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“Oh, I absolutely do. If I lose control, all bets are off.”
“If you lose control, you’re still safe with me.” He kissed her again, and then caressed her lower lip, and the hollow beneath. “You will always be safe with me.”
“I don’t know, because this feels pretty dangerous.”
He smiled a wicked smile which made her breath catch and her pulse race, making her heart pound and hum with the rest of her body.
His dark gaze settled on her mouth, and the quiver of her lower lip. “Good. Because this is desire.”
The quiver of her lip intensified, along with the reckless rhythm of her heart. Blood drummed through her veins, warming her, making her skin hot and sensitive.
“And desire is important,” he added, drawing his fingertip from her lower lip, down the middle of her chin, and lower still, down her neck to the base of her throat, and then on to her breastbone. It was such a light stroke, but slow, and long, and he lit every nerve ending he touched. “Desire makes us feel alive.”
“It’s so sexual.”
“Mmm,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth curving, and yet it wasn’t a smile. It looked like hunger. “Is that a problem?”
She shivered, and would have looked away if he hadn’t caught her chin, and forced her gaze to meet his. Her mouth dried. She licked her lips, blood roaring in her ears. “Sex without emotion is empty,” she said.
“Is it? Even when you have this intense chemistry?” he asked, stroking the curve of her breasts, avoiding the taut, straining nipple. “How can this be empty?”
Her thoughts slowed, became tangled, her senses taking over, smothering reason. Was this empty? Was this connection bad?
Mikael’s fingertip drew slow, lazy circles down the slope of her breast to the valley between, and then down across her flat belly to gently press against her through the material of her bikini bottoms.
She sighed as her head lit up with color and lights and pleasure.
“We enjoy each other,” he added, tracing her softness, his knuckle brushing against her where she was so very sensitive. “We’ve been affectionate. We both feel a strong physical connection. What is missing?”
Love.
She wanted more than sex, more than pleasure. She wanted love. But it was so hard to say when he was touching her so intimately, making her head spin, and her senses pop and explode.
It was hard to focus, even harder for her to speak. “A relationship can’t just be about sex,” she said. “And I want more than pleasure.”
“You don’t think pleasure can lead to more?” His fingers slipped beneath the material to caress her intimately. She was hot and slick and he teased her, making her gasp and squeeze her thighs together to ignore what was happening inside of her.
“Can’t pleasure generate love?” he persisted, before leaning over her and kissing one taut nipple through her top.
“I don’t...think...so,” she said, sucking in a breath as he sucked her, drawing on her hard enough to create sharp pinches of sensation, the pleasure so intense it was almost like pain.
As he worked her breast he pressed his fingers into her, stroking her deep and rhythmically, matching the draw on her nipple.
Fire streaked from her breast to her womb. She felt her inner muscles clench him, her body already so hot and wet she knew she wouldn’t last, knew she couldn’t hold back. He had magic in his hands, and he knew just how to touch her, just how to seduce her. He could make her his slave with just a kiss and a touch...
“But you don’t know for sure,” he said, stroking deep, creating a maddening friction. His dark eyes sparked. “Pleasure happens in the mind. Love happens there, too.” He leaned close, his lips grazing hers. “Why can’t one lead to the other?”
She leaned in to the kiss, kissing him with desperation and hunger, as the tease of desire became a fierce consuming need. She hummed with tension. It coiled inside of her, throbbing, insisting, making her feel wild for release. “I need you,” she choked. “Need you to make love to me.”
“I am,” he said, as his fingers pressed deep.
She bucked against his hand, frantic, and frustrated. “Not like this. I want you, your body, your skin, in bed, on me.” She’d go mad if she didn’t have him soon. “Let’s go inside,” she whispered, licking her lip, her mouth dry, heart hammering. “Now.”
“And what shall we do there?” he asked.
She gave her head a shake, dizzy, dazed. “Everything.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “This is only day three, laeela. We’re to draw the pleasure out...make you wait.”
“I waited all day for you!” she protested.
“Pleasure can’t be rushed.”
“Oh, I think it can. You’ve already made me half mad.” She sat up, and pulled him forward to kiss him deeply, drawing his breath into her, opening her mouth to him, welcoming the tip of his tongue, sucking on the tip even as he thrust his fingers into her. She was so close to shattering, so close that she was afraid he’d stop, and walk away, and leave her aching. “I need you,” she whispered against his mouth, frantic for him, frantic for release.
“You have me,” he answered, his hands where she needed them, his mouth on hers, his tongue answering hers.
Her fingers curled into his crisp hair. Her nails pressed against his scalp. She leaned into him, pressing her breasts to his chest, letting her hips move, grinding against his hand. She was wanton but he felt good and tasted good and right now, she felt alive, and hungry for life, which was so different from how she’d felt this past year.
To go from dead to life...
To feel beautiful, and powerful...
He brought her to a climax, and she cried out as she shattered against him. She tipped her head against his, panting in release.
She should be horrified. Instead she felt strong. Hopeful. Jemma opened her eyes, looked into his. “What have you done to me?” she whispered.
“I’m just making sure you’re satisfied,” he said, kissing her.
“I’m satisfied,” she said, still breathless. “But what about you?”
“I’m good.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “You are.” And he did feel good. He felt solid and real and permanent in the best sort of way. “Can we now go to the bedroom?”
He kissed her again, and smoothed her hair back from her face. “I wish I could. Unfortunately, I have another conference call and this one is going to take a while. The staff knows to serve you dinner when you’re hungry. Don’t wait for me.”
“Not again!”
“I know it’s frustrating but it’s important. Trust me.” His dark eyes held hers, searching hers. “Do you believe me?”
She sighed, and nodded, because she did believe him. She couldn’t imagine him lying to her. Not now. Not ever. “Yes.”
“Just know that I will come to you tonight in the Amethyst Chamber, as soon as I can.”
“I don’t want to go there without you.”
“But I will be there, laeela. I promise. Soon.”
* * *
She ate dinner alone in the Amethyst Chamber, the walls painted a deep plum, and then stenciled in gold. The low wooden bed was framed with long embroidered silk curtains in shades of purple and plum, with violet hued pillows and a silk coverlet decorating the bed.
She didn’t belong here, she thought, finishing her dinner, and returning the dishes to the tray by the door.
She didn’t belong in Saidia and she didn’t belong in Mikael’s life. When she was with him, he distracted her from reality, making her forget what was true and important.
Like her work, and her family.
Like getting back to London and to those who did love her.
It was good to be away from him this evening. It was good to have time to herself, to find herself, and most of all, to remember how she’d come to be here, at the Bridal Palace, in the first place.
She’d been forced here. She’d been forced into this marriage. And she’d been forced to surrender to Sheikh Karim.
She had to remember that. Had to remember the facts, and reality, next time Mikael showed up, and touched her, and kissed her and made her want nothing but him.
She fell asleep, with the light on, determined to be strong when he arrived. She would resist him this time. She wouldn’t melt for him. She wouldn’t ache or need or shatter in his hands. Not anymore. Never again.
As her eyes closed she counted the days and nights she’d been here. Tonight was the third night. That meant there were just five more and then she’d be free.
* * *
Jemma woke up, blinked. It was morning. She looked around, pushing her long hair back from her face, and tugging the strap of her filmy purple nightgown back up onto her shoulder.
She was alone.
Good.
Good, she silently insisted. She’d gone to bed alone so it shouldn’t surprise her that she was the only person in the bed, but she’d dreamed about Mikael all night, dreamed of Mikael kissing her, making love to her, and it’d felt so real. She woke up feeling as if he had been there, with her.
