The Prince stood by a cabinet that held jugs of wine and plates of food. He was talking to another slave dressed like Malik in Samarkand livery. Several more stood around the room, working or patiently awaiting his command. As the doors closed, the Prince turned, and his eyebrows rose.
“She did not wish to say for the meal with her people,” Malik explained apologetically. “Am I too early? Do you wish me to return later?”
“Not at all.” The Prince had a deep, rich voice. Taking two glasses of wine, he walked toward me.
He wore a deep red tunic over a pair of loose dark trousers. The tunic had the finest, most beautiful embroidery I’d ever seen, stitched in silver and gold thread. I had a feeling it was a nightshirt, and yet it was more magnificent than the finest costume the troupe possessed.
He stopped before me and held out one of the glasses. “Good evening.”
My heart pounded, loud in my ears. He was younger than I’d realized at first, his face free of lines beneath his dark beard and mustache, his eyes bright with the zeal of youth.
I took the glass. “Hello.” I had to tip my head back to look at him. “Goodness, you’re tall.”
“Thank you. At least, I presume it was a compliment?”
“Of course. I like tall men. As long as they don’t ask me if I want a box to stand on.” I was thinking about Bashir’s comments earlier in the courtyard, and only realized I’d spoken aloud when the Prince laughed.
“Then I promise not to ask.” He gave Malik an amused glance.
The slave shrugged. “You were right.”
“Right about what?” I asked.
The Prince sipped his wine, his eyes gleaming over the rim of the glass, but didn’t answer.
Ordinarily, I would have demanded to know what he’d said, but something about him stopped the words leaving my mouth. I wasn’t sure if it was just because he was a prince. He moved with grace, languidly, like a leopard. I had the feeling I was being stalked, and it made me nervous.
“Thank you for coming,” the Prince said.
I stifled a hysterical giggle. He was thanking me! “Thank you for asking.”
He tilted his head, studying my face. “May I ask your name?”
It might be polite if we’re about to fuck. The words went through my head, but I didn’t voice them. “Samira,” I said instead.
“Samira.” He rolled the name around his tongue. “Pretty.” He smiled and gestured to the chairs by the fire. “Would you like to sit?”
My stomach bubbled with nerves. If I tried to have a polite conversation with him, I’d end up saying something stupid. I wanted him to rip my clothes off and take me hard so I didn’t have a chance to say anything and screw it all up.
I decided to be myself, and speak my mind. “I didn’t think you’d invited me here to talk.”
Again he glanced at Malik, then back at me. He gave me a lazy smile. “No, maybe not.”
He moved closer. I had the feeling he knew very well how to use his height and strength to overwhelm and impress. Power oozed from him, along with a sexiness born from complete confidence in how attractive he was to women—and men, probably. Did his tastes lean that way? Malik’s words had suggested they might. I knew that idea would disgust many people, but the image of him taking both men and women into his bed made me weak at the knees.
The Prince’s gaze rested on my mouth. “Did Malik explain what I require from a companion?” He walked around me, not touching me, but I felt his gaze trailing across the skin of my neck and shoulders like a red hot iron. “Did he warn you?”
I was breathing quickly now. Malik hadn’t really told me anything, but he’d implied the Prince’s taste were…unusual. I could only guess what that meant. “Yes.”
He finished his circling and stood in front of me again. “You still wish to stay?” His eyes surveyed me, intense, interested, and maybe even a little hopeful.
For a brief moment, I felt my future pivot on the words that would leave my mouth. What did he want from me? I was happy to be tied up, or to do the tying up. I didn’t mind oral or anal sex, and although I’d never gone to bed with more than one man, the thought excited me.
But was he into violent behavior? I didn’t mind rough sex or the occasional fun slap on the behind, but I wasn’t a big fan of pain, and the notion of it made me feel queasy. Was he a cruel man? He didn’t look it, but then some of the men I’d had the misfortune to meet hadn’t looked it either. If he wanted to hurt me, could any of his slaves stop him? Would they dare?
