She swallowed, her delicate throat moving visibly.
He held her hips, bending her forward so her arms were supported on the dressing table, then used her hair to pull her head up a little, so her eyes were level with the mirror.
“Watch what I can do to you, and tell me you’re not a prisoner to this.” He spread her hips wide, and thrust into her from behind. Heat contorted her features, stretching her lips, widening her eyes, colouring her cheeks. “Watch what you can do to me,” he groaned, as he buried himself deeper inside of her than ever before, his face tight, his expression almost pained. “And tell me I am not also a prisoner to this madness?”
Chapter 10
“THE YASHAL IS SOMETHING no outsiders ever get to see,” he murmured from where he sat beside her, their position separate to the tribe, set apart, honoured guests. They were on a bright burgundy carpet, with flickering gold candles spread about them. Sweet wine had been brought, and dried fruits which tasted like honey and vanilla.
Sophia watched as the tribe danced, ancient instruments being plucked to create a magical music, and darkness began to fall over the deserts, the stars shining in the heavens above.
She watched the way the tribe men and women danced, their bodies seeming to capture the desert winds, the ancient sands, the music itself. It was breathtakingly beautiful, but her mind was only half there.
Every time she blinked, she saw them.
Malik and her, the way he’d taken her from behind, his powerful body driving anything from her head and heart, making her exist purely for that moment. And she saw the truth in his words – that they were both of them a prisoner to this desire.
She sat beside her husband, and remembered everything. The way he’d always made her feel. The way his eyes had seemed to se
ar her from the inside out. As a teenager, she’d mistaken it for animosity. But now that she’d felt their incendiary connection, she had to admit – to herself at least – that it was so much more.
She’d wanted him for a long time. She’d desired him. She’d seen him with other women and hated him, hated them. On some kind of primal level, her body had craved his for years.
She turned to face him. He was staring straight ahead, his profile enigmatic. And then he shifted his gaze, suddenly, jerking it towards her, and her breath snagged in her throat.
They’d hated each other.
Except, what if they hadn’t?
Was it possible he’d desired her too? That he’d felt the same rush of need? Only she’d been younger and inexperienced, and had misunderstood what that feeling meant. But Malik? He was hardly a virgin. Surely he’d recognized it for desire?
It wasn’t possible that the strength of this, of what they felt, had sprung up out of nowhere. The simmering tension between them, the ever-present cold war, surely that had more to do with repressed need than anything else?
“If you keep looking at me like that, I will find a tent to drag you in to…” he warned, his lips twisting slightly in the corners, showing him to be joking.
Her smile was enigmatic. “Do you think I’d complain?”
And his smile dropped as the full force of desire sledged him from the sides and she knew, with absolute certainty, that the real fight they’d been waging all these years wasn’t about him not liking her and her not liking him. It was about this.
About them wanting each other and having no way to express it.
They’d both been a prisoner to this desire for years.
It all made sense.
And Addan?
Guilt sliced through her stomach. If he’d lived, she’d be married to him now. Happily married.
Except…
She whipped her head away, focusing on the dancers, her eyes filling unexpectedly with tears. Would she have really been happy?
She’d have been content. Was that the same as happiness?
Was this?
She reached for her wine, taking a small sip and replacing the goblet, her eyes lifting to Malik’s of their own volition. He was watching her, a heated possession in his gaze that curled her toes.