Her lips were soft and full beneath his thumb, the blue of her eyes darkening. There was already a sheen of perspiration on her skin and wisps of hair were sticking to her forehead—not a good thing when what he was planning to do to her would make her even hotter.
He frowned. ‘Perhaps you do need cooling down first, though.’
‘Oh, but I’m not—’
Decision made, he didn’t wait for her to finish, dropping his hand and giving in to the need to get close to her by gathering her small, curvy figure in his arms.
She gave a soft gasp, but didn’t protest, tipping her head back against his shoulder as his grip tightened, her eyes very blue in her flushed face.
‘I thought you were tired of waiting?’
‘Who says I will wait?’ He began to stride through the palms, anticipation coiling inside him. ‘A swim can involve all kinds of things.’
She blinked, obviously thinking about this. ‘Oh. So you might...um...?’
‘Consummate our marriage in the water?’ he finished. ‘I might.’
Judging by how hard he was right now, it might even be inevitable.
He didn’t want to pause to undress her, so he walked straight into the oasis, wading out into the middle, still carrying her. The water was deliciously cool against his own hot skin, making his wedding robes stick to him, and as it flooded over her she gave a little gasp, wriggling against him.
‘But I’m still dressed!’
‘I realise that.’ He moved deeper, until the water was at his chest and she was clutching at him, white silk floating all around her, her breathing fast at the shock of the water.
‘But what about a swimsuit?’
‘You do not need a swimsuit.’
Her weight in his arms was slight, her body warm, her hands gripping his robes tightly.
He glanced down at her, noting how her flush had receded. ‘You are feeling cooler now?’
‘Yes, much better, thank you.’
A crease appeared between her fair brows as she met his gaze. The water was lapping at her hair, making it float around her like fine silver thread.
‘You’re really quite kind, aren’t you?’
He wasn’t sure what went through him in that moment. It was a wave of something he wasn’t familiar with. Almost as if he...liked what she’d said. Which was strange. Because he wasn’t kind, and nor did he want to be. Kindness reminded him of mercy, of sympathy, of the soft feelings he associated with Catherine. Of his weakness when it came to his own emotions. Anger. Desire. Need.
But he wasn’t going to think about those things.
Instead, he shoved away the warmth that threatened, concentrated instead on the desire burning like fire in his blood.
‘No,’ he said, adjusting his hold on her to reach for the silver belt at her waist. ‘Kind is one thing I am not.’
And then he pulled hard, systematically beginning to strip her robes from her body.
CHAPTER EIGHT
TARIQ’S FINGERS ON her were firm as he stripped away her heavy, water-soaked robes, but it was the look on his face that made her breath catch.
His jaw was tight, tension radiated from him, and his features looked as if they’d been carved from granite. The only thing that wasn’t hard and cold was his gaze, and a kind of molten intensity was burning in his eyes.
Burning in her too.
What had she said? That he was kind? He’d been kind to her that day she’d spoken to her father, and he’d been kind to her just before, underneath the palm trees, as nervousness and the strangeness of the whole day had got to her. As she’d been overwhelmed by the fact that she was now married to a king and that he was going to take her virginity, probably right where she stood.
He’d looked so stern, so forbidding as the helicopter had left. And the courage that had carried her through the wedding ceremony in front of seemingly the entire city had deserted her.
She’d tried to pretend she was fine, but suddenly, under his intimidating stare, all she’d felt was doubt. In herself, and in what was going to happen, and in the intensity of her own desire too.
It had only occurred to her then that, as much as she hadn’t had a choice in their marriage, perhaps neither had he. He needed an heir, and he hadn’t been able to choose a wife from his own people because he had an entire country he had to protect. And she’d been convenient.
Really, when she thought about it, it seemed he’d been stuck with her the same way her father had been stuck with her.
It shouldn’t matter, but somehow it did. She didn’t want him to be stuck with someone he was only going to be disappointed in—and she would end up disappointing him. She wasn’t one of his people and she didn’t speak his language. She didn’t know his customs or what was expected of her.
She was a virgin with no experience whatsoever.
How could that not be disappointing to a man like him?
And yet he’d cupped her cheek in his hand, his gaze fierce with conviction. And he’d told her that she was beautiful. That she was loyal. That she was everything he’d hoped for.
He was kind, no matter what he said, and she didn’t know why that made him so angry.
Maybe you should ask him?
She probably should—except now was not the right time, given the way he was looking at her, as if he wanted to eat her alive.
A shiver coursed through her and it had nothing to do with the water lapping around her. Even forbidding and hard, the impact of him was like a gut-punch. She’d felt it the moment she’d met him on the steps of the palace, just before the ceremony. He’d been dressed in white, as had she, but his robes had been embroidered with gold. The white had set off his inky black hair and his bronze skin, and the gold thread had struck sparks from the deep gold of his eyes as he’d looked at her.
