by Olivia Gates
She felt Fareed all over, his scent clinging to her lungs, caressing her senses. And it wasn’t because this was his domain. She’d feel him across the world. And she would, for the rest of her life.
And now, it was over. There was no more reason to stay here. She’d take her tiny family and leave Jizaan in the morning.
And he’d never know how she really felt. But that mattered nothing. What mattered was that he never knew who she really was.…
“Do you know what you are?”
Fareed’s hypnotic tones hit her with the force of a quake.
She jerked around, her gaze slamming to the top of the stairs, the side leading to his quarters.
He wasn’t there. Had she imagined hearing him? Were her dread and guilt playing tricks on her?
Then his voice hit her again. “What I thought when I first saw you? A magical being from another realm.”
She almost sagged. He was here. And he hadn’t meant what she’d feared.
“And do you have any idea about the extent of my craving for you? How long it has gone unfulfilled? How much it has cost me to suppress it, to stay away from you?”
Each beat of her heart rocked her as a shadow detached itself from the depth of darkness engulfing the upper floor, taking his form. His body solidified, his influence intensified with every step. Then his face emerged from the shadows and she gasped.
Even from this distance, there was no mistake.
The ultra-efficient surgeon, the indulgent benefactor, the teasing, patient playmate was gone. A man of tempestuous passion had emerged in his place.
Making it worse was seeing him for the first time in what he’d been born to wear, an abaya that looked tailored of Jizaan’s moonless skies themselves.
And she had no right to his passion. She’d lose even the bittersweet torment of his nearness tomorrow. She’d never again feel as alive.
“You sensed me.” His voice reverberated inside her as he descended the stairs. “You knew I was coming to you, came to meet me halfway. You knew that I would no longer wait.”
Something snapped inside her. Her paralysis shattered.
She needed to tell him…something, anything of the truth, if only that of her feelings, her needs. To have something, anything of him. Just this once.
He quickened his descent as she moved toward him, the abaya billowing around him like a shroud of darkest magic. Her feet felt as if they were gaining momentum from his power, his purpose, that force that had entered her life to change the face of her world forever.
Then he stopped. At the platform where the stairs diverged, as if giving her a last chance to retreat.
She stopped, too, three steps beneath him, momentum lost, confessions fled. She looked up at him, overwhelmed. He was even more than she’d ever dreamed.
The obsidian silk abaya draped over his endless shoulders, pleated for miles to his bare feet, falling open over the perfection of his chiseled, raven hair-dusted chest and abdomen. The low-riding drawstring pants of the same color and material hugged his thighs, hiding none of the power of his muscles, or that of his arousal.
He seemed as if he’d stepped out from another time, a force of nature and of the supernatural, poured into solid form. But it was the fever radiating from him, the same one that raged through her, that shook her most—setting free the one confession she could make.
“I don’t want you to wait.”
Eight
Something unbridled flared in Fareed’s eyes.
Gwen’s breathing stopped. She stood mesmerized by the ferocity that ate her up, finished her. Now…now he’d descend the last steps separating them, sweep her up in his arms.…
But what he did stopped her heart. With shock.
She would have never expected that he would…laugh.
But he did. Peal after peal of pure male amusement.
His laughter mortified her even as it inflamed her.
What had she said or done that he found so funny?
Maybe it was her braid, mommy robe and fluffy slippers? And the cartoon character pajamas beneath?
God, of course it was. He must have gotten a good look at her and rethought his intentions. No wonder he was laughing.
All thoughts scattered as he moved, still laughing, until he was on the same step, bearing down on her with his heat and virility. Then he leaned down, put his lips to her ear.
“I just have one question—” each syllable, each feathering of his lips shot arousal right to her core “—will you ever stop surprising me?”
She raised confused eyes up to his, found fire simmering just below the mirth.
“You exhausted me at every turn,” he whispered, intimate, maddening, “contesting my every declaration, my every decision, the minor before the major. Then I tell you I’m taking you to my bed and you just…agree?”
