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‘This is a beautiful robe,’ he said, stroking the thin silk, but then he curled his fingers around the lapels and tore it away from her body. ‘But entirely superfluous.’
The sound of rending fabric filled the chamber, and she jerked in shock. But then her gaze connected with his and she saw the brutal passion, the desperate demand. And desire exploded inside her, sweeping everything before it—doubts, fears, insecurities—until all that was left was the all-consuming need.
The torn silk whispered over her skin and pooled around her ankles, leaving her stunned and yearning in front of him.
The desire to cover herself whispered across her mind, but before she managed to gather herself enough to act upon it he bent and lifted her into his arms.
He carried her into the next room. A large bed stood in the middle of the chamber, the frame decorated with garlands of flowers. The heady perfume seemed to engulf her, but as he laid her down on the soft sheets and she watched him tear off his own clothes nothing in her mind seemed to register except the sight of him.
All that power, all that passion, was concentrated in the hard lines of his body, the smooth dark skin, the bulge and flex of sinew and muscles, the ragged scars on his back, the powerful jut of his erection.
He climbed onto the bed and rubbed the heel of his palm against her yearning clitoris. She bucked off the bed. And he traced the slick folds with his fingers, while leaning over her to capture one rigid nipple in his mouth. He suckled hard on the sensitive peak, making her cry out, drawing the brutal orgasm forth as he found the tight nub with his thumb.
She sobbed, moaned, trying to hold on, trying to hold back. But she felt trapped by her own desires, driven wild by a need that stunned her.
As she crashed over that final edge, sensation fired through her body like the fireworks she had witnessed earlier. Bright colourful lights, stunning and surreal, rippled through her nerve endings. Before she had a chance to regroup, to recover, he moved to grasp her hips, angle her for his possession, and the huge head of his erection pressed into the swollen folds.
He felt immense, impaling her too-sensitive flesh, the wide girth stretching her, filling her.
She clung to his shoulders, the brutal orgasm not allowed to ebb as he set a punishing rhythm. Thrusting deep, then drawing back.
The orgasm crested again, hurling her back into the maelstrom as he butted a spot deep inside her.
‘Come for me again, Catherine.’ His voice, deep and tortured, demanded and she delivered.
He grew even bigger inside her as she sobbed her surrender.
He grunted, harsh and long. The moan echoed around the chamber as his seed emptied into her.
In the afterglow-infused haze, her body struggled to adjust. He withdrew swiftly and moved off her. Then pulled the sheet up over her shaking body.
Leaning over her, he pressed his lips to her forehead, as he had done the afternoon of the proposal. But this time the kiss felt perfunctory. Especially when he rolled away from her and stood. He began to walk towards the balcony that connected their two suites of rooms.
‘Zane, where are you going?’ she said, the brutal urgency of his lovemaking still echoing between her thighs, still making her breasts prickle and pulse.
She saw his back stiffen, the ragged scars standing out against the smooth skin, the flicker of candlelight making them seem even more grotesque. Even more tragic.
‘I’m returning to my own chamber,’ he said, his voice dull and flat and devoid of the warmth she had come to expect.
She scrambled up in bed, clinging to the sheet, desperate to cover her nakedness, feeling more exposed than she had when he’d ripped away her robe. ‘But aren’t you going to sleep here...with me?’
He turned back, and those sensual lips lifted in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Even naked, he looked every inch the Sheikh in that moment and nothing like the man she thought she had agreed to marry.
‘I have my own suite of rooms on the other side of the courtyard, Catherine. I prefer to sleep alone.’
‘You... You don’t want to be with me,’ she said, her voice thick with tears. What was wrong? Why was he treating her like this? He seemed more distant now than ever.
Placing a knee on the bed, he cupped her cheek; she leaned into it, the sign of warmth, of tenderness the first one he’d shown her since entering the room.
‘Don’t get upset, Catherine,’ he said. ‘We’ll make this work.’ His gaze dipped to her abdomen as he stroked her cheek. ‘For you and me, and the baby.’
Her breath shuddered out. Thank God, he understood.
But then his eyes seemed to flatten, the light going out of them. And he drew his hand away. ‘But I’m afraid there’s no room for sentiment in this marriage.’
Sentiment? What did that even mean? Was he talking about intimacy?
