“Not if you subtract how much of last night I spent awake.”
For the briefest moment, she thought she saw amusement flicker across his face, a hint of laughter in his eyes, but it was extinguished almost instantly.
“There is food inside,” he murmured. “If you are hungry.”
She was. Ravenous.
But her stomach’s needs were taking a backseat to other more pr
essing imperatives. She looked at her husband and felt a tightening in the ball of her stomach, a burst of need that was so powerful she knew she wouldn’t be able to ignore it – so powerful she wasn’t sure she wanted to ignore it.
Her eyes lifted to his, helplessly, her tongue darting out to the corner of her mouth as she swallowed.
They were here for one reason, and one reason only: to beget an heir.
Shifting a little, her eyes sparking now with a silent challenge, she loosened the sheet from beneath her arms, dropping it to the floor. “Food can wait.”
He stormed across the small balcony, scooping her up and carrying her inside, his eyes burning into hers, raking over her expression, his own need as insatiable as her own. He lay her down on the mattress and stood for a moment, staring at her nakedness, her beautiful body bearing the marks of his intimacy, her pale flesh marked red in parts from his stubble, his touch, his kiss, her lips swollen from his kisses, her nipples engorged, begging him to take them in his mouth and hands once more.
He parted her legs wordlessly, his eyes boring into hers, as he straddled her, his cock at the apex of her thighs. She held her breath, her body stilled. He watched her for a moment and then drove himself into her feminine depths, his body tightening at the sweet little moaning sounds she made.
And it occurred to him that in this one way, they were almost designed for each other. He’d had a lot of sex with a lot of women, and he could honestly say not one of them had driven him quite as wild as his innocent wife: his brother’s bride.
Her heart would always belong to another man, but Sophia’s delectable body was all his – and, despite the circumstances, Malik was glad for that. He hated that he was, he hated that he felt anything other than duty as he drove into his wife, as he thrust himself deep into her body and held her tight, her pleasure driving her wild. He hated that he felt anything for her, but he couldn’t deny it: on some level, he was actually glad to be married to her, glad he could do this whenever passion overtook them, glad it was his body doing this to hers.
Which, Malik accepted, made him just about the worst bastard known to man.
Chapter 4
MALIK TAPPED HIS FINGERS against the edge of the table, his expression grim. Anyone who knew the powerful ruler would clearly see he was in a mood. But not many would guess the reason for it.
It had been eight days since they’d left the tower in the sky. Eight days in which urgent business with a desert tribe had called him away from the palace and his bride. Eight days riding across the vast rolling sand dunes of Abu Faya, a powerful steed between his legs, sand, heat and lukewarm water testing his patience almost as much as an all-consuming hunger for the woman whose innocence he’d taken nights before.
“You cannot prevent anyone from your tribe from attending university,” he spoke with a calmness he didn’t feel. Desert winds flapped the sides of the tent. The afternoon was closing in; he wanted this wrapped up. He wouldn’t spend another night out here, restless and craving a woman who was thousands of miles from him.
He would go home and have sex with his wife, whether this business was resolved or not. True, it was his duty to be here, to oversee this conflict, but it was also his duty to provide Abu Faya with an heir, and that was something he considered to be a matter of life and death.
Telling himself his compulsion to return to his marital bed had more to do with creating an heir than it did his desire for his wife, he homed his attention back on the meeting. The tribe leader was watching him, a glint of iron in the man’s eyes. Malik recognized it well – he wore the same determination, the same certainty that he alone knew what was best for his people.
Suppressing a sigh, he leaned forward, refilling the other man’s glass of Anäsh-haba wine. It was a gesture that didn’t go unrecognized by those in attendance. For the Sheikh of Abu Faya to serve a tribal leader was a gesture of great deference and respect.
And Malik did respect Laith.
Before he’d inherited Addan’s title, he’d looked upon the older man almost as a father figure, and certainly as a friend. They butted heads more now, Laith’s desire to rule his tribe oftentimes in conflict with Malik’s wishes for the country.
“You are worried you will lose your young,” he said, with understanding. “That each teenager who leaves this way of life, to take up another, to study in the cities and discover that modern existence for themselves will dilute the ways of your ancient people.”
Laith’s eyes widened; he dipped his head in silent concession. “We cannot survive if our numbers continue to be diminished.”
“I know this,” Malik lifted his wine, taking a sip of the sweet, refreshing drink before fixing Laith with a direct stare. “And I sympathise with your position. But you cannot keep your people hostage to this desert. Times are not what they were a hundred, or even fifty, years ago. Healthcare, education, dentistry, human rights – there is an homogenization of these requirements.”
“We do not want it.”
Malik shook his head, his temper rising. “Do not lie to me, old man. I saw your fear when your grandson was diagnosed with leukemia. You availed yourself of the best medical care our nation could offer, you did not leave his health to ancient proverbs and herbal treatments.”
Laith bared his teeth but made a grunt of concession. “Health is different.”
“This woman wants to study law. She wants to move to the city to take up her degree. You cannot forbid her from doing so; you cannot punish and threaten to exile her parents if she goes. What kind of community do you lead if your people are beholden to you out of fear rather than respect?”