Hot Arabian Nights. Marguerite Kaye
He must be able to feel the heat of her skin through her tunic. Julia flattened her own hands on to his back, smoothing down the ridge of his spine to the taut curve of his buttocks. His pupils were dark. His breathing was just very slightly ragged.
Azhar cupped her breasts. She bit back a moan as he began to circle her nipples with his thumbs. The thin layer of silk grazed her acutely sensitive skin. His touch sent ripples of sensation down her body, making her belly clench, making her insides throb. He leaned closer, his mouth on her ear, nipping at her lobe.
Her body was clamouring for her to throw herself at him, to beg him wildly to take her, words that she had never spoken in her life. She was a mass of pulse points. Her nipples ached. She curled her fingers into his buttocks simply to stop them wandering, and felt him tense at her touch, saw the flare of heat in his eyes. He kissed his way along her jaw. He licked his way along her bottom lip, all the time his hands cupping and stroking, stoking the fires which blazed under her skin, running a path from her nipples to her belly to the raw ache building between her thighs.
And then he kissed her. A dark kiss, like melting chocolate, like warm honey, sweet and heady, it clogged her brain and added to the clamouring of her body. His tongue touched hers, stroked hers, making her languorous and setting her alight at the same time. When he broke the kiss she moaned in protest, until he covered her nipple with his mouth, sucking through the silk of her tunic, and Julia let out a strange little mewl of pleasure. She shifted restlessly against the low parapet, her hands roaming up and down Azhar’s back, feeling the flex and tense of his muscles, wanting to do more, but without any idea of what to do, hesitant about getting it wrong. And distracted. Very distracted. By his mouth, on her other nipple now. And then on her lips again, in a kiss that she could drown in.
And his hands. His hands, dear heavens, his hands. On her bottom. Pulling her into him, pressing the hard ridge of his arousal between her legs. And then his hands again. Unfastening the sash that held her pantaloons together, slipping between her thighs, sliding inside her.
Julia’s stifled moan had a rough edge to it. He slid his fingers higher, and began to stroke her. She was so hot. And she was so tight. Yet he slid so easily inside her, over her, and...
‘Oh, yes, that,’ she cried out before she could stop herself. ‘I mean—I didn’t mean...’
‘This?’ Azhar said, doing it again. ‘You mean this? Do not be shy Julia, how am I to learn what pleases you, if you don’t share it with me?’
‘Everything you’ve done pleases me.’
‘Then let me please you some more,’ he said. He kissed her and he stroked her, tongue and fingers entering her in unison, arousing her in unison, making her tighten around him, making her moan against him, making her arch her body so that he could thrust higher. She could hear herself pleading and moaning, and she couldn’t stop herself. She clung on, not wanting it to end, afraid that it would not end, but then Azhar urged her to let go, and he did something new and magical and she had no choice but to let go, with a shuddering cry, to cling on to him as her climax ripped through her, hot and wild as the desert just behind them, rippling like the soft sands of that desert, leaving her as alive, as bright and vivid as the desert sky above them, as if all that colour and all that exotic beauty had been infused into her veins.
* * *
‘Goodness.’ Julia blushed. ‘I mean—goodness.’
Her utter delight, and the fact that she made no attempt to disguise it, was refreshing as well as arousing. Not that Azhar needed to be further aroused. ‘Surely you are not at a loss for words?’ he teased.
The hectic flush on her cheeks deepened. ‘I am not in the habit of talking after such events. Or during. Not that such events are—oh, you know what I mean.’
He pushed her hair back from her face. ‘The pleasure of such events, as you call them, can be enhanced by communication.’
‘It was certainly pleasurable for me,’ Julia said. ‘But you...’
‘We have a saying, Julia. Any journey has many destinations. That was merely the first stage along the way. And sufficient for now.’ She looked unconvinced. Truth be told, he would give a great deal for a welcome release, especially looking at her now, hair wild, her tunic in disarray, her nipples still clearly defined through the silk. ‘Part of my pleasure is watching you learn to enjoy yours, Julia. To help you learn, if you wish me to, though I suspect that, freed from constraint, you may help me learn too.’
‘I can’t imagine how that would be possible. I don’t know what you want, and even if I did...’
‘Julia, when the time comes, I promise you will know.’
She smiled uncertainly. ‘I hope the time comes soon. I can’t believe I’ve already been here nearly a week. Only three more, and I will be heading back to England.’
She had not meant it, but her words were as effective as a dousing of icy cold water. In three weeks, he too would be claiming his freedom. Though it was all he longed for, it was a frighteningly small amount of time to achieve all that was required. It also meant that he had only another three weeks to spend with Julia, and oddly, for he was not at all in the habit of spending any significant time with a woman, that also seemed too brief. He liked her. He’d better be careful not to like her too much. ‘You are certain that another three weeks will be sufficient for your purposes?’ Azhar asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ Julia replied blithely. ‘There are more than sufficient plants even within the small part of this lovely kingdom I have already visited to complete Daniel’s book in that time. Besides, in three weeks’ time I am sure you will be more than ready to take your rightful place as the King of Qaryma, and anxious to do so.’
Honesty, he had asked of her, yet he had not been honest with her in return, and looking down into her frank green eyes, Azhar realised that he did not want to lie to her. Though he had known her only a few days, all his instincts told him he could trust her. ‘Julia, I won’t be taking the crown from Kamal in three weeks.’
‘You need more time?’
‘I won’t be taking the crown from Kamal at all,’ Azhar said. ‘My father did us both a great disservice by his refusal to change the line of inheritance. When I left ten years ago, it was for ever. I have not come here to take up my crown, Julia, I have come to hand it over. In three weeks’ time, I intend to abdicate.’
‘Enter,’ Julia called out brightly in Arabic, in response to the tap on the door of her suite, assuming it was her maid come to clear away the breakfast dishes. She finished rolling the last of the dried plant roots she had collected two days ago in protective cotton before placing them carefully in the replacement specimen trunk. She looked up, smiling. ‘See how perfect a home it is for my growing collection of specimens,’ she said.
But it was not the maid who stood watching her, it was Azhar. ‘Your return visit to the village at the oasis was productive, then?’ he asked.
‘Oh! I was expecting Aisha. Yes, very productive. Johara and I managed to communicate passably well, between my limited vocabulary and a lot of gesticulating.’
Azhar was clad in bottle-green today, his trousers and tunic both made of silk. ‘I am sorry that I could not stay to act as your translator.’
‘You had your own business to attend to at the diamond mine. I hope your day was equally as productive.’
‘Not particularly. The mine itself is apparently not as productive as it once was but I was unable to get a clear explanation as to why.’
‘Perhaps the reserves are simply running out.’
‘Perhaps, but it is a source of concern none the less.’ Azhar rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘The trade in diamonds provides Qaryma with one of its main sources of wealth. The impact of the decrease in output is starkly