Every last one of them. He’d travelled more and more, stayed away from his home increasingly often, and he’d put Sophia and her mysterious silver blue eyes from his mind.
And now, his body was hard for her, despite the fact he’d taken her in the middle of the night, driving into her and burning them both with the intensity of his need.
Hell.
This was a problem. He jack-knifed out of bed, moving to the small kitchen area and quietly fixing himself a coffee. While it brewed, the smell of spicy caffeine filling the small room, he pulled on a pair of pants and tied his hair up in a knot on the top of his head. As soon as the cup had filled, he grabbed it and strode towards the parapet balcony, stepping out and breathing in the desert air with relief.
He would need to sleep with her often, until she had conceived. Then, he could leave her to the care of his servants, blowing into the desert just as he always had, taking himself out amongst his people, seeing her as infrequently as ever. He’d made an art form of ignoring her – how long had it been since he’d decided that was the safest course of action?
When their child was born, he would need to come back, of course.
For a time.
But he would control his desire for her. He would maintain a respectful distance.
She had been Addan’s fiancé, his chosen bride.
This was just sex – for the sake of the royal line.
And what of his libido, which he’d delighted in indulging often?
His expression tightened, his eyes skimming the dunes in the distance. He wouldn’t go without sex. He was a man, and a man who had become used to indulging his body’s needs. His great grandfather had dispensed with the harem, something Malik had often joked to Addan about with mock regret. He didn’t want a harem.
But he would need a mistress.
Someone discreet. Someone who…
His stomach rolled at the idea of sleeping with anyone else, a visceral rejection to the notion ricocheting through him.
He didn’t want anyone else. In that moment, despite the fact he’d filled his bed with supermodels, actresses, heiresses, princesses and renowned beauties in the past, despite the fact he knew he could snap his fingers and have any one of them back in his life, he knew he wouldn’t.
He stared out at the desert and the true consequences of his situation exploded through him for the first time.
He was not a man who would cheat.
Having pledged himself to this woman, he knew he would stay faithful to her.
Which meant celibacy.
He couldn’t sleep with her for any reason other than procreation.
And he wouldn’t cheat on her.
So he would have to learn to curb his libido.
The idea was as unpalatable as any he’d known. He ground his teeth together, drinking his coffee, knowing that unpleasant as the notion was, he would do it. For what other choice did he have?
She slept late and woke ravenous. Sitting up in bed, her blonde hair unknowingly wild about her petite face, the sheet clasped under her arms, firm across her breast, she scanned the room looking for any sign of Malik.
There was none.
Breathing a small sigh of relief, she wrapped the sheet more firmly around herself, wedging her way out of bed and walking as best she could in such a tight makeshift dress towards the coffee machine. It was lukewarm, but not hot. So he was awake – and fueled with caffeine. She pressed the button to reheat it and moved towards the balcony, drawn by the brightness and warmth of the day.
The sight of her husband arrested her completely.
He was naked from the waist up, his body so firmly muscled, so toned and strong, that she could only stare. The sun danced across his honeyed flesh, showing the angles and planes of his sculpted chest. Her heart raced when his eyes moved to hers, and she was powerless to look away, even when her pulse was hammering and her heart slamming into her ribs.
“You slept late,” he murmured, his gaze trailing down her body as though she were naked.