I looked at Malik, standing patiently to one side. He must have seen my fear because, to my surprise, he winked at me.
That small gesture reassured me more than any words could have.
I tipped back my head and looked into the Prince’s eyes. “I don’t care which of your slaves fucks me with you,” I said huskily, “or how they do it. I just know that if I don’t feel your lips on mine before the candles burn down tonight, I’m going to explode.”
Chapter Three
The Prince’s eyes widened, then turned hot, sultry, and full of desire.
Without another word, he put down his glass of wine and returned to me. I waited for him to kiss me hard, to sweep me up into his arms, or to strip me of my clothing and throw me onto the bed.
He did none of these, however. Instead, he unclipped the veil covering my head and tossed it onto a chair, then took out the pins holding up my hair.
I bit my lip as it uncurled and fell to my shoulders. Living in a caravan and washing in water carried up from springs meant that looking after long hair was tedious work, and so I wore mine short. Nobody knew because of the veil.
It wasn’t customary for women to cut their hair, and I wondered whether he would be shocked.
He ran his fingers through it. “Nice,” he said.
While I stuttered in surprise, he twisted a strand of it around his finger, tighter and tighter, so I was forced to step closer to him.
For a long moment, he looked down at me, his lips only inches from mine. I wanted him to kiss me, ohhhh, how I wanted him to kiss me. My own lips parted, and I rose up a little onto my tiptoes, not quite brave enough to press my lips to his, but inviting him to do the same to me.
Once again, though, he moved away. This time, taking my hand, he led me across the room to a table in the far corner.
It was a dressing table, covered in small bottles, brushes, and combs, with a wide, circular mirror. After turning me to face him, the Prince took the lid off a small pot, picked up a cloth, and dipped it into the cream. Then he put a finger under my chin and lifted it.
I realized he was going to remove the makeup I’d taken such care to apply earlier, and I stepped back.
“I want to see what you look like beneath your mask,” he said.
I stared at him. “What?”
“Your makeup is part of your costume, is it not?” He stroked my cheek. “You hide behind it. I would like to see what you look like beneath it.”
I caught my breath. He was right—the makeup made me feel confident, and I used it as a shield from prying eyes.
He raised an eyebrow. Clearly, he was used to being obeyed.
I nibbled my lip, then nodded. As much as I didn’t want to take off the makeup, I didn’t want him to send me away.
He smoothed the cream over my cheeks and wiped them slowly, taking time to remove the color and patterns I’d spent hours applying.
My face warmed beneath his touch. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had taken such care of me.
He smiled, obviously seeing my blush, but said nothing, continuing to wipe until the cloth came away clean.
Turning me to the mirror, he gestured at my eyes. I removed the fake lashes, then took the cloth he pressed into my hands and cleaned the heavy kohl and thick blue paint from around my eyes.
Finally I washed my face in a bowl of water, and he passed me a cloth to dry it. I did so, examining myself in the mirror. I looked very different—younger,
more vulnerable. I wasn’t sure I liked the real me.
He took my face in his hands and studied me. “How old are you?” he asked softly.
“Old enough.” I moistened my lips with the tip of my tongue as he glared at me. “Twenty. I know I look younger.”
“You look a hundred times more beautiful without the makeup, Samira.”
I swallowed, unused to compliments like that. Men told me they loved my breasts or that I had a nice arse. They didn’t look at my face and tell me I was beautiful.
He brushed his thumb across my lips. “May I kiss you now?”
“I didn’t think princes had to ask,” I whispered.
“Everyone should ask,” he murmured back, “but especially princes,” and he lowered his head.
He pressed his lips to the center of mine, then continued across to one corner of my mouth before carrying on up my cheek and across my nose. Small, light kisses, meant to tease and relax, to seduce and tantalize without being forceful or demanding.
I closed my eyes, conscious of Malik standing quietly to one side and the other slaves in the room who must be watching. I held my breath, puzzled and more than a little dreamy at the Prince’s gentleness. Did he think he had to talk me into going to bed with him tonight? Didn’t he realize I was already convinced?
