The Desert King's Secret Heir

by Annie West

  ‘Stop that!’ She made a grab for his forearm underwater but couldn’t shift him. Instead she felt the fine movement of tendons as his fingers flexed and stroked.

  The sensation was too unsettling, as if she contributed to her own weakness, and she ripped her hand away, clutching the side of the tub instead, gasping.

  She made herself stare up into his gleaming eyes. ‘I don’t want this.’ But it wasn’t true. Torn pride demanded she reject him. But the lonely, needy woman who’d once found magic with this man stirred to life.

  ‘If I believed that for a second I’d walk out the door.’ Abruptly the stroking fingers stopped, ending the addictive pressure on that sensitive nub, and to her dismay Arden realised her hips were tilting, lifting up towards his touch, pressing herself against him.

  The tiny movement was utterly telling.

  She stifled a sob of distress, of shame laced with despair. She wanted him again...still. As if those four lonely years had never been.

  Yet instead of gloating over it, Idris said gently, ‘Let me do this for you. You’ve been wound so tight all day I thought you’d break.’

  Arden prised open tight lips, though what she’d have said she never discovered because he touched her again. This time he delved while his thumb circled, and sensation shot through her, making her jump and her breath snatch.

  Instinctively she grabbed for support, one hand on the rim of the bath, the other on a hot, bony shoulder, padded with muscle.

  ‘That’s it,’ he whispered, his voice at the same time soothing and incredibly sensual. ‘Hold on tight.’

  Eyes like the midnight sky held hers. This close she saw soft dark brown against black pupils. If it weren’t for the fierce intensity of that stare she’d call it tender. Tender enough to soothe her lacerated, confused soul.

  Then there was no time for thought as, with one deft stroke, Idris toppled her over the edge. Delight exploded, razing her defences and her self-protecting lies.

  Dark eyes held hers as she rode wave after wave of pleasure till, at the end, she had no place left to hide. And no energy to maintain the fiction that she didn’t want him every bit as much as she had four years ago.

  * * *

  Triumph warred with tenderness as Arden came apart at his touch. He felt each juddering spasm, heard each snatched gasp, her sweet breath was warm on his face, her hand clawing at his shoulder so hard she probably scored his flesh. And through it all those remarkable aquamarine eyes locked with his, drawing him into ecstasy till he feared he might explode, just watching her come.

  It felt as if he’d waited a lifetime to possess her, not a mere couple of weeks. It was a miracle he hadn’t simply stripped off and taken her where she lay in the water.

  Except, even now on their wedding day, Arden didn’t make anything easy. Accusing him of having a lover tonight of all nights! What sort of man did she think he was?

  It infuriated him and slashed at his pride that she’d believe such a thing. He’d done nothing but treat her with courtesy and respect and still she...

  She blinked and to his amazement moisture welled, drowning her lovely eyes. The sight jabbed something sharp and hard through his gut, skewering him. Her mouth twisted as if in anguish and she swung her head away so all he saw were damp wisps of rose gold hair clinging to her pinkened shoulder and throat.

  She regretted this?

  Idris slowly drew his hand back, feeling a final, needy clench of her muscles. Despite the bliss he’d given her, he hadn’t broken down Arden’s resistance. He knew he’d hurt her terribly, that she’d suffered because of his unintentional desertion. But he’d been sure she was ready to start afresh. Sure she wanted him as he craved her.

  Had he really expected this to be so easy?

  Somewhere Fate laughed at him and his foolish ego.

  He looked at her ripe mouth, caught at one corner by white teeth as if even now she fought the bliss he’d bestowed. Her body might be ready for him, but emotionally Arden wasn’t.

  Memory slammed into him, of her bent head and defeated voice as she spoke to his cousin on the phone. She’d said he wasn’t her lover, but clearly there was something between them, or had been, till Idris entered her life again.

  He got to his feet, towering above her. In the sunken bath her milky pale body, flushed here and there with the rose blush of sexual satiation, was too much like the erotic fantasies he endured night after night.

