Innocent's Desert Wedding Contract

by Heidi Rice

  It was more demand than question, but he waited—the anticipation building like a volcano—as her wide eyes filled with desire.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  It was all the answer he needed as his mouth swooped down to claim hers, and his hands fisted in the misty garment.

  He ripped it off her body, the sound of rending fabric joined by the shattered pants of their breathing.

  He cradled her breasts, rejoiced in the heavy weight. He rubbed his thumbs across the rigid nipples, the hunger pounding through his veins as he felt them pebble and swell under his touch. He shook violently, determined to savour rather than devour the fragrant flesh he had waited so long to own. He thrust his tongue into her mouth—in deep, demanding strokes—as he cupped her sex at last, trailed his finger through the wet curls and found the proud nub of her clitoris.

  She jolted, panting in broken sobs, as her body danced to his touch. Her back bowed, instinctively offering him her breasts.

  He worked the spot as he captured one rigid peak then the other and suckled, forcing her to orgasm.

  She shuddered and moaned as she crested. And finally collapsed into his arms.

  He pushed her down onto the bed.

  He couldn’t wait a moment longer. The need so fierce, so brutal now he was scared it might rip him apart.

  Holding her thighs, he angled her hips and pressed his shaft at her entrance, then thrust deep.

  She flinched, as he tore through the slight resistance and plunged into the all-encompassing heat.

  Is she…?

  The horrifying question formed… But as the wave began to overwhelm him, he let it go, too dazed, too desperate to engage with anything but the feel of her—so hot, so devastating, welcoming him in.

  He buried himself to the hilt, moving out and then rocking back, giving her the full measure of him, feeling her milk him as she reached another climax. The battle to hold on, to hold back, became impossible, as the swell of pleasure clawed at the base of his spine.

  He flung his head back, shouted out his pain, and poured himself into her—as he surrendered to the exquisite pain. And let himself fall.

  Am I dreaming? It feels like a dream. A brutally hot, wild, frantic dream.

  As Orla floated down through the blissful cloud of afterglow, the dream turned into something too earthy, too intense, too sore to be anything but real.

  The weight of Karim’s body pressed her into the linen sheets, his heavy length still stretching her tender flesh. The salty musk of sex and sweat surrounded her. She could still taste the frenzied desperation of his kisses, feel his lips on her nipples, his touch, so sure and perfect, driving her to one titanic orgasm, then another.

  The sound of his rough breathing, and the thundering beat of her heart, were deafening. They lay like that for seconds, maybe even minutes, as she tried to hold back the storm of emotion threatening to engulf her.

  She’d seen the desperation in his face, heard the need in his voice, felt the exquisite stab of pleasure combine with the deep well of something she knew she had no right to feel.

  The fierce longing contracted around her ribs and she struggled to draw a steady breath. What did this mean? Were they really married now?

  Don’t be an eejit.

  The promises they’d made to each other tonight had all been false. Nothing had changed, not really.

  This was just the sex talking. Raw, epic, far too intimate, long-overdue sex, but still just sex.

  Karim had been her first. And she’d been fascinated with him for a while now. But sex didn’t mean intimacy. Or even affection.

  A warm desert breeze played over her skin. She shuddered, aware of her nakedness, and his. He’d torn off the negligee, suckled her breasts, worked her clitoris with a focus and purpose that had shattered her in seconds. The echoes of sensation still caressed her skin. She’d had no time to deal with the emotional impact, but it started to besiege her now.

  ‘Karim?’ she whispered into the darkness. He didn’t reply.

  She slid her palms down his back and realised his rough breathing had fallen into a deeper rhythm.

  Was he…? Was he asleep?

  She blinked rapidly, aware of the dark silky waves of his hair tickling her nose, and the ridge of his collarbone digging into her shoulder.

  She shifted, managing to get her hands underneath his shoulder blade, and gave him a gentle shove.

  He rolled off her onto his back. She gathered the thin sheet up to cover her nakedness, aware of the sticky residue between her thighs and the memory of him plunging into her so hard, so fast, so furiously. He was a large man, in every respect, but it had only hurt for a moment. Even so she had seen the stunned question in his eyes, and regretted the lie she’d told him about her experience.

  She glanced across at him. His usually harsh features looked relaxed and almost boyish in sleep, the smudges under his eyes shadowed by the long eyelashes resting against his cheeks.

  Why had he come to her? Had it been an accident? Had her attendants put her in his rooms by mistake? It had to be so, he had looked as shocked as her, when she’d woken—dazed and disorientated—to find him standing at the end of the bed, so powerful and compelling and irresistible. Everything she’d imagined and a lot she hadn’t.

  It had all happened so fast, and yet the memories now spun through her mind on a loop. The dance of his tongue, branding her, owning her. The touch of his fingers, finding the heart of her pleasure and exploiting it ruthlessly. The fierce frown on his face as he plunged inside her and made her his.

  Except she wasn’t his. He was sending her home in a few days. And the only reason this had happened was because the palace staff seemed to have their own agenda, which had nothing to do with what Karim wanted.

  She let out a guttered breath, tried to keep a firm grip on the sinking sadness in her heart.