His lips returned to mine, and he touched his tongue to them. Sighing, I opened them, and he dipped his tongue into my mouth, its slide against mine sensual and erotic. I felt an answering tingle between my legs, and when he slid his arms around me, I didn’t hesitate to press up against him.
I placed my hands on his chest, feeling firm muscles beneath the silk tunic. My fingers touched the neck of the tunic, and I moved back.
“I love this embroidery.” I brushed my fingers across it, admiring the intricate stitching. “I’ve never seen anything like it—it’s gorgeous.”
He looked down at it as if he hadn’t noticed it before. “I suppose it is.”
To one side, Malik studied his feet, trying not to laugh. I looked back up at the Prince, who also looked amused, and I frowned. “What?”
He shook his head, bringing his hands to rest on the belt around my waist. “May I?”
I tried not to look at Malik or the other slaves in the room who were quietly working, stoking the fire, cleaning away empty dishes, and folding clothes, who would almost certainly watch as the Prince undressed me. I was being tested—would I flinch at the thought of being naked in front of others?
My heart raced, but I wanted this man so badly that I didn’t care what he wanted me to do.
I nodded, and he smiled and untied the belt. Usually I wore loose trousers beneath a shorter tunic, but tonight I wore a voluminous dress with a wide skirt that had flowed as I’d danced. Once he released the belt, the folds of sheer cloth fell easily off my shoulders, tumbling to the floor in a whisper of silk.
I lifted my chin, fighting the urge to cover myself. His gaze brushed down my body like a feather, sensual and light.
“What do you like?” I needed to do something, and I wanted to please him. I steeled myself for whatever his demands turned out to be. I was far from innocent and knew the type of things that turned men on—I might not have tried them all, but I wasn’t going to flinch at the mention of them.
He moved closer, held my chin, and ran his thumb across my lips. His eyes were dark, his pupils dilated, but I was beginning to realize this man was in control of his desire, and in no rush to reach a conclusion to the evening.
“I like to give others pleasure,” he said. “I enjoy discovering the limits of a woman’s desire. How far can I take her, and how long can I keep her there, before she tumbles over the edge into bliss?”
I shivered, my nipples tingling as they tightened.
He glanced down, then back up, his lips curving. “You like that idea?” he murmured.
“I’ve heard worse.” Actually, I felt bewildered by his words. He wanted to give me pleasure rather than order me to do things to him? I’d never been with a man like that, someone who didn’t demand I turn over onto all fours, or get down on my knees to suck him.
He chuckled and bent to brush his lips across mine. “I wanted you from the first moment I saw you, across the courtyard.”
My eyelids fluttered. “Why?”
His eyebrows rose at the question. “I don’t know. I think I might have been concussed.”
I giggled at the memory of him walking into the wall. “I still don’t know why you did that.”
“It was something in your eyes. It made the hairs rise on the back of my neck.”
I couldn’t believe I’d affected him as much as he’d affected me, but I made light of it. “I only made your hairs rise? I’m obviously losing my touch.”
Laughing, he bent and picked me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Oh, you made much more than my hair stand to attention, my midnight dancer. Do not worry about that.”
Chapter Four
Kissing me again, he carried me across the room, and Malik held aside the shimmering curtains to let us through. The Prince climbed onto the huge bed and lowered me onto my back. He paused to tug his tunic over his head and throw it onto the floor, and then lay on top of me, pressing his lips to mine.
I gave a long sigh at the feel of his warm, firm muscles beneath my fingertips, and his hard erection against my stomach through his trousers. He smelled divine, of clean, hot, lusty male infused with a gorgeous scent that arose from his skin.
“You smell lovely,” I said when he lifted his head to kiss around to my ear. “What is it?”
“Sandalwood.” He placed a kiss behind my earlobe.
“I’ve never smelled it before.”
He ran his tongue around my ear. “It is from India.”