Her gaze wavered as his eyes lost their lightness, flames rising higher. She shivered as her own fever spiked in answer.
Then to her amazement, she heard her voice, husky with hunger and provocation. “I didn’t exactly say I agree.”
He caught her around the waist, slammed her against his hard length. Her breath and heartbeats emptied against his chest.
Twisting her braid around his wrist, harnessing her by it, ferocity barely leashed with gentleness, he tilted up her face, his eyes now a predator’s excited by his mate’s unexpected challenge.
His next words poured almost in her gasping mouth. “You said better. You commanded me not to wait. Now I’ll obey you, ya fatenati. No more waiting, ever again.”
Then he bent and swept her feet from beneath her, cut her every tie to gravity and sanity.
She went limp in his hold, becoming weightless, timeless, directionless, as she lay ensconced in his arms. She burrowed into him as the world moved in hard, hurried thuds, each one hitting her with vertigo, the pressure of emotion almost snuffing out her consciousness, like that day lifetimes ago.
And that was before he pressed his lips to her forehead in a branding kiss. “Never stop surprising me, ya saherati.”
She almost blurted out that he was the enchanter, the sorcerer. She choked on the words. She hadn’t let on that she knew Arabic, couldn’t bear lying if he asked why she did.
Every anxiety vanished as he relinquished his hold on her and she sank in the depths of soft dark beddings, was shrouded by the golden warmth of gaslight and the intoxication of incense and craving.
Then he came down over her.
She moaned with the blast of stimulation, emotional and sensual, of her first exposure to the reality of him, his weight and bulk and hunger, the physicality of his passion.
He rose off her, slid her robe off. She felt a blush creeping up from her toes to her hairline as he exposed her pajamas.
“Bugs Bunny.” He shook his head in disbelief. “And if I find you arousing beyond endurance in this, I might not survive seeing you in something made to worship your beauty.”
She crossed her hands over her chest, burning with self-consciousness. “I know how I look in this thing. I picked it to match one of Ryan’s…”
“Answer me this other question, Gwen.” His hand unlocked hers, before imprisoning them over her head in one of his. “Will I always have to say something over and over before you consider believing me? Will you ever believe I only ever say what I mean?”
She felt her flush deepening. “It’s not you I’m doubting.”
“Then how can you doubt your own beauty, your effect on me? If anything, I’m holding back, not telling you what you really make me feel, what I really want to do to you.” His eyes flared with mock-threat and too-real lust. “I don’t want to scare you.”
She shook her head against the sheets. “You won’t ever scare me. Show me everything you feel.”
Her ragged words elicited a smile that was sheer male triumph and assurance. “Amrek, ya rohi—command me.”
Yet his hands trembled in her hair as they undid her braid, spread its thickness ar
ound her. Then he buried his face in it, breathed her in hard, let her hear in his ragged groans that he was at the mercy of his need for her as she was for him.
“I’ve wanted you, I’ve needed this…” He bore down on her harder, pressed all of him into all of her. “Your flesh and desire, you scent and feel, since the first moment I saw you all those years ago. I craved you until I was hollow. Now you’re here and you’ll be mine, at last, Gwen…at last.”
She whimpered her agreement, her eagerness. He swooped up to capture the sound, his lips taking hers in a hot, moist seal, enveloping, dissolving, his tongue thrusting into her recesses, in total tasting, in thorough possession.
She’d imagined this until she’d felt she’d be forever empty, too, if she never experienced it. But this far surpassed the imaginings that had tormented her. The power and profundity of his kiss, his feel and scent, and his taste…his taste…
He bit into her lower lip, stilled its tremors in a nip so leashed, so carnal that it had her opening wider, deepening his invasion.
Just as she felt she’d come apart, he severed their meld, groaned, “Gwen, habibati, hayaati, abghaaki, ahtaajek.”
