“Those are the details, Lily.” His own voice didn’t sound much better. “Don’t make me say them again.”
Another silence. Longer this time.
“You blame yourself.”
He found he was gripping the tent pole rather hard. “Of course, I blame myself. I picked up that riding crop. I hit him. I was the one who lost control.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t given you any provocation.” She sounded closer this time. “You were protecting yourself. You were protecting your mother.”
Isma’il turned sharply and the expression on her face was worse than he’d thought, because it wasn’t horror he saw there. It was understanding. “I nearly killed a man, Lily. My own father! It doesn’t matter who I was protecting. I lost control of my temper and I nearly beat a man to death!”
Any decent woman, any decent person, would have run from him. Turned around and walked away, but Lily didn’t. She came across the tent, dressed only in her towel, tall and beautiful and defiant, and stood right in front of him, dark eyes blazing into his.
“And so you did. And now you’re going to punish yourself for the rest of your life because of something you did as a bruised, battered and beaten teenage boy? You defended yourself from an animal, Isma’il! You fought back. Do you think I wouldn’t have done the same to Dan if I hadn’t been so scared and confused?” Color had come flooding back into her face, flushing her golden skin. Water still lay in the hollow of her throat and he wanted suddenly and desperately to yank away the towel. Lick the water from her skin. Bite her. Make her scream . . .
“That is not the same,” he said roughly, fighting back the hunger that gripped him.
“Isn’t it? We’ve both been taken advantage by men who should have known better. Both been hurt. But you fought back, Isma’il. You fought back and defended yourself and your mother.”
“It was not defense. I wanted to kill him, Lily. Do you understand? I wanted to make him hurt. I wanted to end it once and for all. The guards had to pull me off, otherwise I would have.”
Her hand rose and before he could stop her, she’d cupped his cheek, the warmth of her whispering along his skin like the brush of silk. “But you didn’t. You were a kid, Isma’il. An abused kid. And what you did then, in the heat of the moment, doesn’t make you a bad person. It doesn’t make you him.”
He closed his fingers around her wrist, pulling her hand away. “But I should have known better. I learned how violent he was from an early age and yet, I used the same methods on him as he used on others. That makes me no better than he was. The potential is there, Lily. It is always there. And that is why this cannot happen between us.”
“No.” Her throat moved. “No. I don’t believe that. Just because you lost control once as a teenager, doesn’t mean it’ll happen again. You didn’t hold back last night and you didn’t hurt me. What’s different now?”
“What’s different? I liked it.” He should let her go and yet somehow, he only held her tighter, her skin so hot beneath his fingers, drawing her against him so he could feel her. “I liked that you resisted me. That you fought me.” He stared down into her eyes, letting her see the true heart of him, where the darkness lay. “It tempted me. Tempted my control and without my control, there is nothing to stop me from being Khalid. Nothing.”
He thought she’d pull away from him. Tell him to get out. Get away from her.
But she didn’t.
She rose up on her toes, staring straight into his eyes. “If you were anything like Khalid you’d want a victim in your bed, Isma’il. A vessel who’ll lie there meekly and take whatever you give her. But you don’t want that. That’s why you liked fighting me. Why you liked me resisting you. Because you like the challenge. You don’t want a submissive woman, Sheikh, you want an equal. Someone who can take your dominance but won’t break. Someone who can give it back to you too.” She took a breath. “Someone like me.”
“Lily . . . ”
“No. Don’t say anything.” She took hold of her towel and with a jerk, pulled the material away from her body, baring herself. “You told me last night to use you to reclaim my pride and I did. Now, it’s your turn.” She took his other hand, drew it to her naked breast. “Use me, Sheikh.” Dark chocolate eyes saw into him. Met the darkness head on. “Use me to reclaim your soul.”
The heat of her skin burned him, the hard press of her nipple against his palm.
His soul was tainted. It could never be reclaimed.
Leave her. Walk away. Safer for her. Safer for you.
