself sent,” Leander added.
Startled by the news, Sessily glanced between Ahsan's friends. “The Emir sent men? I don't understand.”
“As far as we can tell, the Emir caught wind that Bashir might be up to his old tricks and sent a contingent of troops here to guard Ahsan,” Chayton said.
“But isn't that...unusual?” she asked.
“Very unusual,” Mattias said.
“I think it's a good indication that the Emir is about to strip the title of Crown Prince from Bashir and give it to Ahsan.” Leander slid his hands into his pockets.
“But Ahsan doesn't want it.” Sessily was sure Ahsan's friends already knew.
“No, he doesn't. I'm not sure what he'll do, though, if the Emir makes the announcement and bestows it anyway. Ahsan can't just walk away if that happens,” Mattias said.
“It's a complicated situation,” Sessily said. “The man who wants it most isn't fit to wear the title, and the man who is fit doesn't have any desire to rule.”
“It happens more often than you might think,” Mattias said.
Stepping up to the doors, Sessily got her first good look at the menagerie of vehicles and military men. Guards stood at angles with weapons in their hands, positioned to easily see any incoming traffic on the roadway. A few more were spread out along the front archways to secure the front doors.
Ahsan stood with two men, gesturing to this point or that point, clearly organizing the troops. Dressed in black slacks and a snug tee of light gray, Ahsan rubbed his fingers over a layer of dark whiskers on his jaw and then shook one of the men's hands. He glanced at the doorway and met her gaze head on. As if he'd known she'd been watching all along.
Sessily curved a small smile, a smile he returned. His was brief and to the point before his attention swung back to the troops.
“I wonder if Bashir won't send my sister after all,” Sessily said, turning away from the doors.
“It's hard to say. She's a pawn in a game of kings, and I personally think that Bashir won't want to risk confrontation after he hears that the Emir sent troops here,” Leander said.
“I hope you're right,” Sessily said to Leander.
Before she could say anything else, Ahsan and several important looking men entered into the foyer.
“Get the conference room ready. The Emir has landed at the airstrip and is on his way here,” Ahsan said to some of his staff.
“We'll take up positions around the interior,” Mattias said. He and the other two men dispersed with uncanny silence.
“What should I do?” Sessily asked Ahsan. She understood that this was a major event by the way employees scurried here and there through the palace and the heightened state of the security. The Emir probably didn't travel to see his banished son very often.
“You can wait in one of the downstairs sitting areas, if you'd like. I'm not sure how long this will take,” he admitted. Ahsan touched her shoulder, squeezed lightly, then, after a lingering stretch of eye contact, moved deeper into the palace.
Sessily tracked Ahsan until he disappeared from view. She had a feeling that his life was about to take a drastic change, one he didn't want and wasn't looking forward to. She found a smaller parlor close to the conference room and paced around the couches and overstuffed chairs.
Maybe, just maybe, she could find a way to listen in on the conversation about to take place.
. . .
Ahsan stared out the window of the conference room while his staff rushed around to make the accommodations more fitting for a king. Unlike Bashir, Ahsan's home had no throne room, and he wasn't inclined to try and make a temporary one just to suit his father's whims. The conference room, with its plush sofas, low tables and longer regular table surrounded by high backed seating, was still a decadent place to have a meeting. Tapestries covered several walls and the view of the lush oasis outside added a tropical flare.
It would have to do. He wasn't looking forward to the meeting, because he thought he knew what it meant. His father had never attended the palace at any time during or after construction, which told Ahsan that the Emir was here on an official state visit. Unless Ahsan missed his guess, his father was about to propose the impossible.
A flurry of activity in the foyer drew Ahsan to the archway of the conference room. Guards came first, followed by several advisors in business suits, and finally the Emir, who had shunned traditional wear for a suit. Shocking in itself, considering the Emir's penchant toward the old ways. He was a man aged and weathered by time and a treacherous life, with graying hair and many wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. He appeared more frail and reedy since Ahsan had seen him last, his color less robust and more ashy. A woman trailed in their wake, her svelte figure encased in fine silk of a light turquoise hue. She walked with her eyes cast down, hands clasped together before her.
“Father, welcome to my home,” Ahsan said when the Emir was within range.
The Emir came to a halt in the middle of the foyer, running his fingers over his manicured beard. He took a good look around with eyes as dark as Ahsan's own.
“A fine home it is, too. You have done well for yourself since your departure from Afshar Province,” the Emir said.
The guards, advisors and staff hovering to do the Emir's bidding fell to silence. Ahsan slid a hand into the pocket of his slacks, and gestured to the conference room with the other. He didn't bother contradicting the Emir with the reminder that he'd been banished, instead of departing for a new life like his brothers. “Thank you. We can speak in here.”
The entourage moved into the conference room, taking up seats or standing near walls, leaving the Emir to choose the better seating in the room. An expensive chair with a moderate back was the place the Emir chose to settle. The silent woman came to stand just be
hind it, never looking up from the ground.
Ahsan chose to lean against the big table, one boot crossing the other. “So, to what do I owe the honor?”
The Emir met Ahsan's gaze, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “I think you know why I am here.”
“Enlighten me.” Ahsan wasn't going to make it any easier on his father. In truth, he was still deciding what route he was going to take after the offer was made. It was a life altering event that was about to occur, and he wasn't positive his choice would be the right one.
“I have decided to set you upon the throne of Afshar, Ahsan,” the Emir said, making the announcement official. “The paperwork has been drawn, the advisors and military notified, and a statement has been prepared to be released to the media.”
Ahsan's shoulders tensed. “Perhaps you should have spoken to me in private beforehand.”
The Emir studied Ahsan with a gaze that turned shrewd. “You are the successor to the throne. As such, you will return to the old ways. You will abide by the laws of our religion, beliefs and power structure. I have chosen your first wife, whom you will marry immediately and begin starting a family for the heirs that you must provide. It is a requirement, you know, one that the advisors and public expect.”
“With all due respect, father, I did mention that I won't be changing my ways. And I will certainly not be marrying anyone not of my choosing. If you want me to have the throne, then everyone will have to shift their way of thinking and of doing things. This is my stipulation, and I will not bend.” Ahsan had been prepared for another onslaught of coercion from his father, but as he'd already stated, he would not be going back to the 'old ways', nor would he engage in a loveless marriage simply for the sake of heirs and because the public frowned upon any successor who did not take a wife.
The Royal Elite: Ahsan (Elite, Book 2) Page 16
