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Her eyes were awash with feelings. ‘I know that.’
‘I want to make love to you.’
‘I know that too.’
He turned towards the table. ‘Are you hungry?’
She shook her head.
‘You don’t want anything to eat?’
Another shift of her head to indicate ‘no’.
‘What do you want, Daisy?’
The final button was separated, so her shirt fell apart completely.
She opened her mouth, but found it hard to frame any words.
‘Do you want to know what I want?’ he murmured, dropping his head to whisper the words against the sensitive flesh at the base of her throat.
‘I think I can guess.’ And despite the heavy pulsing of emotion that was filling the room, she smiled, because it was easy to smile in that moment.
He smiled back, but it was dredged from deep within him, so it cut across his face, his lips like a blade.
His grief was palpable. It had been since the first moment they’d met and it was there now, tormenting him, so that this physical act of sensuality took on a new imperative. She understood the power sex held, the power to obliterate grief and pain, even if only for a moment.
Wasn’t it her own grief that had made her so vulnerable to Max? He’d promised respite from her sadness and she’d ignored all the warning signs to grab that respite. Was Sariq doing the same thing now?
Should she be putting a halt to this to save him from regret?
His fingers were on the straps of her bra, easing them down her arms so tiny goose bumps danced where his fingertips touched, and his eyes were on her breasts as he pushed aside the scrap of lace, so she felt a burning heat in her chest and a tingling in her nipples, an ache that begged him to touch her, to feel the weight of her breasts in his palms, to touch her nipples, to kiss them.
Her back swayed forward, the invitation silent but imperative, and he understood, lifting his hands to her hips first, bracing her waist as he drew his touch upwards, along her sides until his thumbs swept beneath her breasts and she tipped her head back a little on a plea, biting down on her lip to stop what she knew would be incoherent babbling, the kind of babbling brought on by a form of madness.
‘I need you to tell me you want this.’ He drew his kiss from her lips to her throat, flicking the pulse point there, dragging his stubbled jaw across her sensitive flesh. She pushed her body forward, her hips moving from side to side, her hands pushing his shirt up so her fingertips could run over his chest. God, his chiselled, firm chest. Her nails drew along the ridges of each muscular bump, running higher so her hands curved over his shoulders, feeling the warmth of his flesh and the beating of his heart against her forearm.
‘Daisy?’ It was a groan and a plea. His body was tense. He was waiting for her to say that she wanted this and something inside her trembled, because it was such a mark of respect and decency. It wasn’t that she hadn’t expected it from Sariq, it was that she hadn’t known to expect it from anybody. Max had been... She didn’t want to think about Max in that moment. He’d already taken so much from her, she wasn’t going to give him this moment too. It was hers, hers and Sariq’s.
‘I want this.’ The words blurted out of her. And then, more gently, but the same bone-melting urgency. ‘I want you.’ She couldn’t resist adding, with an impish smile: ‘Your Highness.’
He lifted a brow, his lips quirking in a smile that was impulsive and so sexy. But he swallowed and the smile disappeared, his expression serious once more. ‘I have to go back to the RKH as scheduled. I cannot offer more than this.’
Another sign of respect. Her heart felt all warm and gooey and her voice was husky. ‘I know that.’ She showed her acceptance by pushing up and kissing him, by wrapping her arms around his waist, holding him close to her body so she could feel the force of his urgent need through their clothing. ‘Take me to bed, sir.’
‘Take me to bed, sir.’
He didn’t need to be asked again. He lifted her up, cradling her against his chest as he carried her through the suite and into the master bedroom. He didn’t pause to turn on a light, though he would love to have revelled in her beauty, staring at her as he pleasured her: there’d be time for that. Having abandoned himself to this, he intended to enjoy her all night. He knew this would be the last time he acted on impulses such as this, the last time he allowed himself to be simply a man and not a king. Soon he would announce his engagement and he would be faithful to the bride of his choosing.
Until then though, there was this, and he was going to enjoy it. He disposed of her clothes quickly, no longer able to pace himself; he needed to feel every inch of her beneath him. Her legs were smooth and slender. He ran his palms over her flesh as he stripped her of the uniform she wore, acknowledging to himself he’d wanted to do exactly that from the first moment he’d seen her. His own clothes followed next so he stood above her naked. The room was dark but he could make out her silhouette against the bed, her blonde hair shimmering gold in the darkness. He brought the full weight of his body down on hers, his arousal pressing between her legs so, for the briefest moment, he fantasised about taking her like that. No protection, no preamble, just white-hot possession.
She arched her back and lifted her legs around his waist, drawing him towards her, as though she wanted that too. He kissed her, hard, his tongue doing to her mouth what his body wished it could do in that moment, and she met his kiss with every stroke, pushing her body up onto her elbows, wanting more of him, needing him in the way he needed her. Her feet at his back were insistent, pushing him towards her, so he let just his tip press to her sex, her hot, wet body welcoming him in a way he knew he had to control. He swore in his own language, pulling away from her with effort, his breathing ragged.
‘Wait.’ He stood up and her cry was an animalistic sound of disbelief, her need reaching out and wrapping around him. ‘One moment,’ he reassured her, moving to the adjoining bathroom and pulling a condom out of a travel bag. He didn’t make a habit of this—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept with a woman he’d just met—but he was always prepared, regardless.
Striding back into the room, he pushed the rubber over his length as he went, inviting no further delay to this. Her eyes were difficult to make out in this darkness but he thought he saw a hint of apology in the light thrown from the bathroom.
‘I forgot,’ she explained, reaching for him.