And for a second she hadn’t been able to breathe. Because he had been so...overwhelming. Beautiful, and strong, and powerful. So achingly charismatic. He had drawn every eye, commanded all the attention.
She found it difficult to breathe now, as he stripped the long-sleeved over-robe off her, let the water move silkily over her bare arms, then began to pull at the ties of the long sleeveless tunic she wore.
‘What’s wrong with being kind?’ she asked, not knowing she was going to say it until it was out and then, given how his features hardened still further, regretting it.
‘There is nothing wrong with being kind.’
He pulled off the tunic, then tugged down the long, loose trousers that she wore underneath.
‘But you’re angry.’
She stared up into his face, trying to figure out why a simple compliment should bother him quite so much, but his expression remained impassive. Again, except for his eyes. They burned brilliant gold.
‘Now is not the time for conversation, ya amar.’
His voice was rough and full of authority, and she couldn’t help shivering as his hands stroked up her bare legs, his palms hot against her skin in stark contrast to the cool water.
‘I know, but—’
She stopped abruptly as his hand slid around her, deftly undoing the clasp of her white lace bra and stripping it from her. The water licked over her skin, making her nipples harden, and everything she’d been going to say vanished from her brain.
‘But what?’ His gaze dropped to her bare breasts, his eyes glittering, heat flaring higher in them.
And she couldn’t think.
Couldn’t even form one rational thought.
Because he was tugging down the scrap of white lace that was her knickers, and then they were gone too, and there was nothing at all between her and his merciless golden stare.
She was naked now. Naked in front of her husband.
He adjusted his hold on her again so she was lying back in his arms, her body stretched out, comple
tely bare to his gaze. And she trembled slightly, waiting for the urge to run and hide, to cringe away.
But it didn’t come. Instead she wanted to stretch out under his hot stare, to watch the flames in his eyes burn higher. Wanted to see how she affected him. Because she did, and it was obvious. The beautiful lines of his face were sharpening with hunger.
How strange... Though she was in the water, and completely naked, she felt more powerful than she had standing before him fully dressed. Like that day in his office, when she’d got an inkling of how much she affected him. Though that had only been a ghost of what she felt now.
Now her power was fully realised.
Brave in a way she hadn’t been before, she lifted her hand and touched one carved cheekbone, running her fingers along his smooth, warm skin.
Something ignited in his eyes and he made a growling sound deep in his throat. Then abruptly he turned, carrying her out of the water and towards the little cluster of tents pitched in the shadow of the trees.
He ducked inside the biggest one, and Charlotte had an impression of a floor covered in silken rugs, with low couches and cushions set up in one corner, before Tariq threw her, still dripping wet, onto a huge bed with a carved wooden base. It was made up with fresh white cotton sheets and piled high with pillows, and it was incredibly comfortable. Not that she was particularly concerned with comfort right now.
He didn’t follow her right away, his hands going to his own soaking wet wedding robes and stripping them off carelessly, leaving them in a heap on the floor. She found herself watching him, unable to look away.
She knew what he looked like naked because of the baths, and he was every bit as magnificent as she remembered. Yet this time, as he shoved down the loose trousers he’d been wearing, and with them his underwear, she was able to see what the water of the baths had been concealing.
Heat leapt inside her. Her face was burning...everything was burning.
He made no attempt to hide the long, hard length that curved up between his thighs, stepping naked and arrogant from his wet clothes. She couldn’t stop looking at him.
He’d told her that it wasn’t wrong to want him, that physical passion wasn’t anything to be afraid of, but she couldn’t help the apprehension that coiled inside her now. And it wasn’t because she was afraid of him. She was afraid of herself, and of the hunger inside her getting deeper. Stronger.
After her parents’ divorce intensity had always scared her, so this was frightening. She wanted him so much. Part of her wished he’d push her back on the bed and take her the way she imagined kings took their brides. Hard and fast, with no mercy. Then she would have no choice but to give everything to him. No choice but to surrender to that hunger and not think about how to ignore it or force it away.
Not think about where that hunger might lead.
Except Tariq didn’t make a move towards her. He stood there, staring at her, his demanding gaze hot on hers.
‘Come to me,’ he commanded.
Heat pulsed down her spine before spiralling into a tight knot down low between her thighs. She found herself obeying almost helplessly, pushing herself off the bed and walking the few steps that separated them. Her pulse was hammering in her ears as she came close, deafening her, and her mouth was bone-dry. She felt dizzy, but she didn’t think it was the heat of the sun this time.
No, it was him.
Her husband.
He was so tall, towering over her, a wall of heat, hard muscle and bronzed skin. And the expression on his face was ferocious.
‘You want me,’ he said.
It wasn’t a question, but she answered all the same. ‘Yes...’ Her voice sounded hoarse and thick, the word unsteady.
‘Say it,’ he ordered, relentless.
Her heartbeat was racing, the strength of her own need building like a storm. He was going to demand an acknowledgement from her, that was obvious, which meant the time for pretending was over and she knew it. It would be pointless anyway—especially when he saw straight through her.
