Page 36 of Dirty Wild Sultan

I hummed and hissed when something on my hand got stuck in my hair. I tried to remove it, tugging it slowly, but it wouldn’t budge.

“I guess not,” I heard Zain mutter, walking towards me. His big hands wrapped around mine. “Don’t be so harsh, you’ll hurt yourself. Let me see.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat at his closeness, his musky male cologne wafting in my brain, making me heady. His fingers felt so nice, being gentle and slow. His handsome face was focused on the task, his eyes not peering anywhere else.

“Thank you,” I whispered when he was done. I looked at him through the mirror and asked, “Can you help me with the dress?”

He nodded, clenching his jaw. I held my breath when he towered behind me, his stance powerful when he raked his hand through the loose, dark waves. I loved how his warm fingers felt when they brushed over my skin. I bit my lip, our eyes meeting briefly in the mirror before looking away.

The tension hovered between the two of us when he tugged the bow string from my back. I closed my eyes, anticipating what he would do next—

“You should go take a bath,” Zain said in a clipped voice, stepping back and looking away with a light flush creeping up his neck.

Wait.

He didn’t even try to seduce me or even touch me. I know he agreed not to touch me without my consent. Then why was I feeling disappointed he kept his word?

Shutting myself in the bathroom, I stripped out of the clothes and wrinkled my nose. I didn’t smell bad, did I? I didn’t think so. Then why did he ask me to take a bath?

Maybe to relax myself after such a long day? I tried not to overthink soaking myself in the warm bath, ignoring the disappointment of Zain, my husband, not touching me.

Part III

“Then how should I treat my wife, Sultana?”

18

Zain

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I groaned seeing the tent in my pants and forced myself to think about anything else but Nasrin. How stunning she looked, how sweet her smile was, or the softness of her skin and the way her hair—

No, no, no, Zain.

Taking a deep breath, I eyed the closed door of the bathroom and averted my attention to the bed covered in rose petals and the gossamer golden fabric. She didn’t mention it or pay it any heed.

Should I remove it? Maybe I should. It’s not like she wanted to do anything else but sleep on our wedding day. She had clarified that I shouldn’t even hold her hand without her permission.

I didn’t mind. I had many other things to think about and work on as a sultan and being distant from her, at least physically, shouldn’t hinder our marriage arrangements.

That day in the bath was just the two of us accepting each other’s conditions. In a friendly way. That’s all.

I lied to myself and tried to ignore how gorgeous Nasrin looked in nothing but a heavy beige robe wrapped around her body and her wet hair after her bath. I marched past her into the bathroom to take a quick shower. I definitely did not imagine how wonderful she would look spread out underneath me on our bed, her long dark hair fawning over the pillows and her hands clutching the sheets when I thrust—

Fucking hell, Zain.I needed to get a grip on myself.

Not the literal grip.

Pretending that I had not touched myself and climaxed with filthy thoughts of her was harder than I thought. With no pun intended. She kept glancing at me when she brushed her hair, sitting on the plush stool in front of the vanity while I yanked off the bedsheet with petals on them.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” I finally asked when she stood up, dressed in a golden nightgown that cinched over her waist and flared over her hips. I had held those hips, watched them ride over my hand—

“Why did you remove the petals?”

“You certainly don’t mean that you want to sleep on them.” I raised my eyebrow at her little frown. “What is it you are really thinking about, Nasrin?”

She sat down on the bed, her eyes looking anywhere but at me. “I was just thinking…”

---