  She shouldn’t stay in his bed, shouldn’t encourage any more intimacy between them. This was about self-preservation now, because she was very much afraid she was falling in love with this taciturn, intense, unattainable man, who also happened to be her husband.

  And all that would lead to was devastation.

  But as she scooted to the edge of the bed, she heard movement behind her and then a muscular arm banded around her waist and drew her back into the cradle of his big body. She found herself anchored to him, his hot chest pressing against her back, his thighs cradling hers.

  He buried his face in her hair, his arm tightening as he held her close—possessive, protective, unyielding.

  ‘Don’t…’ The gruff words were groggy with exhaustion but no less demanding. ‘I need you… Tonight.’

  Just like that her heart tumbled into the abyss. And the tears of misery she had shed earlier turned to tears of tenderness as his breathing descended again into the rhythm of exhausted sleep.

  After what felt like for ever, the emotion clogging her throat finally cleared enough that all she could hear was the strong steady beat of his heart at her back—safe, secure, all-consuming—beckoning her into oblivion too.

  ‘No… No… Don’t.’

  Orla woke with a start, to see dawn lightening the sky outside the bed chamber. The gruff shouts—so full of pain—were echoing in her ear.

  Karim.

  The events of the night came flooding back, as she became aware of the soreness in her sex, the reddened skin where he had touched and suckled her. And his arm still wrapped around her midriff.

  ‘No… Don’t… Don’t hurt her.’

  She shifted round, breaking his hold. He was still asleep, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his face a mask of pain, his body rigid with the effort to fight off the dream.

  The tenderness that had felled her the night before returned. Bringing with it the deep need to save him from whatever terror was chasing him.

  ‘
Karim, it’s okay…’ She cupped his cheeks. The stubble abraded her palms as he shook his head, attempting to chase away the pain. ‘Wake up, Karim,’ she whispered fiercely, desperate to free him from the nightmare.

  ‘No…’ He gasped, and a tear leaked from his tightly closed eyes. ‘Don’t. She’s crying… You’re hurting her.’ His voice was raw, deep, but beneath the man’s anguish she could hear a child’s fear.

  This was more than a nightmare. What had happened to him? Who was he trying to protect? Was this why he had needed her so badly the night before, to keep him safe from this?

  ‘Karim, I’m here, you’re safe, she’s safe, it’s okay…’ She raised her voice, clung onto his cheeks as his hands curled into fists and she watched him fight to escape the dream.

  ‘No… No…’ He tossed his head, the struggle so real and painful, tears rolled down Orla’s cheeks too. ‘I can’t…’

  ‘Yes… You can. It’s okay, you can wake up now. Karim?’

  His eyelids jerked open, the jagged breaths as he fought to wake making his chest lift and fall in tortured gasps. The shattered depths of his eyes were so full of anguish as he wrenched himself back to the present, a sob caught in her throat. He couldn’t see her, not at first. All he could see was the painful memory.

  ‘Karim, it’s okay, it’s me, Orla. I’m here.’ She stroked his cheek, to soothe the hard muscles bunched there. The straining sinews in his neck softened and she saw the moment when he registered where he was, and who he was with, the terror in his gaze becoming shuttered, wary, guarded.

  He clasped her wrist, to draw her hand away from his face, then ran his thumb under her eye to capture the last of her tears.

  ‘Why are you crying?’ he said, the roughened whisper raw with confusion.

  ‘You… You had a nightmare,’ she said, her throat still thick with emotion.

  He blinked, and the last of the vulnerability disappeared. To be replaced by something that looked like horror.

  He rolled away from her, covered his eyes with his forearm, then swore.

  She laid a hand on his chest, felt the harsh tattoo of his galloping heartbeat, the spasms of his breathing still too fast and frantic.

  He covered her hand with one of his, the connection arching between them. He still needed her, and she wanted to help. To be here for him.

  ‘Karim, what…what was it about? The nightmare? Do you know?’

  He shook his head, his eyes still covered, but he didn’t look at her and she sensed it wasn’t that he didn’t know, but that he didn’t want to know.

  ‘You were begging someone not to hurt someone else, a woman, I think,’ she managed, knowing she was stepping over that invisible line, again, that barrier that he had erected so deliberately the day before with his note, but refusing to let that stop her. This marriage was more than just a convenience, much more.

  She’d left her father to his pain, too scared and insecure to intervene when he’d shut her out repeatedly, and it had been the wrong thing to do. Karim had asked for her help last night and she wanted to give it to him.

  ‘Perhaps if you talked about it?’ she began.

  ‘There is nothing to talk about,’ he said, his voice strained. ‘I told you, I don’t know what the damn nightmares are about.’ She could hear the lie in his voice, just as she had with her father, when he had refused to confront the pain.

  But was he lying to her, or to himself?

  ‘Was it…? Was it your mother?’ she asked.

  His hand gripped hers as he lifted his arm and swung his head round to stare at her—and she could see the horrifying truth in his expression. The truth Ameera had alluded to, the reason why he had struggled so much when returning to Zafar, and why he had talked with such contempt about his father weeks ago, on the day of the ball.