‘I...want you,’ she whispered.
His eyes gleamed, and his obvious pleasure made something hot glow inside her chest.
‘Then go down on your knees, ya amar, and show me how much.’
Tariq knew he was indulging himself. That he didn’t have to make his virgin wife go on her knees before him. But what she’d said to him out in the oasis had stuck in his head.
‘Kind’, she’d called him.
And so he’d stripped her bare, trying to prove—to her, to himself—that he was nothing of the sort. Yet even then, naked and wet in his arms, she’d looked up at him as if she knew something about him that he didn’t, lifting her hand to touch his cheek.
And perhaps she did know something he didn’t. Because the second her cool fingers had touched him something had opened up inside him—a hunger he hadn’t realised he felt. A hunger that had nothing to do with sexual desire. And he had known all at once that she was more dangerous than he could possibly have imagined.
No one had touched him like that since his mother had died. Not without any sexual intent, not casually or just because they’d wanted to. Not even the succession of nannies who’d brought him up had done so. They’d been given strict orders not to touch him or to comfort him—no reassurance or support had been allowed. Because he’d had to learn self-sufficiency, to find consolation in detachment and isolation, since that would be his life as king.
It had been a very hard lesson, but he’d learned it in the end. And it had taken Catherine to finally hammer it home. Since then he hadn’t missed it—hadn’t wanted the comfort of another person’s touch. He’d had lovers to meet his physical needs and that was all he’d required.
Until Charlotte. Until her cool fingers had touched his cheek. Her touch delicate, tentative. Gentle.
He’d guarded himself against her vulnerability; he had just never dreamed she would discover something vulnerable in him.
What was clear was that he couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let her take that power from him. Which meant he had to show her where the power truly lay: with him.
She’d already given him the acknowledgement that she wanted him, and it clearly wasn’t a stretch for her to obey him as she dropped to her knees on the soft rugs of the tent floor.
She was breathing very fast, the sound of it was audible in the tent, so he reached down and grasped her chin, tilting her head back so he could see her face, look into her eyes. They were very dark, the silver blue of a daytime sky turning to midnight. It was immensely satisfying to see how badly she wanted him.
‘Open your mouth.’ He pressed his thumb to the centre of her bottom lip for emphasis. ‘Take me inside.’
‘I... I haven’t done this before.’ Her cheeks were pink and she sounded breathless, a little uncertain. ‘I’m not sure what to do.’
‘That is why I will instruct you.’ He stroked the softness of her lips, admiring her courage, because this time he couldn’t see any apprehension in her at all. ‘Do as you are told.’
She took a little breath, then opened her mouth obediently.
Ah, she made such a pretty picture, kneeling before him, naked and wet, her nipples pink and hard, her thighs spread, giving him a tantalising glimpse of the nest of blonde curls between them.
He was aching as he took himself in hand, guiding himself to her mouth. He gritted his teeth as she leaned forward, touching him with her tongue, tentative and hesitant. And then heat wrapped around him, slick warmth, as she took him into her mouth, and his heartbeat was as loud as a drum in his head, pleasure licking like a velvet whip up his spine.
He growled, unable to help himself, shoving his fingers in her hair and holding her, guiding her, as she began to suck him. She was inexpert and uncertain, but there was an eroticism to her inexperience that made pleasure burn like hot coals inside
him. And knowing that he was the first man she’d ever done this to made it even more intense.
The first man. The only man.
His lips pulled back in a snarl as the thought hit him, and as her tongue curled around him it came to him all of a sudden that perhaps he’d made a mistake. Perhaps what had been intended to put her at a distance had only served to draw her closer. Because she had the power to undo him—he knew that now. With her hot mouth and her innocence, with her hesitant tongue and her cool fingers.
She could undo him completely right where he stood—and that was not what he’d intended at all.
Tariq tightened his grip, pulling her head away.
Her eyes widened in surprise. Her mouth was full and pink and slick from taking him.
‘Did I—?’ she began.
But he didn’t let her finish, hauling her to her feet and kissing her hard and deep and territorial. She gave a little moan, shuddering in his hands, arching her body into his.
Ah, but he had to take control. He needed her to be the one desperate for him, not the other way around. He couldn’t allow her to get to him any more than she had already.
He picked her up, holding her warm body against him. Her skin was still cool and damp from the oasis, but now she was starting to warm up. Silky little woman. He was going to have to go slowly and carefully if he wanted this to last.
Crossing the few steps to the bed, he lowered her onto the mattress and followed, coming onto his hands and knees over her, watching the expressions across her face shift like the wind on the surface of a lake.
She was panting, her breasts rising and falling fast, her pretty nipples were tight and the flush in her cheeks had spread down her neck and over her chest. Her thighs had fallen open, baring her sex to his gaze: slick pink skin and a cluster of silver-blonde curls.
Beautiful. Delicate.
Crowned At The Desert King's Command (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 11
