CHAPTER NINE
SAFIYAHLISTENEDTOthe sound of the shower in the next room and slumped down to sit on the end of the bed. Karim had spoken barely a word on the ride back to the summer palace, or after they’d left the stables for their bedroom.
Theirbedroom.
Instead of horrifying her, those words settled in her mind like a comforting blanket. Because she’d given up hiding from the truth. She wanted her new husband and she looked forward to being with him. Even though she knew from previous experience that the actual sex act would be less than satisfying, she still wanted him.
Because he’d been the first man to give her an orgasm?
Her lips curved at the memory.
That would be an easy explanation. But Safiyah refused to settle for anything less than the truth.
She’d never stopped wanting Karim, even after he’d treated her so callously.
Throughout her first marriage she’d compartmentalised, putting her feelings for Karim away in a box marked ‘Ancient History’, devoting herself to her husband. But now there was nothing holding back those old feelings and they were stronger than ever.
She shifted, trying to ease the ache between her legs—so inexplicable given that stunning climax. Beneath her clothes she felt the abrasive scratch of sand. What she wanted—apart from Karim—was a wash, but he’d stalked straight to the bathroom and she, out of training and habit, was content to wait on her husband’s wishes.
Except Safiyahwasn’tcontent. She felt edgy and uncomfortable. She wanted a wash and she wanted Karim.
His words kept replaying in her head. He wanted her in a comfortable bed where he could take his time. He didn’t want sex to be hot and hard and over in two seconds.
She knew about sex that was over almost before it had begun, and she was accustomed to the listless sense that she’d missed out on something just beyond her reach. Now she knew what she’d missed and she wanted more. How would it feel to reach that pinnacle of bliss with Karim moving inside her?
Safiyah shivered and wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold in the breathless excitement. An image rose in her head of herself following Karim into the bathroom, stripping off her crumpled sticky clothes and joining him in the shower. Her skin drew tight and her palms dampened as she remembered how good he looked without his shirt.
How would he look totally naked?
Once more she shifted. But nothing could ease that restless ache. Except Karim.
Abbas would have been horrified at her making a sexual advance. He’d always taken the initiative. Not that she’d ever wanted to.
But then he’d never caressed her with his mouth the way Karim had. Never made her fly in ecstasy and never, for that matter, pulled back without taking his own pleasure. Seeing Karim do that tonight had stunned her, making her question what she knew about him.
For years she’d believed him callous, even cruel. Yet he’d adopted her son, made Tarek his heir. There’d been acts of kindness enough to make her think this forced marriage wouldn’t be all bad.
Safiyah thought of Karim’s very obvious erection as he’d gathered the horses and helped her up, of his grimace as he’d mounted and turned his horse towards the palace. She thought of his ebony head buried in the V between her thighs and the extraordinary experience he’d bestowed upon her.
Karim was a conundrum. But one thing was obvious—he didn’t follow Abbas’s rules. Whatever rules they followed in this marriage were for her and Karim to decide.
The realisation made her feel suddenly strong.
Toeing off her shoes, Safiyah rose and marched, heart hammering, to the bathroom door. She opened it and slipped in. There was no steam to obscure her husband’s naked body. He stood, palms flat on the tiled wall, head bowed beneath the sluicing water that trailed down over wide shoulders and a tapering body to firm, round buttocks and long, muscled legs.
Ignoring the doubts pecking at her determination, Safiyah stripped off her clothes, shivering as the fabric scraped across her hyper-aware flesh. Nervousness almost stopped her, but determination won out. She padded across to the shower, opened the glass door and stepped in.
An arctic chill enveloped her and she yelped as the water sprayed her.
‘Safiyah?’
Stunned eyes met hers as she recoiled from the cold water. But when she tried to retreat she found her way barred by one long arm. The other reached for the taps. Seconds later the water turned warm.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘What areyoudoing standing under cold water?’
One black eyebrow crooked. ‘Why do men usually take cold showers?’