“Long. And not satisfying.” He pushed up so his eyes could stare into the depths of hers and something inside Sophia squeezed.
“Where were you?”
“The plains to the west.”
It was a cryptic, unsatisfying response.
“Yes, I gathered,” she murmured, surprised to feel a sardonic smile tilting her lips. “But with the Lakani people? Or the Shaman?”
At that, his eyes flared a little wider and she felt as though he was contemplating ignoring her question, not answering her. With a hint of reluctance, her said, “The Jakari.”
“Ah. Laith is the ruler of that tribe, isn’t he?”
Malik’s expression tightened with disapproval. Only for an instant, but enough for Sophia to see it. “Yes.”
“And something’s happened now?”
He didn’t answer.
Sophia sighed. “Addan used to talk to me, Malik.” She lifted a hand and stroked his cheek thoughtfully, feeling the ridges of his facial structure and the stubble of his hair through her fingertips. “I think if you were to do the same, you’d find I could be helpful.”
His laugh was spontaneous. A gruff sound of disagreement. “You?” He captured her hand in his and laced his fingers through it, holding it to her side. He pushed up a little higher, so he could see her better. “And tell me, my American, virgin wife,” he brought his mouth to her nipple, flicking it with his tongue, tracing the dark aureole so her breath caught in her throat. “What do you think you could teach me about my own people?” He moved to her other breast, inflicting the same delightful torment on her sensitive nerve endings there. “What insight do you have to offer?”
Hurt flexed inside her but she pushed it aside. Sophia had always been a fighter and despite the torrent of sensation he was raining down on her, she fought his words now. “I think you’d be surprised.”
His eyes showed his disagreement.
He dragged his lips higher, to the flesh of her décolletage, his tongue flicking the pulse point there. She moaned softly, but wouldn’t be derailed.
“Why?” The word was uneven. “Is it so impossible to think I might have a perspective to offer that could be of value to you?”
“You have many things to offer me,” he said, moving his hips so she could feel that he was hard again. But his words were unwelcome. His words made her feel that this was somehow cheap and two-dimensional. Like sex was simply sex, and beyond that, he wanted nothing from her.
“Are you saying you want me to be the kind of wife who’s waiting for you in bed at the end of the day but doesn’t otherwise bother you?”
His lips twisted but his only other response was to thrust his hips once more. “You say that as though it is not what you want.”
“It’s not.”
She pressed her palms to his chest, her expression serious enough to still him. He held himself above her, watching her, his own features carefully muted of any feeling.
“I’m your wife.” She expelled the words slowly, carefully, trying to rein her temper in. She’d learned as a child that her quickness to anger was only a benefit if she could control that anger, if she could mete it out slowly rather than letting it explode in one violent surge of passion, but she was furious. From when she’d been a very young child, and her own family had been ripped apart, she swore she’d have a perfect marriage, a real family, all of her own one day. One that would never fall apart. “We’re supposed to be a team. Do you think you need to do all this on your own?”
He stared at her for several long seconds, and she was conscious of his possess
ion of her body, conscious of how badly she wanted to pause this conversation and feel what he could give her, feel that pleasure and euphoric release.
“You are my wife,” he said, finally, and now he rolled his hips once more and she had to bite down – hard – on her lip to stop from moaning. “But that does not mean I want, nor invite, your counsel.”
How could she feel such heat and want when he was cutting her down so mercilessly?
“But Addan valued…”
“Do not speak to me of my brother!” The words were fierce and she startled, surprised by his anger but also by the depth of his hurt. She felt it ravaging him and she understood. “Not while we are doing this.” He stared at her as he thrust inside her and her chest exploded with feelings.
Because he was right and yet none of this felt wrong, none of it felt like a betrayal of the man they’d both loved and lost.
“I have no interest in competing with him,” he said, bringing his mouth to hers, his mouth warm against her own, his tongue sliding inside, clashing with hers. He moved faster and deeper, his arousal possessing every single part of her, tormenting her with the perfection of his possession.