  Breathing quickly, trying to ignore the fragrance of sweet woman, he pivoted away, wrenching his mind from the need to possess her.

  ‘Idris?’ Her voice, husky and soft, tantalised. ‘Where are you going?’

  His shoulders set like granite.

  ‘I won’t force myself on an unwilling woman.’ The knowledge she didn’t want him scalded his pride and something else, something unnamed that hurt far more than he’d believed possible.

  Idris heard the rush of sluicing water and felt warm drops splash the backs of his legs, sticking thin cotton trousers to steamy hot skin.

  ‘Unwilling would be an exaggeration.’ She was breathless. ‘I was so sure I didn’t want this. Now I don’t know what to think.’ The pain in her voice tore at him.

  He closed his eyes, seeking strength. His groin was rock-hard, throbbing with the need, not just for release, but for Arden. He wanted to be inside her, feeling her come again, grabbing him tight with the undulating waves of her next climax. He wanted her complete surrender. He wanted her screaming his name—his name and no one else’s.

  He didn’t think he had the stamina for any more celibate nights with her under his roof.

  Hands clenched, he spun round.

  Everything, his thoughts, his determination, even his pride, melted. Only his body grew impossibly harder at the sight of her, standing up to her thighs in water. Her hair glowed, framing her flushed face. Her beautiful Cupid’s bow lips parted as if eager to taste him. Her eyes shone brighter than any gems in the royal treasury and her body was a symphony of delicate femininity. Between her thighs was that V of rose gold, hiding the gate to Paradise.

  His gaze swept back up, pausing, fascinated by the delicate, shimmery striations just visible on her belly—marks where her satin-soft skin had stretched to carry his child.

  A bolt of lightning struck down, welding his feet to the floor.

  He’d never seen a more desirable woman, never felt such primitive possessiveness.

  ‘Don’t toy with me, Arden.’ His voice was strangled.

  She took a slow breath that lifted her tip-tilted breasts towards him. ‘I’m not.’ She swallowed and he watched the convulsive movement of her throat. ‘I thought I could keep my distance. Keep separate. But I can’t.’ Her mouth crumpled at the edges and his chest squeezed. ‘I was wrong. I want you, still.’

  She didn’t sound happy about it. He recognised the same conflicting emotions he felt—tension, need and something akin to fear at the force of what was between them. From the first he’d felt more with Arden. Every need, every emotion had been more intense, more real.

  Arden held out her arms, slick and shining with water. ‘Take me.’ Her eyes held his and power jolted through him.

  He needed no second urging. In one swift movement he scooped her up, one arm at her back and the other beneath her knees. Her wet, glorious body against his was a form of perfect torture as he marched across the marble floor and into the next room.

  The cover of the vast bed had been pulled back, the sheets scattered with delicate petals.

  There was nothing delicate about Idris’s movements. Four huge strides took him to the bed. An instant later Arden landed on the mattress, her breath expelling in a soft oof of air as he followed her down, pressing against her slick body, revelling in the slide of smooth flesh against his.

  A groan sounded in his ears. His?
Hers? It didn’t matter, for now she was touching him, her hands skidding over his shoulders and down his back, so low they slipped beneath thin cotton to cup his buttocks.

  Instinctively he thrust forward, hard and high, revelling in the slide of flesh against flesh, heat against silken coolness. Her fingers curled tight, grabbing, as her thighs lifted, cradling around him in a damp caress.

  Idris had a momentary impression of sultry, half-lidded eyes, the eyes of a temptress inviting a lover, then Arden’s hands slipped up his back, cupping the back of his neck to pull his head down.

  Their lips fused and this time it was Arden setting the pace, Arden angling her mouth against his, a delectable hum of need vibrating from her throat and filling his mouth. Her tongue seduced his, eager and sensual, and he felt the power of that erotic connection right through him. His erection pressed heavily against her belly, his hips shifting with the unbearable tension.

