by Donna Alam
His hips roll against me, retreating slightly then filling me again. Withdrawing slowly, then his grip tightens in my hair. He holds me there for a moment, trembling around the tip of him even as my neck begins to ache. Once more, he drives inside and deep, punishing thrusts match the abuse at the base of my skull.
I moan loudly, delirious, the sensations heightening with each collision of skin.
‘Beg, kitten. Beg me for more,’ he grates out as he pounds into me.
The line between pleasure and pain blurs immediately. There are no shades or tones, no nuances, hints or degrees. My perception is sharpened by the grip of his hand, and I’m ready to come on this knife edge of need.
I beg, plead and implore with all that I have. This man possess my body and invades my soul. I come explosively, the little death releasing life and euphoria into me. And all the while Kai holds my hair, whispers in my ear that I should thank him, that nice girls are grateful. That good girls do as they are told, and finally, as his own climax approaches, that I fuck beautifully.
Unravelling my hair, Kai gathers me to his chest before turning me, pulling me against his chest. My breathing begins to regulate slowly, and as I raise my eyes, he smiles: Arrogance is at home there. I’m not sure whether I want to slap or kiss it from his face.
‘You’re a woman of many virtues, but patience isn’t one of them,’ he says smugly, then probably reading my expression—which no doubt suggests that a poke in the ribs is immanent—he reaches for my hands. Raising them to his mouth, he kisses each in turn, before tipping his head and stepping directly under the stream of water.
‘I didn’t hear you complain,’ I murmur as he releases my hands.
Eyes closed, the water cascades across his face, his hands running across his body and between his legs.
What was I going to do again? Say?
Stepping from the shower he shakes his head, dislodging beads of water around the room like a large, wet dog.
‘You probably didn’t hear me over the noises you were making.’ Unfolding a towel, he wraps his waist in the white cotton down, walking from the room with a backwards smirk.
Funny, I remember now. Pity his ribs aren’t within reach.
As I enter the room, I’m still towelling my hair when the view from the window stops me in my tracks. The sun blazes bronze as it descends behind the dunes. I’d thought the desert beautiful earlier, but the sunset washes it breathtaking in this rose-gold hue.
‘It’s incredible.’
‘Wait until later. The sky will be filled with so many stars you wouldn’t believe there’d be room. We’ll eat out there, I think.’ Wrapping his arms around my waist, he stoops to rest his chin on my shoulder. ‘On the terrace, under the stars.’
‘Like a picnic?’ I ask, turning to face him.
‘With a butler service. Best hurry up and put some clothes on, dinner won’t be long.’
‘A butler wearing pyjamas?’ I’ll be seriously underdressed.
‘The butler won’t be wearing pyjamas. And I suppose you could of if I’d brought you some.’ His reply is insouciant, but he pauses then, smile faltering, hesitant for a moment. ‘I brought clothes for this evening. Clothes I’d like you to wear.’ His eyes glide like silk to the bed.
The shadows in the room have lengthened along with the dusk as I follow his gaze to the designer wardrobe laid out on the bed. My hand traces the distinctive, red signature on a beige rectangular box.
‘Straight to the shoes, habibti?’
‘I like shoes.’
I glance at him over my shoulder before turning my attention back. Louboutin’s, fawn-coloured platform pumps with a serious spiked heel. It’s just as well we’re eating here as I doubt I’d be able to get far in these with any semblance of grace. But more striking than the heel, more striking than the siren-red soles, are the dozens of sharp, diamond-like barbs that decorate each shoe.
‘But do you like those shoes?’ Kai questions from the shadows.
‘They’re pretty fierce.’
I turn one over in my hand; I’ve never seen shoes so . . . violently sexy. I can’t resist running my fingers across the points.
Next to the shoe box lies a silk jersey dress. Vanilla in colour, it’s gathered and clasped at the shoulders and cinched at the waist by a plaited belt. I lift an accompanying gift bag, labelled Agent Provocateur, as Kai tells me he’ll leave me to dress. Pausing in the shadow of the doorway, he adds a quiet, ‘Thank you.’