But he couldn’t seem to bring himself to move. Fire burned in his veins, the hunger inside him demanding he do exactly what she asked. Take her. Use her.
“Do not offer this to me,” he said hoarsely, “I am dangerous.”
“You’re not.” She touched him again, her fingers against his jaw, her mouth close to his. “Trust yourself.”
A shudder went through him. “I cannot.” The denial torn from him. “That is the one thing I cannot do.”
“Then, trust me instead.” Her mouth brushed his, soft and so very sweet.
“Lily . . . ”
She moved, stepping back from him. Then, dropped to her knees in front of him, her gaze still on his. A submissive posture. But there was no submission in her eyes. “Surrender to me, Sheikh,” she whispered.
Naked, on her knees, demanding his surrender. Strong. Powerful. A combination he could not resist, no matter how much he wanted to.
Isma’il reached for her, gripping her chin in his fingers. Her eyes glittered, his desire mirrored back at him, the spark of challenge burning there. But no fear. No fear at all.
“You should be afraid,” he murmured.
“Why?” Her breasts rose and fell quickly, her breathing loud in the tent. “Do you have a riding crop handy?”
No one else could have said that to him so audaciously. No one but Lily.
His fingers tightened on her. “Have you no sense of self-preservation?”
“Why are you delaying, Isma’il? Anyone would think you’re the one who’s afraid.”
The breath heaved in his chest as desire gripped him and held on tight. Very well. If she wanted him to use her he would. He would show her exactly why he had tried to warn her.
He would show her exactly why she should be afraid.
Isma’il stared down into her dark eyes and this time he did not turn away from the darkness. From the hunger. This time he embraced it.
Releasing her chin, he went over to where her blue headscarf lay over a chair. Picked it up and brought it back to where she knelt. Held it out to her.
“Bind your hands.”
She didn’t even blink. Taking the scarf she wrapped it around her wrists, binding them together without hesitation. She used her teeth to pull the scarf tight, staring up at him, meeting his gaze and he could see the fire burning in her eyes. She was not afraid.
Not yet.
Her wrists dropped. Her chin lifted. Ready for the next command.
He could hardly breathe. “On the bed.”
Lily rose to her feet in a graceful, fluid move. Then, she turned and walked over to the big, white bed. Slowly. Pride in every line of her body, from the way she kept her chin high and her shoulders back, to the sway of her hips.
He followed her to the bed, enjoying the sight of her. Liking that even with her hands bound she was not cowed in any way. The part of him that loved the hunt found this intensely compelling, wanting to subdue her. Bend her to his will.
And he let it.
Lily slid onto the bed without any awkwardness, even though her hands were tied. “How do you want me?”
“On your back. Your hands above your head.”
She did as she was told, laid out before him like a feast before a starving man. A combination of exquisite curves and lean muscle. Her hair gleamed in the light, pale gold over the white cotton of the pillowcases, echoed by the soft gold of the curls between her thighs.
S
o beautiful. Desire burned hot inside him and yet he didn’t feel impatient. How strange. He’d never thought embracing this dark, violent side of him would make him feel as if he had room to breathe.
Reaching out, he ran a light finger down one of her arms, down her side, brushing the side of one perfect breast. Watching her shiver. “Are you going to fight me, Habibti?”
Her eyelashes fluttered, goose-bumps breaking out over her skin where he touched her. “Perhaps, Sheikh.”
“You are proud. Defiant. I can see it in your eyes.” He let his fingers trail over her nipple, hearing the breath hiss in her throat.
Gold lashes swept up. “Then you should punish me.”
“You would like that? You would like to be punished by me?”
Excitement sparked in night-dark eyes. Desire. “Yes.”
How was it that she could look at him, knowing what he was, and yet still ask this of him? She’d bound herself, was entirely at his mercy, and yet still she didn’t seem to be afraid.
“You’re hesitating again,” Lily said breathlessly. “What are you waiting for? I want this, remember.”
