AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You’re distracted.”
“Yes.” He looked towards his friend.
“Anything I can help with?”
Raffa frowned. There was only one thing that would calm the fire in his blood, and he had told her he would go to her that night. Not in the middle of the afternoon. Theirs was an arranged marriage, and now, they were trying to fall pregnant because the country needed an heir.
This was not a love match – far from it.
It wasn’t a passion-filled, tempestuous affair that required indulgence in the middle of the day. He came to a stop near a large bay window that overlooked the desert. It glistened in the heat of the sun, glowing like Chloe’s hair had against the pillows of her bed.
A muscle jerked in his cheek as he forced restraint on his libido. He needed to stick to his routine, to remember that Chloe was simply the bride his father had chosen, with whom he had little in common. Sex was one thing – he would indulge his needs, knowing it was for the greater good – the country needed an heir, they wanted a child. But it was just sex – a simple biological urge; nothing more.
He needed a distraction. “Ride out with me,” he
murmured to Kalim, his eyes trained on the far dunes. The further he was from the palace, the easier it would be to resist temptation.
Chloe was reading the newspaper when he strode into her suite, later that evening. She’d been mid-way through a fascinating opinion piece about the rising costs of living in the city when Raffa swept in, straight from the desert, his dark eyes glittering. His hair was in its bun, but messy around the face, and he wore flowing pants and a loose kaftan – both cream in colour, showing off the rich tan of his skin.
Her breath caught in her throat as, without speaking, he crossed the room and pulled her from the chair, lifting her against him and crushing her lips with his. She could feel the power of his arousal through his clothes and hers and a desperate heat exploded in her gut.
He was warm, warmer than usual, as though he’d been running or something, and he tasted of salt and sand and magical desert creatures. He perched her on the edge of the table and without breaking his kiss, pushed at the buttons of her dress until, with a guttural sound of impatience, he pulled hard enough to simply break the fine row of beading down the centre, splitting it open and revealing her breasts to him.
He groaned as he dipped his head forward and kissed her roughly, his beard scratching her flesh. She tilted her head back to give him better access, and her hands, of their own accord, went to his kaftan, lifting it so she could slide her fingertips into the waistband of his pants.
He grunted as he stepped out of them, then kissed her hard enough that her body lay back against the cold marble table, the newspaper squashed beneath her. He separated her legs and entered her swiftly. Not a word passed between them.
He held her breasts in his palms as he moved in her feminine core and Chloe exploded instantly. The taste of him, the feel of him, his warmth, his strength, all of it, tilted the world off its axis. She was sliding and she didn’t care.
She cried out in the cold night air and he crushed his mouth to hers, catching her hoarse exclamation, tasting her desire. She dug her nails into his back, needing to anchor herself to something tangible and real, and he moved faster and harder, until they were both spiraling out of control together. Two writhing, hot bodies, full of passion, full of need.
She lay against the table, grateful for the cool of the marble, for the hardness of the surface that stopped her from sinking into the earth’s molten core.
Slowly, she blinked her heavy eyes open, staring at her husband as though she’d never seen him before. And she hadn’t; not like this. Though hadn’t she always felt there was an almost feral energy emanating from him? A wildness deep in his soul that could be concealed, some of the time, but never fully masked.
She shivered, but it was a movement of desire and cravings. He was still inside her, her breath was still frantic after her explosive orgasm, but still she wanted more. She needed more.
Her eyes dragged over his face and then his body, but she gasped suddenly, and had she been prone to blushing, pink heat would have spread over her cheeks.
“You’re bleeding,” she muttered, turning her face away, so he couldn’t see the shame in her eyes. She’d thought he was wild and animalistic? She’d scratched his chest and drawn blood with her nails alone. “I’m sorry.”
His frown was infinitesimal, as he surveyed the proof of her desire. “What for?”
She swept her eyes shut, and now, impatience to see her properly had him reaching down and turning her face to his. “What for?” He repeated, the words carrying a warning.
“I … for that.” She mumbled.
His shrug was pure nonchalance. He reached behind her and pulled her to a sitting position, disentangling their bodies. His eyes locked to hers, and she couldn’t look away. It was as though an invisible string connected them. Dark emotions she couldn’t comprehend swirled in his gaze, so that she held her breath, waiting.
Finally, he spoke, the words raspy and more heavily accented than usual. “Did I hurt you?”
She blinked, frowning in confusion. “When?”
“Now.”
“Oh! No. Not at all. That was… all good.” She dropped her gaze then, embarrassment making her shy. Or perhaps it was the newness of this, of him, of realizing that she could drive him to depths of wild abandon that surprised even himself.
“Your skin is warm,” she said softly, lifting a hand to his chest and touching the scratch marks he’d made. And then, courage building inside of her, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the marks, tasting salt, iron and passion on the tip of her tongue.