  Dimly Idris registered his complete loss of command over his body. It was moving of its own volition, incited by this sensual woman to abandon any hope of control or expertise. Instinct and hunger drove him. Already he was fumbling at the drawstring of his trousers, shoving the material down, scrabbling to be free.

  He was just lowering himself back to Arden’s delicious body when ingrained habit halted him.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Her words were the faintest, muffled sound in his mouth.

  ‘Condom.’ He paused, dragging air into tight lungs. Even as he said it he knew he wanted nothing more than to be inside her, no barriers between them. The thought was so arousing he scowled, drawing on every ounce of control not to shatter prematurely.

  Idris wrenched away, lunging for the bedside table. Since they hadn’t had that vital conversation about future pregnancies, he’d taken the precaution of bringing a box of protection. A large box.

  ‘You were so sure of me?’ Her voice held an edge.

  Idris rolled on the condom, gritting his teeth at his sensitivity, then turned to her. Deliberately he slid his knee over hers, dragging it towards him, opening her thighs. His palm settled on her soft belly.

  ‘Sure of us.’ His voice was gruff. Speaking grew harder each second. ‘This is mutual, Arden. You must know that. I’ve been burning for you since I saw you again in London.’

  Veiled eyes held his, as if she sifted the truth of his words. Then he lifted his hand to capture her breast and her breath hissed in.

  She was so soft, so delicate, so perfectly made for him. How could he have gone all these years without finding her again and inviting her into his bed?

  Idris lowered his head to capture her nipple between his teeth, grazing it gently, and she almost catapulted from the bed. He leaned over her, covering her, enjoying the slide of his body against her slick flesh.

  This time he flicked her nipple with his tongue, cupping her satiny breast, overwhelmed by the familiarity of her. Beneath the fruit and flower aromas of Zahrat from the bath, it was the scent of Arden that befuddled his brain. The feel of her—familiar as if they’d shared a bed just days, not years, before, the tiny growl of arousal at the back of her throat that made his erection pulse eagerly against her thigh.

  His hand tightened around her breast, his teeth nipped harder. Delicacy was beyond him. What he felt was too primal, too urgent to be contained.

  Yet she welcomed him, grabbing his shoulders and urging him higher. He caught a flash of aquamarine between slitted eyelids, felt her restless bucking, heard those urgent mews of pleasure and knew she couldn’t wait either.

  Idris shifted to lie within her cradling hips, the bulk of his weight on his arms. His eyes rolled closed when she tilted her pelvis, grinding herself against him.

  Then there was nothing but instinct and pleasure, pure pleasure, as he nudged her entrance and thrust home with one sure stroke.

  She cried out, a husky sound of welcome that he tasted as he took her lips, possessing her mouth in mimicry of the way he took her body.

  Arden wrapped her arms behind his back, pulling him in. He slid further still when she lifted her legs and locked them around his buttocks.

  The feel of her surrounding him everywhere was too much. He withdrew a fraction then surged high and hard and the ripples of pleasure began.

  Fire caught his throat and chest, flames flickered in his blood at the tightness, the slick heat, the absolute perfection of her taking him in.

  Another thrust and the ripples became shudders racking them both, making them jerk and shake together, turning fire into an explosion of white-hot ecstasy. Idris swallowed her shout of elation as he pulsed within her then disintegrated into tiny splinters of being. His world shattered in the exquisite pleasure-pain of sensation stronger than anything he could remember.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ARDEN WAS OUT for the count, limp with satiation, yet Idris couldn’t keep his hands off her. She’d slept at least an hour and he was only human. He’d already fumbled on the bedside table for another condom and sheathed himself, yet still she hadn’t stirred.

  Idris ran his palm over the sinuous curve from her shoulder down her ribcage to her narrow waist then up to her hip. Lying on her side, that intoxicating female outline was even more pronounced.

  His hand drifted from her hip to her belly, feathering the soft down between her legs, and she sighed in her sleep, shifting and stretching. He smiled, closing the gap between them. Immediately he felt her buttocks press back, cushioning his erection.

  His breath stalled. His heart pounded so hard she must feel it hammering against her back.