  ‘Did he hurt her?’ she asked. ‘More than just emotionally?’

  His eyes narrowed and he let go of the hand resting on his chest. ‘I don’t wish to talk about it.’

  He whipped the sheet off to climb out of the bed. Heat hit her cheeks at the sight of his naked buttocks, and the evidence, when he turned towards her, that he was fully aroused. The heat gathered in her sex, fast and furious and unbidden as her gaze rose from the hard evidence of his arousal to find him watching her—the answering heat in his eyes as vivid as it was compelling.

  ‘You should go…’ he said at last. ‘You weren’t supposed to be here,’ he added, confirming what she’d already guessed, the harsh truth like a blow.

  ‘I know,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘Then you need to leave now… Unless you want a repeat of last night?’

  It was a taunt, plain and simple, a dare, a demand she accept what had happened last night had never been about more than the all-consuming hunger that had blindsided them both. That she had no right to any more of him than he was willing to give her. And she had no doubt at all he expected her to be shocked, disgusted—provoked into letting him scare her away, reduce what they had shared to nothing more than desire.

  But it didn’t work, because she could still hear the pain in his voice, that strange echo of self-loathing. And she knew what had happened last night hadn’t just been about sex, it had been so much more than that, and now she knew why he had tried so hard to diminish and disguise and control what had been happening between them ever since their first night together…

  He was scared of this attraction, as much as she was. And she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, however hard it was to confront him, and however vulnerable it made her, one of them had to stop being a coward and admit what was really happening here.

  So instead of denying the passion, she took the initiative he had gifted to her last night, let the emotion as well as the desire spur her on and reached for him.

  She stroked a finger down the strident erection, rejoicing in the sense of power and connection when it jerked against her touch. And forced herself to say the words she had been denied during their wedding last night.

  ‘I do… Want you.’

  And so much more.

  ‘Don’t…’ Karim grasped Orla’s wrist, shocked not just by the fierce passion but also by the brutal tenderness, the unflinching compassion, the unguarded honesty in her gaze—and how much it made him feel.

  She knew about what he’d witnessed. How did she know? When until a few seconds ago he hadn’t even known himself?

  The meaning of the nightmares had eluded him—each night, though, they had become more real, more vivid… The pitiful sight of a woman’s body curled into a protective ball, the hollow thud of a man’s fists, the terrifying mix of shame and fear and impotent childish rage as he pressed his hands over his ears and cried and begged to make it stop.

  But he had been unable to make sense of it, until now. Until Orla.

  And now he knew the truth, he was terrified it would break him. The way it had when he was a boy.

  ‘Don’t say that unless you mean it,’ he managed, his voice raw with need. He would give her the choice. Let her see that he could never give her more than this.

  ‘I do…mean it,’ she murmured.

  Fire burned through his gut, obliterating the pain and the fear that he had carried with him since childhood. That he would never be whole, never be enough.

  He climbed back on the bed, held her wrists above her head, manacling them with one hand. She was at his mercy, her body flushed, waiting, her ripe breasts thrust out, quivering with her need.

  Her hair flowed around her on the white linen sheets, the delicate scent of wild flowers and arousal torturing him.

  But her gaze—honest, open, unflinching—watched him without an ounce of fear. How could she look so bold, so unafraid, when he was the one in control? And why did he feel so frantic, so desperate, again…?

  Once should have been enough to destroy this hunger, but the need was
flowing through him like molten lava—demanding he take her again, to escape the pain.

  He covered one thrusting breast with his lips, sucking the plump nipple into his mouth, until it swelled and hardened and she shuddered with need. The artless, unashamed response only fired his hunger, his desperation.

  He let go of her wrists, let her bury her fingers in his hair as he skimmed his palms down her body, his lips feasting on her and devastating him as she bucked and moaned, unable to hold back. Unable to deny him anything.

  He licked at her sex, found the tight nub of her clitoris, feasted on the sweet sultry moans of her surrender until she flew apart in his arms.

  He rose above her, the need holding him prisoner. Her gaze—still bold, still unashamed, but soft with a tenderness that terrified him—locked on his. He angled her hips and plunged, burying the massive erection in the tight clasp of her body. He rode the storm, letting it rage around them, cocooning them both in the painful pleasure, the desperate need, and worked the spot he knew would make her fall.

  She clasped his shoulders and clung on, her gaze not wavering, not faltering, letting him take his fill—so brave, so beautiful… So his.

  Somehow, he held on until the last moment, until she tightened around him.

  He yanked himself free with the last of his strength, just in time, to spill himself on the sheets.

  Afterglow rushed through his body, but right behind it was the terrible realisation that he’d given Orla something he’d never given any other woman… A glimpse of the vulnerable child who lurked inside him—and would never deserve to be saved.

  Orla held Karim, hugging him, feeling his fear and absorbing it alongside her own. She didn’t know what had just happened between them, but it felt so real and significant it hurt to breathe.

  She threaded her fingers through his hair, swept it back from his forehead. ‘Karim? Are you okay?’

  He lifted off her, but his eyes when they met hers were guarded and unyielding. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Thanks,’ he added, the curt acknowledgement a deliberate blow.