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She jerked as his big, long body weighted her down.Holy smokes.His cock was already insistently pressing against her most intimate place, her body ready to arch toward his as if she were an animal in heat. Her eyes popped open to his dark gaze that ensnared hers. With his intense expression reading her every little nuance and his big body robbing her of all breath, she was already regretting her lies.
“Then let’s begin the process of making you forget him until I’m the only man you think about.”
“You can’t want sex again so soon?” she squeaked.
He chuckled darkly. “You really are an innocent, aren’t you?” he murmured. “Do you really believe having sex once with you in a night is enough?” He bent low and kissed her ear, then suckled the lobe into his mouth so that her nerve endings sent shockwaves of pleasure straight to her core. His hot breath curled her toes as he added huskily. “I’m going to fuck you until your brain is fogged and your body is exhausted, and you have no memory of anything or anyone.”
He was too damn sure, too confident! And he’d probably never known the sting of rejection his entire life. She couldn’t allow him to think she’d fallen for him like every other woman in his life. “You can’t force me to forget. He is all I’ve been thinking about since leaving England.”
Mahindar’s face darkened. “While you’re with me no other man will enter your thoughts.”
“And how do you propose to do that?” she said in a quivery voice.
He one-handed his shaft and guided it between her legs. “Allow me to show you, my sweet wife.”
Chapter Nine
Mahindar stared broodingly through the huge window and out to sea, the cup of coffee in his hand as yet untouched. He’d never met a woman who didn’t want him, and had certainly never met one who pined for another man.
His gut clenched and he scowled. Arabelle had come undone beneath him, her glazed eyes and panting breaths revealing her loss of control. When she’d soon after looked away, he’d kissed his way down her body, starting at her lovely breasts and ending at her saturated pussy. It hadn’t taken much to set her off again and with the taste of her still in his mouth he’d kissed her and possessed her all over again.
It’d taken her three orgasms before she’d fallen into another deep slumber. And it had taken everything he’d had not to tuck her close and sleep with her. But though his body wanted to succumb his mind rebelled at the idea. He sighed. He’d always liked a challenge but proving to his wife she desired no one but him was grinding his nerves to a nub.
As if her running away just hours after their vows wasn’t shitty enough. Admitting she had feelings for another man pushed every boundary he had and then some.
He lifted his cup and took a sip of the bitter coffee—just how he liked it—then grimaced at the cold contents. Striding back into the kitchen, he put his cup onto the sink and headed to the door that would take him to the beach.
Though this ocean was famed for its undercurrents and rips and was far too dangerous for most swimmers, he was confident in his ability and needed the physical exertion to dim his bleak thoughts.
He peeled open the glass door and stepped naked outside, where the mid-morning sun heated his skin and the briny scent of the ocean filled his nostrils. Having his own private beach was one of the perks of his quaint holiday home. No one would disturb him or his disloyal young bride unless he required something.
Descending the stairs, he ran across the sand that squelched underfoot, the shock of cool water then an invigorating rush as he ran into it, then dived through the first wave and came up on the other side.
He continued swimming, stroking through the salty water and diving through each wave until his muscles were aching and he was far enough out that his house was matchbox size and the shore looked far away.
He trod water for a few minutes, his thoughts still preoccupied by the woman sleeping in his bed. The woman who tormented him simply by not returning his affection. But then she wasn’t to know that he’d kept track of her over the last year, ever since he’d considered a bride and knew as a sheikha she’d fit perfectly in with his plans.
She’d be horrified if she learned the truth, and to know he’d even traveled to England and watched her from afar at least half-a-dozen times. And that even though he’d known after the first trip he wanted her as his future wife, the next five trips had simply been an obsession to see her again.
He smiled grimly, then surged back to shore with swift, clean strokes that cut through the salty water. The physical exertion was exactly what he needed to clear his head. His lifestyle had been getting stale of late, and his bride was just the challenge he needed to keep things interesting.
In the end it mattered little what secret desires she carried inside, because she’d have a change of heart sooner rather than later. And he’d do whatever had to be done to see to it.
Chapter Ten
Arabelle woke with a start, aware right away she was alone. The absence of Mahindar’s overwhelming presence made the bedroom—the entire house—strangely empty.
That she’d sensed him gone didn’t mean anything. Just because they’d had mind-blowing sex didn’t make them close, certainly not soulmates. They weren’t even yet friends. She snorted. They probably wouldn’t ever be more than married fuck buddies. She was nothing more than a broodmare to Mahindar, a woman whose bloodline meant she was perfect for the role of bearing his children.
Moving out of the deep, luxurious bed, she padded to the walk-in-closet, where Mahindar’s suits, casual clothes and shoes lined one side, while every feminine garment and fashion accessories lined the other.
Designer gowns, premium casual wear and underwear, sleepwear, shoes, sandals, boots and everything in-between. That someone had unpacked their luggage sometime after their arrival here didn’t sit well with her. She valued her privacy and enjoyed her independence, even if it was something as simple as hanging up her clothes.
She sighed. This was her life now. Privacy was a thing of the past along with having to do menial tasks. From now on she should expect nothing but the best as Mahindar’s wife, Sheikha of Rajhabi.
She retrieved a gossamer thin, white nightgown and slid it over her nakedness, aware that it revealed as much as it covered her body. Not that it mattered. Her husband knew her intimately now, knew every inch of her. And he would take his pleasure from her no matter what clothes she wore.
Not even a burqa would keep her safe from his virility now.