“I am not hesitating.” And he closed his hand on her breast, pinching her nipple lightly in his fingers. She gasped, her body arching. “What do you want for your punishment, Habibti? Pain or pleasure?” He would push her. Push her hard. Make her see. Make her understand why this was a bad idea, since she seemed bent on not listening to him.
She didn’t look away. “Pain.”
Heat went through him, along with a fear so intense he couldn’t seem to take a breath. Slowly, he put one knee on the bed and bent over her, hands on either side of her head, looking down into her eyes. “Pain, Lily? You are asking me for pain?”
Her breathing was fast, hard and her gaze seemed to sink into the depths of his soul. “Don’t be afraid, Isma’il. I’m not.”
“Turn over,” he ordered hoarsely.
She did, without question. Her body was golden in the light, the curve her buttocks inviting his hand. She should be afraid of him. She should know what he was capable of.
He brought his palm down hard on her skin.
The sound echoed through the tent along with her cry and he found himself shaking. With fear and loathing and disgust at himself. With unbearable, unquenchable desire.
And he waited for her to weep. Waited for the shouts. The screams. Waited for the guards to come and pull him off her. Take him away.
* * *
The pain felt as nothing compared to the heat that licked along her skin. The fire that burned in her veins. She could feel the mark of his hand like a brand, marking her, and a part of her gloried in it, while another wanted to mark him the same way. Make him hers.
Lily lay on the bed waiting for him to strike her again. Dying for him to strike her again. Push her excitement higher. But it didn’t come.
She twisted, turning over to see what had happened. And her heart froze inside her chest.
He knelt at her side, looking down at the mark he’d left on her, his eyes the color of emeralds. The expression on his face was a twisted mask, intense emotions she didn’t understand carved into his features, his hand a clenched fist at his side.
He looked like a man at war with himself. A man who burned for what he wanted and yet was desperately afraid to take it.
She knew this would be hard for him. Had seen his fear. But he had to face this. Had to know that the passionate side of his nature was not something he should be afraid of. Just as she had embraced hers.
Lily turned over. “I’m okay, Isma’il,” she whispered.
“I hit you,” he said in a raw, guttural voice. “I hurt you.”
“I wanted you to. This is passion, Sheikh. This is desire. It isn’t anger or violence. It’s different.” She trembled, wanting so much for him to understand. Help him the way he’d helped her. “And what you feel, I feel too.” She raised her bound hands, looped them over his head, her hands tangling in the black of his hair. “Touch me.” She spread her legs in invitation. “Feel what you do to me.”
For a long moment, she didn’t know if he would. But then she felt his hands on her stomach, easing down between her thighs, the gentleness of his fingers sliding over her sex. She shuddered.
“You’re wet,” his voice was rough. His fingers moved, surer this time, stroking her. The look on his face began to change, the shock and the fear fading, hunger taking its place. “So wet for me.”
“Yes . . . ” Lily gasped as his hand moved on her slick flesh. “There’s nothing you can to do me that I won’t like. That I won’t want. So take it, Isma’il. Take me.”
He went still for a moment, staring down into her face. And then the flame in his eyes ignited.
His head dipped, his mouth at her throat, kissing her, licking her, biting her. No restraints. No holding back. His teeth against her skin made her groan and when his hand cupped her breast, a hot mouth around her nipple, she cried out. One finger slid into her, then another, his movements becoming ruthless, insistent. Pleasure rocketed through her in a wild burst. “Isma’il!”
Lily closed her eyes as the orgasm slammed into her, sending her into free-fall, senses spinning, the breath tearing in her throat. She lay there unable to move, shuddering, feeling him move on the bed beside her. The slide of fabric against skin, the sound of his breathing harsh in the night.
Then, her thighs were being spread apart and he was inside her in one hard, almost savage thrust. She cried out again, sensitive tissues stretched unbearably, nearly painful and yet . . . not. He withdrew, thrust again, deeper, harder, forcing another cry from her throat.
Through the haze of a pleasure that bordered on agony, Lily opened her eyes, looked up into his face. A wild expression burned in his turquoise eyes. He panted, his powerful chest heaving, sweat sheening his bronze skin.