She sobbed again as she pulled him back. He’d called her his love, his life, said he coveted her, needed her.
She knew those were the exaggerated endearments his culture indulged in. They didn’t have to be literally meant, and in those moments, were likely driven by arousal.
It didn’t matter. Just hearing him say those things was enough. And if it were possible to give him of her life to fill his needs, she would have surrendered it.
She surrendered what she could now, all of herself.
He swept her pajama top over her head, his arm beneath her melting her into his length, circling her waist, raising her against the headboard to bury his face into her confined breasts.
She moaned at seeing the dark majesty of his head against her, let her hands fulfill what she’d thought would remain a fantasy, burying them in the luxury of his silken, raven mane, pressing his head harder to her aching flesh.
He groaned something deep and driven, the sound spearing from his lips into her heart as his hands went to her back. She arched, helping him release breasts now peaked with arousal, throbbing for his ownership.
He gathered her hands again above her head, drew back to gaze at her. Naked to the waist, the image of abandon, on wanton offer. She turned her face into the sheets, unable to withstand his burning scrutiny.
“Look at me, ya galbi.” His demand overrode her will, drew her eyes to his. “See what your sight does to me.” He let one of her hands go, took it to his heart, let her feel the power of its thundering, then to his erection. “Feel it.”
Her hand trembled as it fulfilled the ultimate privilege of feeling his potency. She stroked his daunting length and hardness through the heavy silk of his pants.
He undid the drawstring, slowly, maddeningly, holding her eyes as he guided her hand underneath. Her hand shook at touching him without barriers, couldn’t close around him. But even with the nip of awe and alarm, knowing all this would soon dominate her, she reveled in his amazing heat, his satin over steel, the edge of anxiety making her readiness flow heavier, soaking her panties.
He came down over her again, thrust his tongue inside her mouth to her stroking rhythm, groaned inside her, “Your touch is a far better heaven than any I imagined.”
She was lost in his feel when he suddenly drew back, spread her again, closed trembling hands on her breasts. She arched off the bed, in a shock of pleasure, making a fuller offering of her flesh. He kneaded her, pinched her nipples, had her writhing, begging, before he coaxed and caressed the rest of her clothes off her burning flesh.
The spike of ferocity in his eyes as they touched her full nakedness should have been alarming. It only sent her heart almost racing to a standstill with shyness, with anticipation. With pride that her sight affected him that intensely.
He tore his abaya off, finally exposing the body she’d known would make the gods of old fade into nothing. “Ya Ullah ya Gwen, koll shai ma’ak afdal menn ahlami. Anti ajmal shai ra’aytoh fi hayati…anti rao’ah.”
Her awed hands shook over his burnished, sculpted perfection, barely biting back the protest that everything with him was better than her dreams, that it was he who was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in her life, he who was the wonder.
“Habibati…” His groan roughened to a growl as he rubbed his chest against her breasts until she thrashed beneath him. He bent, opened his mouth over her breasts as if he’d devour her.
Pleasure jackknifed through her with each nip of his teeth, each long, hard draw of his lips, had her shuddering all over.
“Fareed, just take me…all of me…”
He told her he wanted exactly that. All of her now. Now.
“Bareedek kollek, daheenah, habibati. Daheenah.”
She lay powerless under the avalanche of need, her moans becoming keens as his surgeon’s hand glided over her, taking every liberty and creating erogenous zones wherever they fondled and owned, before settling between her thighs. His strong, sensitive fingers slid up to her intimate flesh, now molten, throbbing its demand for his touch, his invasion. They opened the lips of her femininity, slid between her folds, soaked in her readiness.
It took only a few strokes of those virtuoso fingers to spill her over the edge. She convulsed with pleasure, hazy with it, failing to imagine what union with him would bring if just a few touches unraveled her body and mind.
Among her stifled cries of release she heard something primal rumble in his gut, knew it was the sound of his control snapping.