Pinning up my damp hair, I slip into my newly acquired lingerie. The sheer pale cream sliding against my skin, its tone almost matching my own. Black embroidery stands stark like beautiful graffiti drawn against my body. Twisting my head over my shoulder, I view how low the knickers sit across my bum and hips, ending in crisscrossing ribbons. The bra almost isn’t worth wearing, cut as low as it is, my nipples threatening to peep from the cups. But the underwear is so delicate, despite the bondage-like ribbon, and at complete odds with the fierce shoes. I slip the dress over my head, catching a glimpse of my reflection, and decide I definitely do like designer gifts. Even ones that make me look like a hot slave girl.
On the bed, under the dress, lies a pair of, what seem like fingerless gloves. No, long cuffs, or maybe more like gauntlets, I suppose? Though after this afternoon, that seems like too masculine a title. Gauntlets are for falcons or medieval knights, and these gauntlets are decidedly feminine. As I pull them on, cream leather cut to resemble fine lace covers me from wrist to forearm. They’re almost evocative of Edwardian lady’s gloves, not that they’re at all genteel. There’s something distinctly sexual about these almost-gloves. Maybe it’s the leather, fitting snugly against my skin. Or possibly the smell.
I suppress a shiver and turn my arms and examine the pale corset-style fastening of ribbon.
‘Exquisite.’ Kai clasps my forearm in one hand, his fingers stroking the ribbon, a ghost of a smile touching his lips in the soft light.
And he looks pretty exquisite himself, not that I can find the words to tell him so as he begins tightening the ribbons, each tug somehow wired to between my legs. Dark, slim fitting pants coat his thighs deliciously, and he’s even wearing a tie; skinny and fastened rakishly loose around his dark collar. I can’t wait to loosen it some more.
‘You look . . .’ I search my vacuous mind for the appropriate compliment. What are the words? Studly? Hot? Take me, take me now? ‘Awesome,’ I finish. Great. I sound like a complete deadhead. Where does my vocabulary disappear to when he’s around? I could probably manage to add dude for good measure, but I’m sure that’s not going to cut it tonight.
Ignoring my lack of eloquence, Kai takes my hand in his, pirouetting me across the floor. My dress billows out around my thighs, his eyes and mouth laughing along with me. The fact that I’m almost dancing is testament to how eager I am to have his hands on me. I feel all kinds of giddy as I come to a stop, his hands clasping my waist as I exhale a whispery breath.
‘But there’s something missing,’ he whispers solemnly. I glance down at my clothing, not sure what he means as he moves behind me. ‘Close your eyes.’
Anticipation swirls through me, the weight of his cologne amplifying my eagerness. As I close my eye, images of silks and blindfolds swirl behind my lids, causing me to shiver. I almost don’t notice as something weighty falls between my breasts.
‘Lay a woman captive in wreaths of gold.’ His voice is low, his mouth a whisper from my ear. ‘Drape her in stones.’ His fingers trails the valley between my breasts and, on instinct, I hold my breath. ‘For this woman has known possession . . . Open your eyes, habibti.’
‘Oh, Kai, it’s beautiful,’ I whisper, the chain held out between my fingers.
‘It’s not quite stones.’ His arms tighten around my waist, his voice brimming with mischief.
‘Diamonds are stones,’ I answer, quietly. I frown, holding the pendant out to better see. Hanging from a silver coloured chain is a delicate trio of glittering diamonds, each inter
spersed with a silver-grey pearl of an equal size. ‘‘Did you just give . . . me a . . . pearl necklace?’
I try to deepen my frown unsuccessfully, realising where his amusements stems—the conversation we’d had in his car outside the school, the day he’d invited me to the gallery. I’d asked him what a thirteenth-century evening with me would be worth, relating it to the story of Layla and Kais. Somehow I’d ended up offering him . . . this . . . the thing lying between my breasts. Only the stickier version.
Because I’m classy like that.
‘One on account,’ he adds, releasing me. ‘And you look beautiful, Kate.’
I can’t look at him, the sincerity in his tone twisting his words in my chest. Instead, I straighten my belt, while staring at my new shoes. ‘I look like a Grecian slave girl. One of her master’s favourites.’
I sense him still for a moment before a small, appreciative laugh bubbles from his chest.
‘What?’ I ask, looking up.
With a small, rueful laugh, his eyes travel from my shoes to my face in obvious appreciation. ‘How is it you always know what to say to make me instantly hard?’