I shivered. “Fuck, that must be expensive. I keep forgetting you’re a prince.”
He laughed and nibbled the lobe. “You have a way with words, Samira.”
“I’m sorry.” I felt embarrassed, which didn’t happen very often. “I’m not used to sleeping with royalty. I’ll try to keep quiet.”
“Please, don’t.” He kissed back to my mouth. “I like honesty. It is a rarer commodity than sandalwood.”
I would have answered, but he delved his tongue into my mouth, and I forgot what I was going to say. He was very good at kissing, but then I guessed he’d had a lot of practice. He knew how to give the right pressure, and how to tease with his lips, teeth, and tongue. By the time he kissed down my neck, I was breathless and filled with yearning.
It seemed he wasn’t quite ready to take me yet, though. He laced his tongue across my skin, touching it to the point where my pulse beat in my neck, and sucked gently there until I squirmed on the bed beneath him.
Carrying on down, he reached my breasts and cupped one. Although my nipples had tightened when he’d stripped me, within the warmth of the curtains they’d relaxed and softened. He nuzzled one with his nose, touched it with his tongue, then covered it with his mouth and sucked.
I nearly came then, keyed up from all the waiting, and already aroused by his words and his sensual manner. I shifted beneath him, trying not to give in to the orgasm, not sure whether I should tell him to slow down. Should one direct a prince during lovemaking?
He lifted his head to look at me and then, without saying anything, slid his fingers into my pussy. Two slow strokes was all it took, and then he pressed his fingers against my clit. I screwed up my eyes, unable to stop the exquisite clenches of my internal muscles, even though I wished I’d been able to postpone them.
He waited until the pulses had died away, then removed his fingers.
“Fuck,” I said, my chest heaving. “Sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
“It seemed a bit rude to come so quickly.”
He shrugged and licked his fingers as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You haven’t had sex for a while?”
My cheeks heated at his action. I hadn’t blushed si
nce I was about twelve, but there was something about him that pried open the hard shell of confidence I wore around myself. “Um…no. It’s been a few months.”
“Then it’s perfectly understandable.” Shifting on the bed, he knelt between my legs and leaned over me. “Never apologize for having an orgasm, Samira. For a start, there isn’t a limit on how many you can have in one night. And it is my fault if you come too quickly, not yours. That is why I want to get to know your body.” He kissed me. “So I can understand how much pleasure you can take.”
Lifting my arms, he placed them above my head and kissed down them, along the sensitive skin of my upper arm, and down once again to my breasts. As he covered my nipple with his mouth, I groaned and lowered a hand to his hair.
He lifted up, gave me an amused look, and moved my hands above my head again. “Keep them there,” he said. “Or do I have to tie you down?”
“I…oh…” All my smart comments vanished. “I’ll be good,” I whispered.
Smiling, he returned to my breasts, sucking first one nipple, then the other, slowly arousing me again until they stood out like the gemstones on the tunic he’d discarded.
I purred, stretching beneath him, enjoying just lying there and being pleasured in the most erotic fashion. I looked up at the ceiling and sighed, lazily studying the colors the artist had painted there.
“I like those patterns,” I said as the Prince trailed the tip of his tongue around the edge of my nipple. “I might paint my caravan like that.”
Outside the curtains, I was sure I heard Malik snort.
The Prince just laughed, kissed down my stomach, shifted beneath my legs, and lowered his mouth.
“Aaahhh…” I closed my eyes as he slipped his tongue into my folds. “Oh no… You’re going to torture me to death with orgasms, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he said, and slid two fingers inside me.
I squirmed as he licked and sucked while stroking firmly. “If you’re intention is to…aaahhh…draw out the pleasure…ohhh…you’re not doing a very good job of it.” His tongue was blissfully warm, and when he swirled it around my clit, I knew another orgasm wasn’t far off. “Please…I can’t…oh dear…”
The Prince's Harem Box Set: The Prince's Harem Books 1-5 Page 22
