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“Have you missed me, Sheikha?” He asked, pushing the other strap downwards, so both breasts were displayed.
“Yes,” she said honestly. Her eyes held a challenge.
He understood. “That is a relief.” His thumb padded across her lower lip. “I haven’t been able to sleep for wanting you.”
Hope and her heart burst through Chloe, but she repressed both. Physical desire was a given. And there was no reason to think he hadn’t indulged himself with Elena, or anyone else.
She had no expectations from her husband. The more she reminded herself of that, the better she felt. The easier it was to keep her heart cold, to maintain an emotional distance.
“How are you otherwise?” She asked, realizing she hadn’t observed even the most basic of courtesies since her return to the palace.
“Is there an otherwise?” He said, lifting her easily and cradling her against his chest.
Her heart flipped over. If she pressed her ear to his chest, she knew she would hear the strong beating of his heart. But it would be slow and steady, not like hers.
“I guess not.”
He placed her on the bed gently, sliding his hands over her smooth thighs, pushing her dress to her hips, revealing her naked womanhood to his eyes.
At his enquiringly arched brow, she shrugged. “I thought I’d dispense with the preamble.”
“I see.” He padded his thumb over the fair hair at the apex of her thighs and she shivered, her hips writhing. She wanted him more than she could say. She needed him.
“I suggest you do likewise,” she said haughtily, so that he laughed.
“You are asking me to be fast?”
She bit down on her lip.
“And that just makes me want to be very, very slow,” he said, and to elaborate, dropped his head towards her thighs, running his tongue over her most sensitive flesh until she was incandescent with pleasure.
“It makes me want to torture every single one of your pleasure points until you can barely speak. To make you weak with needing me. To make you incapable of thinking of anything other than when we will next be together.”
“That would fall into the cruel and unusual category,” she said with great effort. Her body was trembling with desire, her mind foggy already. “When we both know once you’ve achieved your aim, there will be no ‘next time’.”
He paused for a moment, but then, he lifted his hands to her breasts, stroking her flesh there, circling her nipples, teasing her achingly slowly.
She held her breath, waiting for a denial, she realized. Waiting for a contradiction, a suggestion that their relationship had progressed in a way that would never be undone.
“So let us make the most of this, then,” he muttered softly, bringing his lips to the soft flesh at the base of her throat. His breath fanned her pulse point there and she whimpered beneath him. It was a sound of pleasure, and ever so sligh
tly of heartbreak.
Despite her request, he did just as he’d said, tormenting her until she was almost at breaking point. Bringing her to the brink of pure white-hot pleasure before allowing sanity to seep back in, then stirring her back up anew. She was desperate for him, desperate to feel him within her, so that when he finally entered her with one hard, single thrust, she cried out and then fell apart, her body wracked with pleasure, her breasts thrust upwards as she arched her back, her fingers digging into his back, her legs wrapped around his waist.
He held her as she climaxed, he whispered ancient words in her ear, as he had the first time they made love. The same words, she recognized, but still had no idea what they meant. And once her convulsions had subsided, he drove himself into her again and again, hard, then slowly, his eyes watching her face, his body answering every silent need of hers, and hers of his. It was an ancient dance that seemed to change every time they came together and yet they both knew the steps, they both enacted it perfectly.
He drove her body back to fever pitch and then, as she tumbled off the edge of the cliff he’d brought her to, he chased after, releasing himself with a hoarse cry into the cool desert air.
Passion was heavy around them, and Chloe was inexplicably exhausted, her eyes heavy, her body languid. He was inside of her and yet she felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her chest. He reached for her hand, holding it to his, palm to palm, so that his long, tanned fingers eclipsed hers by at least a knuckle.
“You are so small,” he said, with almost a hint of wonderment in the words.
She pulled a face. “No. You’re just big.”
A sardonic smile curved his lips, and his eyes skimmed her face, from her hair, to her eyes, to her lips, and then back to her eyes, where they dwelled for several, silent moments. “I remember the first time I saw you,” he said, so quietly she almost didn’t hear.
“At my father’s funeral,” she agreed. She remembered too; how could she forget? They’d agreed to marry, and he arrived, bigger and more everything than anyone she’d ever met. Their eyes had met and her whole body had zinged with a current of recognition.