I shrug one, fake-unaffected shoulder. ‘Secret talent. Can’t tell.’
Yet inside, I feel like I’ve been lit from within.
Chapter Twenty-One
We dine on the terrace in the cool air of the desert evening. Lights around the pool highlighting the planes of Kai’s face as he stares up at the night sky. The sky is pitch, but he was right, it’s jewelled, by a million stars glimmering in the heavens like some celestial light show.
‘Madam?’
The butler breaks our contemplative silence, a bottle of champagne in his hands. Ruinart. I vaguely remember mentioning to Kai that I like this brand. This bottle is a vintage, though, 2002. Not that I would know the difference. In fact, I’ve only had this champagne once and mentioned it only in passing. Better this than mentioning my wine-in-a-box. It’s not only my tastebuds that are appreciative of his care and attention, I’m touched that he remembered it at all.
‘Please.’ I reposition my glass.
The remains of dinner are cleared from the table; several delicious courses of Omani lobster, monkfish and salads. Sipping the cool bubbles, I return to my meditative quiet as the butler reappears with a plate of cheeses. European and local selections displayed artistically alongside some strange looking pickles, olives, and an arrangement of fruit complete the culinary work of art.
‘It’s so quiet here,’ I remark as the butler silently retreats.
‘I love the desert. It clears the mind. It’s almost cathartic. Do you know some sand dunes sing in the wind?’
Unintentionally, I pull a sceptical face.
‘W’allah,’ he replies, his expression warm. ‘I swear.’
‘It is very beautiful. I’ve had a wonderful time.’
‘It’s not over yet,’ he replies, his face taking on a serious edge. ‘I hope.’
My stomach does a small, eager flip as his tone triggers a sudden memory, an almost tangible thing—Kai lying between my thighs, staring up at me through his dark, dark lashes. Where the hell did that come from? There’s barely a breath of desert wind in the air, but gooseflesh dapples my skin as I wonder what’s to come.
And yes, I hope it’s me.
‘Was . . . was there a purpose to tonight, I mean the clothes and everything?’ I ask, distracting us from our individual thoughts. I expect his are more sensible than mine.
Yet we are dressed dramatically for an evening of room service, sort of. And, yes, aesthetics are his thing and I like . . . pleasing his thing. Like pleasing him, dressing up for him. Even if it’s a bit theatrical sometimes. But still, this evening feels different. In fact, the whole day has been different: the visit to his mum and how he’s opened up to me. He’s certainly a planner—nothing is ever random with this man—and I can’t help but think he’s put an awful lot of effort into this evening for it to end up with a regular tumble in bed. Not that this is an accurate description of sex with Kai in the least.
‘You don’t like dressing up—’ For him, he means. ‘—for me?’ Like I said. ‘As for a purpose, I’m always full of intentions where you’re concerned.’ He glances at the glass in his hand, turning the delicate stem. ‘I just seem to have trouble putting it all into words around you.’
‘What?’ I ask softly, intrigued by his sudden change in demeanour.
‘Out loud, I can’t explain how you make me feel. How you’ve filled my life, when I didn’t even realise it was empty.’
‘I can relate to that.’
‘Can you? How exactly do you . . .’ his voice trails off as he runs his finger around the glass rim.
‘Feel?’ I finish. ‘Like I never have before.’
‘Not even with Shane?’ As his cautious gaze lifts to mine, I laugh. Without humour.
‘This is so not the same. And that’s so bloody scary.’ I’m unable to hold his gaze. I take a mouthful from my own glass.
‘You’re scared of being with me?’
‘No,’ I reply softly. ‘I was with Shane for a long time and I’ve only known you five minutes and I feel like . . . this.’ One hand rises and falls without any real significance. ‘I think . . . that is, I’m afraid of losing myself in you.’
He smiles briefly, rubbing a hand across his chin before his face falls into a more serious line. ‘I can relate. I’ve never felt like this before. Never needed to be inside someone as much as I do you . . . physically, metaphysically. I can’t get enough. You . . .’
I feel rather than see him shake his head.
‘What?’ My voice is small despite equal measures of thrill and panic twisting my insides. I’m desperate to hear his words, hear him speak, long to tell him how I really feel.