  ‘Shakil?’ Her voice was a drowsy mumble that made him smile, though he registered chagrin that she’d used his boyish nickname.

  Even half-awake she knew it was him. He’d hated the thought of the other men who’d no doubt been in her life. It was unreasonable, but he wanted to be the only man she’d ever had.

  He remembered his soaring elation, the unexpected humility of learning he was her first lover. That had to explain this deeply proprietorial response he hadn’t been able to conquer since London.

  That and the fact she’s your wife.

  Your life has changed for ever.

  Yet the dread voice of reason couldn’t dim the sheer excitement of having her in his bed.

  His.

  Idris slid his fingers down, following that downy arrow to her sensitive nub. Her breath caught on a sigh and her pelvis tilted into his touch. She might be barely awake but she wanted him. He pressed his mouth to her neck, tasting the rich sweetness that was hers alone. Then her earlobe, scraping it gently with his teeth, and she shivered delicately, her back bowing again, arching that lush bottom into his groin.

  But it wasn’t enough. ‘Tell me what you want.’ He needed to hear it again.

  ‘You. I want you.’ Her voice was husky with desire and it aroused him as much as her sexy body. More. Her admission was potently exciting, even though he’d observed, as long ago as London, the attraction she tried to deny.

  She wriggled, pressing herself against his groin, creating a firestorm of wanting.

  In one swift movement he rose to his knees, grabbing her hips and lifting her so she knelt on the bed before him, his hands planted hard on her hips, caging her to him. Idris waited, breath bated, partly to give himself time to regain some control and partly to see Arden’s reaction.

  She bunched the sheet in her outstretched hands and shimmied her hips back and up into his pelvis.

  Idris swallowed a groan of pain. It was exquisite torture, bliss and unbearable longing, kneeling here, with her so inviting before him. Impossible not to look down, to see her peach of a backside pushing at his erection.

  Once again the firestorm hit—a blast of longing, of desperate arousal stronger than anything he could recall.

  Had it always been like this? He’d thought
his memories of their affair were coloured by the crises that followed, turning it into a glorious, perfect interlude because of the grimness immediately afterwards. He’d thought he’d imagined the perfection of their passion and that sense of being in the one place in the world he needed to be. But as he guided himself inside her, one hand welded to her hip, his rapt gaze on the erotic sight of their joining, he knew memory hadn’t exaggerated.

  Arden gave another shimmy of her hips so he lodged deeper in her welcoming warmth, and Idris knew once more the panicked delight of impending climax.

  Where was his patience? His sensual prowess? His ability to savour sex and please his partner?

  Gone the second Arden welcomed him into her body.

  Desperately he bowed over her, one hand seeking her pouting breast, cupping it and rolling her nipple between thumb and forefinger so she jerked against him, her breath a hiss of air. His other hand arrowed down between her thighs, straight to her moist centre, pressing down on that sensitive nub as he withdrew then hammered home again, right to her core.

  Her hands on the sheets were white-knuckled, her movements as she pushed back rough and urgent. He clamped his hand harder around her breast and she gasped, rolling her head back. Instantly he was there, leaning in, biting her earlobe, in time with the thrust of his body and the hard circling of his fingers.

  ‘Yes!’ Her triumphant shout filled the night. ‘Yes, yes, yes. Shakil!’ She grabbed his hand on her breast, pressing it to her as her body began to quiver around him. The quivers became shudders, caressing him, milking him with a sweet ferocity he couldn’t resist.

  With a groan of rapture he grabbed her hips and spilled himself, hard and fast into her slickness.

  His last thought before he collapsed on her and rolled them both onto their sides, still joined, was that next time, surely, he’d be able to take it slow.

  * * *

  Arden squinted against the light. Surely it wasn’t time to get up. Had they managed to sleep at all?

  Heat bit her skin from her scalp to her toes and everywhere in between as she remembered the urgency with which they’d made love. With such desperation it made her think of stories she’d heard about people who’d survived some terrible life or death event and were driven by instinct to procreate.