He nodded. ‘As am I.’
She bit down on her lip, a perfect cherry red against the dark hue of her skin. He ached to remove the mask and see her face, and yet it also served to draw attention to her lips and eyes, both of which were so incredibly distracting.
/> ‘Please.’
The single word was his undoing. He groaned, kissing her once more, dragging her lower lip into his mouth and moving his tongue so that it duelled with hers, teasing her at first before dominating her completely, so her head dropped backwards in surrender and he pillaged her mouth, each movement designed to demand compliance—yet it was he that was complying too, with the current of need firing between them a most superior force.
His hands cupped her naked breasts, feeling their weight, their roundedness, pushing his arousal forward against the silk of her underpants so she whimpered with need—a need he understood.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her body weak against his. He understood. It was overwhelming. He broke the kiss simply so he could drag his mouth lower, over her décolletage, conscious of the way his facial hair left marks as he went, his teeth adding nips, something primal and ancient firing inside him at the sight of his proof of possession. If he were less fired by desire he might have felt ashamed by such an ancient thrill, but he didn’t.
He took one of her ample breasts into his mouth, seeking her nipple with his tongue, rolling the sweet flesh until she was whimpering loudly into the night sky. Only then did he transfer his attention to the other breast, lifting his thumb and forefinger to continue the pleasurable torment on the other. She bucked her hips forward; he knew how she was feeling, for his own body was racked with the same sense of desperation.
He wanted her but he didn’t want to stop this yet. He could feel her pleasure tightening, her body responding to his instantly, and he wanted to indulge that responsiveness, to show her how perfectly they were suited. With his teeth clamping down against her nipple and his fingers teasing the other, he wedged her legs apart with his knee then brought his spare hand to rest there, parting the elastic from her with ease to allow a finger to slide into her warm, feminine core.
She groaned, a sound of complete pleasure and surrender and delight. He didn’t stop. He pushed another finger into her depths and then used his thumb to stroke her, pleasuring her breasts as he paid homage to her.
She crumpled against him; his arms, his mouth, were holding her body in place. He felt her stiffen then, and begin to shake; she was exploding, gripping him hard as her body was racked with an intense, blinding release. He didn’t relinquish his touch; he held her close, the squeezing of her muscles against his fingers eliciting an answering response from him.
He needed her; there was nothing else for it. Before her breath could calm he let her go, moving his hands to her hips instead, holding her steady as he knelt in front of her. His teeth caught the elastic of her underpants, pulling them loose and lower, low enough for her to step out of, and then he kissed her feminine core, his tongue flicking her until she was crying again, moaning, and, for lack of a name, she could only say ‘please’, again, and again, and again.
He smiled against her. Yes, he’d give her what she wanted—and what he wanted—and he’d do it soon. He stood, scooping her up and kissing her lips, unspeakably aroused by the idea that she might taste herself in his kiss, carrying her to a soft patch of grass to the right of the fountain. He laid her down, then took a moment to simply marvel at the view she made. Her body was curvy and slim all at once, her hair dark and tumbled around her shoulders, her mask adding an element of mystery and allure—not that she needed it.
This woman was the definition of alluring—distracting and perfect. What other explanation could there be for the instant attraction he’d felt for her? It was as though the very heavens had demanded this of him—of them. This was so out of character and yet it didn’t feel wrong.
He brought his body over hers, feeling her softness beneath the hard planes of his frame, his mouth seeking to reassure her with kisses as his knee parted her legs, making way for him. He hovered at her entrance, the moment one he wanted to frame in time, caught like one of the butterflies he’d chased as a child and occasionally held in the palms of his hand for a precious instant before releasing it back into the forest. He caught her wrists in his, pinning them above her head, holding her still, and as he pushed up to watch her face as he entered her, he committed every instant of their coming together to his memory. Her eyes widened before sweeping shut as her lips parted on a husky moan, her hips lifting instinctively to welcome him to her body.
She was so tight, her muscles squeezing him almost painfully, so he moved more slowly than his instincts wanted, taking her bit by bit until he was buried inside then pausing, allowing her to grow used to this feeling before he moved, pulling back a little then driving forward, his hips moving slowly and then, as her cries grew more fervent, taking her harder, faster. His grip on her wrists loosened, his fingers moving instead to entwine with hers, squeezing her hands before releasing her so she wrapped her arms around his back, her nails scoring his flesh with each thrust. Her cries grew louder and her muscles tightened then fell into spasm and he felt the moment she lost her grip on reality and tumbled off the side of the world in an intense orgasm. She writhed beneath him and a moment later he joined her in that ecstasy, allowing his body the total surrender to hers and this moment, releasing himself to her with a hoarse cry that filled the heart of this maze with their pleasure.