‘This,’ he says, reaching out to the pendant between my breasts. The gravity of our conversation tells me he isn’t about to make a joke. He stares down at the row of pearls lying against his finger, almost as though he’s weighing their worth as well as his words. ‘When I put this around your neck,’ he murmurs eventually, ‘I said you’d known possession.’ His eyes rise slowly to mine. ‘But it’s the other way around. Kate, it’s you who have possessed me.’
‘Me?’
Eyes closed briefly, he nods just once. ‘Yes. Absolutely. Not so scary, see?’ His eyes open to their brilliant liquor-lustre, making me feel lightheaded. Love drunk. ‘Sweetheart, your turn.’
What? Bullshit that’s not scary!
A pulse hammers in my neck, the result of having my heart in my throat. I close my own eyes, trying to assemble my thoughts behind them, but all I can think is, I possess him like he possesses me. Duet not duel. He wants me and I want him. And it’s like these thoughts fill my head, leaving space for nothing else as my mouth does what it does best. It opens and spills words.
‘When you’re around, I tremble, like some heroine standing on the top of the battlements. You’re like my invader, come to do as you please. Take what you please. But I’m not scared, not while I’m in your arms, even though you shake my foundations, shake me, so all the things I believe are upside down. Because I crave it, yearn for you to make me do the things that please you. Because those things, somehow, please me, too.’
I clamp my lips closed, halting what must sound like a stupid stream of consciousness. Well, I almost stop. ‘Conquered. That’s how I feel as you push me further, further than I’d ever venture to think, and before I know it, I’m ready to jump. Just freefall. Free of me, free of all the things I think I should be. I just am. I’m just . . . me.’
The relief I feel is absolute as he smiles shyly at me—shyly!—the warmth of his smile making me all kinds of giddy.
‘Falling from the battlements, freefalling, floating . . . in the metaphoric moat?’ His voice hints at the salacious as he watches me, probably trying to gauge my reaction, or what other sort of idiocy I have in me.
‘If you’re asking me if you make me wet, the answer
is yes.’ I lower my gaze and add, ‘With you, I’m . . . ’
‘Yes?’ An upward inflection, a request to go on.
‘Consumed.’
I’m surprised by his sudden reserve as his gaze slides away this time. I totally gave him an in to another suggestive comment, but he doesn’t take it and in a flash of instinct, I opt for honesty. I can’t say it’s an actual conscious decision, as I don’t leave time for thought. I just jump in, my breath catching slightly as I begin to speak.
‘I can never get enough of you—’
‘I understand.’ His interruption is quiet but emphatic, his gaze now fixed on the night sky.
‘Because, Kai,’—his head turns slowly as I continue to speak— ‘I’m pretty sure I love you.’
He cuts off my soliloquy with his mouth, pushing his chair back and tearing mine out from under the table by its arm. Sinking to his knees, he kisses me like I’ve never been kissed, like he’d steal my soul from my mouth if he could. Drawing me to his chest, he presses his mouth against my ear.
‘I love you, Kate. You have my heart, my body, and my soul.’
Tears strain at my lids as I place my hand against his face. ‘Took you long enough, you idiot.’
His expression isn’t as I’d anticipated—I’d expected a smile, a laugh even. Serious still, he lays one hand on my shoulder, his gaze travelling my face.
‘But how I live, it’s so fucked up. Sofia, my father—they’re just the tip of the iceberg. You don’t deserve—’
I lay a finger across his mouth, halting his words. ‘But you’ll take care for me.’
Kissing it, he places my hand back against my knee before tilting my chin. ‘Then you’ll trust me, trust me to do so?’ I nod and his voice takes on a curious sort of edge. ‘And you’ll trust me to take care of you? You won’t hide who you are from yourself? From me?’ My stomach twists because I know exactly what he means. ‘Look at me.’ His fingers still hold me as my reluctance to face this claws at my chest. ‘Have faith in me, Kate. In all ways. Tell me you trust.’
‘I do.’ My voice sounds small and I don’t like it. Why is this so difficult to say? I take a deep breath and level my gaze on his. ‘I love you, Kai, and I’ll want you to take care of me that way.’ Then I frown. ‘Sometimes.’
