But she wasn’t ready to touch him yet. Not there. With a small, impish smile, she moved behind him so she could run her hands over his back, finding the ridges of his spine, the muscles that ran beneath his shoulders, then all the way down his sides, over firm hips, to the buttocks that were impressive for their obvious strength. She touched him freely, curving her palms around him, smiling when she heard his ragged breathing. And with her body behind his, she snaked her hands to his front, clasping his erection in one hand while her other stroked his side.
He made a throaty sound of desire, hot and urgent, and with her hand running the length of him, he began to move, until he could take it no longer. He spun around, grabbing her by the hips and lifting her easily, planting her on his length so that she cried out at his total possession of her. It was perfection. Like this, he was so much deeper, and he no longer seemed to care that this was all new to her, and she was infinitely glad for that. She didn’t want to be treated with kid gloves by her husband. She wanted to feel all of this, all of him.
He thrust inside of her, jerking her body upwards, pulling her down, and he pressed her back under the water until her back connected with the wall and then her feet were digging into his waist so she could move too, taking him as hard as she could. It was an animalistic, savage coming together, their mutual passion making patience impossible. He thrust into her and the feeling of him convulsing in her tipped her over the edge, so she was crying out with him, shouting his name as loudly as she could, water washing away the noises even as she made them, pleasure filling them completely.
When her breathing was almost normal, he eased her down to her feet and reached behind her to turn off the water. His eyes held hers for several seconds before he turned, exiting the shower and returning a moment later with an enormous white fluffy towel.
“Here.” He handed it to her, and she wrapped herself in it, unable to look away from a face that she had now seen from every angle, and watched as he drove her to unimaginable heights of pleasure.
He disappeared again, and when she emerged from the steamy shower, he’d dried himself off and was dressing himself.
A pang of something like alarm spread through her.
“You’re going?”
His smile was just a quick flick of his lips and didn’t reach his eyes. “I will come back tomorrow night,” he promised, closing the distance between them.
Infuriatingly, tears cloyed in Chloe’s throat and it took all of her self-possession to look as she always did – as emotionally detached as she had mastered a long time ago.
“Fine,” she said with a curt nod.
He pressed a finger beneath her chin, lifting her face towards his. “You’re okay?”
“Fine,” she repeated, wondering at how far she felt from that emotion. She would analyse it later, examine why her chest was burning – and not with passion but with the pain of breathing, suddenly
“Good.” He nodded, and it seemed as though he wanted to say something, but then, he pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek and walked away.
*
Raffa’s eyes strayed to his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. The meeting had been intended to last only a short while, but an hour and a half after taking his seat at the table in his conference rooms, the conversation showed little signs of abating.
He listened impassively, allowing his government ministers to talk out the issue of the new highway, how far it would stretch, how they could avoid interfering with the cultural rights of the ancient Bedouin tribes who still inhabited more than forty percent of the country’s deserts.
Deserts. Sand. Tents. Chloe. Naked, beneath the night sky, lying on one of the colourful blankets that surrounded his camps, no servants, nothing but her, him and all the time in the world to explore one another. Beneath the table, his arousal strained hard and he was grateful for the loose-fitting nature of his traditional robes.
She had given herself to him so freely, as abandoned to the wildness of their desire as he. She had been perfect in his arms, perfect as she’d touched him so gently, shyly, her huge eyes hooked to his as her fingertips had traced circles over his skin.
He’d woken that morning in his own bed, alone, and when he’d surveyed himself in the mirror, there’d been tracks down his back, arms and chest. Marks of her passion and proof of the fever that had raged in her blood.
Impatience gnawed through him. He wanted to be with her again already. He needed her. What kind of animal did that make him? She was his wife. There was more to her than her body, her beautiful, willing body. Not only was she his wife, she was a decade his junior, and inexperienced.
He knew he had to give her an opportunity to take stock of what had happened, but Raffa’s own desires were flaring inside of him. He wanted her again, then, that morning, all the time. He wanted to slake his needs with her until he was done, until this burst of sexual obsession had dimmed. And it would dim, because it always did. But for now?
Chloe was a drug and he had no clue how to control his dependence.
He looked at his watch, frowning. Had time stood still?
“Enough.” He stood, scraping back his chair loudly, drawing all eyes to him. “This matter should have been resolved already. Sort it out, bring me a viable, economical solution.”
Kalim rose and fell into step behind Raffa, walking from the room with him.
“You’re distracted.”
“Yes.” He looked towards his friend.
“Anything I can help with?”
Raffa frowned. There was only one thing that would calm the fire in his blood, and he had told her he would go to her that night. Not in the middle of the afternoon. Theirs was an arranged marriage, and now, they were trying to fall pregnant