Yes, this was her sheikh. Without his rigid control. Passionate and elemental at his heart. Just as she was.
She lifted her legs, locked them around his lean waist, pulling him in deep and holding him there.
“Lily.” Her name a growl, low and feral. He moved hard and deep, but she lifted her hips in time with his, taking him as much as he was taking her.
He reached for her bound wrists, holding her down as he buried himself inside her again. She groaned, arching underneath him. His mouth brushed against her jaw, down her neck. Then his mouth met hers and a shudder went through his big, powerful body and he groaned. And then everything began to come apart, the rhythm becoming faster, wilder. Passion burning through all controls, all limits. Burning past all hope of containing it.
In the end, she could not match him, all she could do was put her arms around him, hold him, her anchor point in the deluge of sensation and let him carry her away into helpless ecstasy.
Afterwards, she lay stunned in his arms, her pulse thundering in her ears, her throat constricted, the warm weight of his body pressing down on her, holding her to the earth.
Something had happened to her. Something had changed.
Lily turned her face against one powerful, brown shoulder, trying to get a breath. Trying to work out why she felt so different, altered in some fundamental way.
“Habibti?” A gentle hand under her chin, lifting her head to look at him. Intense blue eyes studying her face with concern. “Did I hurt you?”
It hit her with the force of a wrecking ball straight to the stomach.
You’re in love with him.
She couldn’t breathe. Because that couldn’t be right. How could she fall in love with a man she’d only known for a matter of days? That didn’t make any sense.
The concern in his eyes deepened. “You look upset. I did hurt you. Oh, Habibti, I am sorry.”
Her heart didn’t seem to care about the lack of time. Her heart knew what it wanted. Knew what it felt regardless of what her brain told her. And it wanted the Sheikh of Dahar.
“I’m okay.” Her voice came out cracked and broken. Not the way it should
have done at all.
He pushed a lock of hair off her forehead, a tender gesture. “You do not sound okay.”
There was something quiet and still about him, as if he’d come to some kind of peace within himself.
She stared up at him, the words crowding in her mouth, desperate to be said. But she swallowed them back. Because how could she say them? When all they had between them was a couple of nights of passion and shared secrets. That was all. Hardly enough to base a friendship on, let alone a lifetime partnership.
Isma’il frowned. “Lily?”
Her chest squeezed tight as realization nearly drowned her. This man could hurt her worse than Dan ever could. Dan only hurt her body, bruised her spirit.
But Isma’il could scar her very soul.
Abruptly, she realized that if she didn’t say anything soon, she would be in danger of giving herself away. “Yes,” she forced out. “I’m fine, honestly. I’m just . . . could you untie my hands? I’m kind of losing circulation.”
A low distraction technique, but it worked. His frown deepened, his attention transferring to the scarf around her wrists, long clever fingers moving to undo the knot. Unwinding the blue silk, he released her, rubbing gently at the marks the scarf had left on her skin.
“Thanks,” she murmured, the words dying in her throat as he bent, pressed his mouth to the sensitive underside of her wrists, kissing them. Shivers moved over her skin, her body waking into life again. But her heart felt bruised and aching.
He shifted, letting her hands go, dark brows arrowing down. “We had unprotected sex, Lily.”
Oh. So they had. Perhaps it should have felt more shocking to her, but for some reason she didn’t feel shocked. Only . . .
No. Don’t go there.
“Yes. So we did.”
“You are not worried?”
“Well, I’m not at a particularly fertile time in my cycle. So chances of anything happening are minimal.”
A strange, remote look entered his eyes. “Good. You should know though that if anything were to happen, I would support any decision you wanted to make.”
“Thank you,” she said, glancing away. Not wanting him to see the sudden longing that went through her. Children had never been part of her plans for her life, but it wouldn’t be so bad if they were his. In fact, if they were his . . .
Never Seduce a Sheikh (International Bad Boys Book 2) Page 13