He came over her and her hands fumbled with his to remove his pants, the last barrier between them. She went nerveless as his lips spilled worship into hers, proclaiming her soul of his heart, his need to be inside her.
“Roh galbi, mehtaj akoon jow’waaki.”
She couldn’t bear not having him filling her, couldn’t bear the emptiness he’d created inside her, couldn’t…couldn’t…
She couldn’t let him take her when she hadn’t told him…
No. She couldn’t tell him. And she couldn’t not have him. Just this once. She needed this once. It wasn’t too much to ask, to take. She’d live in deprivation for the rest of her life.
And she sobbed her need, her desperation. “Come inside me, Fareed, now. Don’t wait…just take me.”
“Aih, ya hayat galbi…take me inside you, take all of me.”
He bore down into her, as blinded, as lost. She cried out, in relief, in anguish, spread her legs wider for his demand, contained him, her heels digging into his buttocks, her nails into his back, demanding him, urging him.
His pained chuckle detailed his enjoyment of her frenzy as his muscled hips flexed, positioning himself at her entrance, prostrating her for his domination. Then in one burning plunge, he was there, inside her. Flesh in flesh.
The shock to her system was total.
Paralyzed, mute, she stared up at him, everything swollen and invaded and complete. He rested deep within her, stretching her beyond capacity, as incapacitated. Blackness frothed from the periphery of her vision, a storm front of pleasure advancing from her core. Fareed…at last.
It was he who broke the panting silence, his voice a feral growl now. “Gwen, the pleasure of you…ya Ullah…”
He rose on his palms, started to withdraw from her depths. She clung blindly, crazed for his branding pain and pleasure.
He withdrew all the way out, dragged a shriek of stimulation and loss from her. Before she cried out again for his return, he drove all the way back inside her.
On his next withdrawal, she lost what was left of her mind. She thrust her hips up, seeking his impalement. He bunched her hair in his fist, tugged her down to the bed, exposing her throat, latching his teeth into her flesh as if he’d consume her.
Then he plowed back into her, showed her that those first plunges had just been preparations.
He fed her core more, then more of him with every thrust, causing an unknown, unbelievably pleasurable expansion within her, until she felt him hit the epicenter of her very essence.
She was destroyed, blind, mad, screaming, clinging to him, biting him, convulsing, the ecstasy rending in intensity.
He withdrew, and she saw his magnificent face seize with ferocity, with his greed for every sensation he plumbed her body for, had ripping through her. Tension shot up in his eyes, as if he was judging when to let go.
She begged him, for him. “Give me—give me…”
And he gave. She felt each surge of his jetting climax inside her. It hit her at her peak, had her thrashing, weeping, unable to endure the spike in pleasure. Everything dimmed, faded…
She had no idea when awareness started trickling between the numb layers of satisfaction. She was still lying beneath Fareed. Then she realized what had roused her. He was leaving her body.
Before she could whimper with his loss, he pressed back over her, his weight sublime pleasure. She moaned her contentment. More bliss settled into her bones as he swept her around, draped her over his expansive body, mingling their sweat and satisfaction.
She closed her eyes, let his feel and those precious moments integrate into her cells. She’d need the memories to tide her through the rest of her life.
But this wasn’t over yet. She had hours with him still.
She wouldn’t waste a second.
“And I thought it would be unprecedented with you.”
Everything inside her stilled.
Would his next words elaborate on the disappointment of his expectations? Had he given her her life’s most transfiguring experience, but she’d proved no more than a barely adequate one?
Suddenly, she wanted to bolt. She wanted to hold on to what she’d experienced. It would be all she had of him. And if it turned out to be a one-sided illusion…
“If I’d known how it would be between us, that it would far exceed even my perfectionist fantasies, I would have carried you off to my bed weeks ago.”
She raised a wobbling head, trembling with relief. She marveled anew at his beauty, and at how magical their bodies looked entwined.