She should have felt regret but she couldn’t. She watched as he dressed, covering his body with the black robes—a body that she had somehow committed to memory. It was a honed frame, all muscle and strength, and on his left pectoral muscle, he had words tattooed in Latin in a cursive font: amor fati. His back bore signs of her passion all over it. Her fingernails had marked his smooth, bronzed skin, leaving a maze of their own in bright red lines, frantic and energised. A smile played about her lips, her body still naked beneath the glorious night sky, the sound of the water fountain adding an air of magic to what they’d just done. Or perhaps it wasn’t the fountain, it was just the act.
Pleasure exploded through her. Relief. As though what she’d done was a connection to her true self, a timely reminder that she was an autonomous being, not controlled by this kingdom and her brother, by the expectations upon her. And it was more than that—it was as though the heavens themselves had conspired to bring them together. It had all happened so quickly, so completely, his possession of her so absolute. She’d only been with one other man before, Matthew, and she’d thought herself to be in love with him. She’d presumed that was a prerequisite to enjoying sex.
Enjoying sex!
What a bland way to express what she’d just felt! Her soul had changed orientation. North was now south, the world had altered shape, everything was different. She hadn’t known what her body was capable of until a master such as this man had taught her how to truly feel. Wonderment filled her.
She knew only one regret then—that this wasn’t the beginning of something more. It was impossible to hope for that. She wasn’t utterly deluded as to her position in the royal family to think she could shun her obligations so completely and pursue a sexual fling with some random man—even one of obvious wealth and importance.
A sigh left her lips; she reached for a blade of grass, the dew on its tip delicate and glistening in the moonlight. The man turned to face her, and she smiled at him as though it were the most natural thing in the world. He smiled back; there were no barriers between them.
‘Let me help you.’ His voice was deep and husky, tinged with a slight accent. She couldn’t quite pick it. She’d presumed he was from Taquul but perhaps he was from a neighbouring state, here to mark the new peace in the region.
Her brain was beginning to work again, after the fog of desire had made thinking impossible. He reached for her underwear, holding it out to her, the smile still on his face so something shifted in the pit of her stomach. He was so handsome, but it was more than that. She’d met plenty of handsome men before, and never felt like this. Powerful men, too. Handsome, strong, wealthy, sophisticated. After Matthew, she’d been difficult to impress. Once bitten, twice shy had become somewhat of a mantra for Johara without her realising it.
Perhaps it came down to the fact she knew nothing about him—he hadn’t lied to her, he couldn’t have, because they hadn’t spoken. They’d let their bodies and mutual desire do all the communicating. Pleasure had been paramount.
Her nipples tingled as she slipped the bra into place, and he expelled a harsh breath as her underpants covered her femininity, so she knew he too regretted the necessity of ending this. Beyond the walls of this maze a party raged, a party at which she was expected to stand at her brother’s side. Soon, the masks would come off, for the members of royal family at least, so that they could stand before the Sheikh of Ishkana as their true selves, and see his true self, pledging a better future for their two countries. And just for a moment, a blade of something like worry punctured the perfection of this moment. She pushed it away; she couldn’t let it ruin this wonderful thing she’d just done.
Yet she had always hated everything the Haddad family was—that hate had been taught to her from a young age and even now, as a twenty-five-year-old woman, when she could acknowledge it was an ancient prejudice she’d been brought up to bear, she couldn’t free herself from those feelings.
The idea of standing beside Malik and pretending she welcomed the Sheikh of Ishkana filled her with abhorrence. But she must do it. This encounter had been her act of rebellion, a last, secret giving-in to her own needs. Now she must be what her country needed.
‘This dress is unlike anything I’ve ever seen.’ He ran his fingers over it then held it open for her to step into. She moved closer, lifting one foot and placing it in the middle of the dress, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. She’d marked him there too; little fingernail crescents were woven over his skin like a pattern that told of her impatience and need. She stroked the marks absent-mindedly as she moved her other foot into the dress.
‘It’s made of spider silk.’
The jerk of his head towards hers showed surprise.