The Desert Kings: Duty, Desire and the Desert King / The Desert King's Bejewelled Bride / The Desert King. Jane Porter
in his chest.
“It’s going to get closer, laeela,” he answered gravely, and yet she saw the warm gleam in his eyes, that look he gave her when he was fully aware and fully engaged.
He was enjoying himself. Her heart gave a lurch, and she knotted her hands into fists to try to stop them from shaking. “Perhaps we should just do it quickly,” she suggested breathlessly. “Get it over with so we can get on with the day.”
She felt the laughter rumble through him again, up through his broad chest and into his eyes and mouth. He was always gorgeous, so beautifully put together, but with the laughter warming his eyes and playing on his lips, he looked like an angel among mortals. How was a woman to resist such a man? Rou couldn’t tear her eyes from his face. It wasn’t fair that any man had such a face. It was a face that left even her weak. Her fingers itched to explore the striking planes and hollows. Those cheekbones, the straight slash of nose, and that mouth of his with the upper lip that curved so wickedly, so sensually promising, promising …
“Your expression is priceless,” he murmured as she continued her slow study.
She looked up into his eyes. “Is it?”
“Mmm. You look as if you can’t decide if you love me or loathe me.”
Blood rushed to her face. “I can assure you, it’s loathe, Your Highness.”
He had the gall to laugh.
CHAPTER NINE
HIS laughter gave way to a smile he was trying very hard to suppress, and yet his eyes glinted, and his wicked mouth curved. “You say that with your lips, laeela, but your body says something else.”
She sat even straighter, trying to minimize the areas where their legs touched. “My body does?”
“Mmm.” He stroked down her back, once, and again. “Your body likes being near me, and I very much like your body near mine.”
“You’re mistaken.”
“Am I?” He turned her ever so slightly on his lap so that she faced him more fully, and more of her legs dangled over his, and now her shoulder pressed to his chest.
She felt the pulse at the base of her neck flutter. “Yes.”
He just smiled and, watching her face, he slid his hand along the curve of her jaw, toward her ear and up into her hair. Rou’s toes nearly curled with pleasure. It wasn’t the most sexual touch and yet it both stirred and soothed her, making her want to stretch and luxuriate beneath his touch. He rubbed her nape for a few moments, his fingers working against her scalp and this was pure pleasure. Eyes half closing, she was so tempted to give in to the sensation, so tempted to just lean against him and relax.
But Rou never leaned against anyone, never leaned on anyone, either. She meant what she’d said—she had issues with trust and control, and the last person she could trust was this man. Even if he was now her husband.
But Zayed was in no hurry, and he seemed to enjoy touching her as much as she enjoyed being touched. After a while he stroked down her neck and massaged a little at her shoulders, and then a little deeper so that her knotted muscles eased and her tension began to dissipate. If he noticed that she sat less rigidly in his arms, he gave no indication, focused as he was on making her relax.
And she was relaxing. A little voice in the back of her brain was lecturing her that she was practically purring, but Rou wasn’t very interested in listening to the little voice right now.
It felt so good to be touched. To be massaged like this. She felt spoiled, decadent, like a big cat soaking up the sun.
As one of his hands caressed the length of her spine, the other began plucking the pins from her hair, pulling the silver sticks out one by one until her hair fell free, tumbling to her shoulders.
He wasn’t content with that, though. He drew his hand through the smooth length, pulling it apart so that her pale hair tangled and spilled in wild disorder down her back. With her hair now loose, he drew back to look at her, his gaze traveling slowly, deliberately over her face, her eyes, her nose, her mouth. “You are a remarkably beautiful woman, Princess Fehr.”
She arched an eyebrow, her heart hammering like mad. “Princess?”
“You are my wife, my consort, and later tonight you will be my queen.”
She didn’t know if it was his body heat penetrating hers, or the slow caress of his hand, but she felt dazed, drugged, her thoughts slow. “I can’t think of anyone less royal than me.”
He dragged his hands through her hair, tugging her head back to expose her throat. “Then you should see yourself through my eyes.” He lowered his head to her throat and kissed her just beneath her jaw on skin that suddenly felt so very, very sensitive. He kissed farther back on the pulse leaping beneath her earlobe, and then tugged with his teeth on the lobe itself sending sparks of fire through her body. Rou bit the inside of her lip to keep from making a sound.
His hands circled the base of her exposed throat and caressed up to her chin, his thumbs discovering nerve endings she didn’t even know she had. When he reversed direction to stroke down she nearly leaped out of her skin at how exquisitely sensitive she’d become. It was as if each stroke of his fingers was heightening the tension, and the pleasure.
“You’re awfully good at this,” she choked, as his mouth pressed fleeting kisses to little invisible nerves along her neck and jaw. Yet those nerves were definitely tied to nerves elsewhere as her spine arched and her belly ached, hot and tight and throbbing for something she knew not.
“You have a deliciously responsive body,” he answered before gently biting at the muscle that ran along her shoulder.
Rou gasped, shivered.
He blew on the hair at her nape and she jerked in his arms, her body no longer under her control but his. “You’re sure?” she gasped again.
She could feel his smile against her neck. “Mmm, quite sure,” he answered, his voice deep, husky. And then as he kissed the back of her neck, his hands were on the small buttons at the back of her top, and one by one he undid the little pearls until he could slide the snug fabric from her shoulders and down onto her arms before pulling it from her body.
She felt naked in her bra and she turned against his chest, hiding her face in the hollow between his shoulder and neck.
“Don’t be shy,” he murmured.
“I can’t help it.”
“Then let me help.” And he turned her on his lap, so that she faced away from him. And with her back before him, he lifted her hair, and kissed his way down her spine, kissing each vertebra until he reached her bra and then deftly he unhooked that, too, pushing the straps over her shoulders and off her arms so that the air rushed at her bare skin, puckering her breasts that already felt strangely heavy, strangely not hers.
She wanted something from him, something that would answer the drumming in her veins, but she didn’t know what it was. More kisses? More touch? More what?
And then his hands slid round to cup her breasts, and she closed her eyes, shocked by the sensation. Her body didn’t feel like her body. Her body didn’t feel like anything she’d ever known before, and with eyes closed, she focused on the new, seductive pleasure. He stroked beneath her breasts, stroked the soft, full sides, and, lips parting, she found herself arching into his hands, arching into what he could give her.
And he gave to her, alternately stroking and tugging on the heavy ripeness, drawing heat and fire from deep inside to every inch of exposed skin. Her hard nipples tightened again into taut, aching peaks, and she gritted her teeth helplessly, wanting more of everything, especially pressure, friction, sensation.
Lifting from beneath her breasts, thumbs pinching her nipples, he arched her the other way, back toward him, her body helplessly curving to his will, his arousal hard between her thighs.