Page 35 of At the Sheikh's Command
He closed his eyes and fell back as she took his cock in both her hands. Then she lowered her head and kissed it before opening her mouth and sliding it inside. He raked his fingers through her silky hair and held her head for one exquisite moment, knowing he’d have to stop her because, if she carried on like that, he wouldn’t be able to last. He allowed her to explore and lap his length, licking the tip as if relishing the tastiest dessert, before she eased herself up and set her sights higher.
She left a trail of kisses along his stomach before she reached his chest. There, she pressed her ear against him, as if listening to his heartbeat. When she lifted her head to face him, her eyes were closed. She was refusing to look at him.
And he wasn’t in any state to demand she open her eyes, not with what her hands and lips were doing to him. She kissed him on the mouth, urging it to open before plunging her tongue against his. At the same time, she lifted her hips and crawled closer, placing her knees either side of his hips, her sex raised over him, her breasts brushing his chest as she continued to kiss him deeply, her fingers now interwoven with his.
He decided to allow her to do as she liked, wanting to see what that was exactly. She didn’t keep him waiting long to find out. She released one of his hands and guided his cock into her, before sinking slowly down on it. He gasped at the slight friction of his flesh against hers, encasing him in her tight warmth. He sucked in a long breath of air to slow down his response. What he wanted to do was to flip her over on her back and drive into her until he came in an explosion that would wipe out all his pent-up frustration.
But he didn’t. He held himself back and allowed her to take the lead. He wanted her. And he needed her to feel in control. Only that way could he lure her to him like he would a nervous animal. Allow her to trust him, allow her to take what she wanted from him. And only then would she overcome her fears and accept him as her rightful partner. Only then. Until that moment arrived, he would allow her to use him. It was no hardship.
At first, she moved slowly, her body upright and her hands threaded through his as she rose and fell. It was exactly as he remembered eight years earlier. She moved with a natural erotic sensuality, her breasts thrust forward, her back arched and her mouth open, emitting erotic sounds as she pleasured herself on him. Because he was under no illusion there was anything emotional about this. She was still refusing to engage her emotions. This was about satisfaction. That was okay. The rest would come later.
Suddenly she gasped, her eyes flew open, and she met his gaze and cried out his name as she came in a massive orgasm which massaged his cock, pulling all he had to give inside of her. As the ripples continued to shudder through her, she pulled her hands from his and covered her eyes with the back of her hands as if to shield herself.
He could hold on no longer. With one swift movement, she was on her back underneath him, controlled entirely by him now. Her eyes flickered.
“Keep your eyes open,” he growled. And she did, as he thrust repeatedly, aware of her response reawakening. By the time he was ready to orgasm, so was she. They came together, and the intensity was there in her eyes, which she kept fixed on his. He could see the vulnerability there, the fear and, most of all, he could see the love which she continued to deny to herself. It nearly broke his heart.
It was he who closed his eyes first, not wanting her to see how affected he was. He kissed her with a tenderness born of his sadness that she might never acknowledge what was in her heart. They’d both be the poorer if that happened.
They rolled onto their sides and he kissed her again, still joined, not wanting her to be any distance from him. He continued to hold her close against him, tight in his arms, long after he should have released her. She was his.She was his. And he was terrified that as soon as he released her, she’d disappear into thin air again.
But he couldn’t hold on forever and after she fell asleep, he released her. Only then did he allow himself to drift off into a sleep full of fear of looking for her, finding her, and then allowing her to slip through his fingers. Because they hadn’t made love. They’d had sex. And, as good as it had been, as special as it was with her, it wasn’t enough for him now.
It must have beenthe light which woke him. Although it was nothing substantial. Just the semi-opaque light of early dawn. It hadn’t been the call of the muezzin which aroused him from his troubled sleep, because it was too early. He blinked but didn’t move. He knew there would be no point in reaching out for her because, instinctively, he knew she wasn’t there. He sensed her presence, just as he knew her absence. He always had, and he guessed he always would.
No, she’d gone back to her room before the light had come and he could see any trace of emotion on her face. Because of what he’d seen in her eyes as they’d climaxed together—her vulnerability and her fear.
The night of lovemaking had confirmed everything. Here, beyond the reach of civilization, away from the pressures of work and life, there were only the two of them. And it had been exactly right. There wasn’t a shadow of doubt in his mind. She would be with him forever, and into eternity.
He rolled over and inhaled the trace of the smell of her perfume on the pillow, which was all that remained of her. But she’d return. She had to. And next time, he’d make sure she’d bring more of herself. Next time he would look into her eyes when they made love and somehow make her see what he saw—the love in her heart.
CHAPTER17
The next morning Leonora lay still in her bed, listening to the sounds of the muezzin, calling the faithful to prayer, reflecting on what she’d done.
She hadn’t intended to go to him. She really hadn’t. She’d lain awake for hours, tossing and turning, trying to subdue the needs of her body. In the end, she’d tossed the covers aside and paced the floor, listing all the reasons she shouldn’t go to him and the risks involved. But rather than calming her, she’d gotten hotter and had thrown open the windows to the night. It hadn’t helped. Her need, deep inside, was like a furnace, destroying reason and demanding satisfaction. The sweat had trickled down her back, making her nightdress stick to her back.
She’d felt trapped by it and pulled it off and tossed it to one side. Naked, she’d continued to pace. But not even the mountain air could cool her skin, or her mind, or the passion which was humming through her skin, knowing that Darrius lay on the other side of the connecting door. And then, as if in a trance, she’d opened his door, walked into his bedroom and had taken what she wanted.
Now, in the light of day, she blushed and pressed her hand to her cheek, which was burning, even in the fresh air of morning. She remembered taking what she’d wanted, and how he’d let her. And then she’d remembered after, when the tears had come and she’d had to raise her hands to cover her eyes. She’d hated herself for being so weak. But she’d had no choice but to choke back the tears when he’d held her tight against him, forcing her to look into his eyes, and meet his challenging gaze. And she had, and she’d seen in it everything she was afraid of, and she’d crept away in the early hours of the morning like a thief.
Now, in the cold light of the morning, she had to admit that something had shifted in their relationship because of last night. Now she felt more exposed than ever. She felt helpless, needing him as if he were a part of her. And he knew that now, too. Her guard was now cracked in so many places and was liable to fracture totally and fall away if she wasn’t careful. And then what would she be left with? Weakness. And a man with whom she had no future, no matter what he believed. Because she knew full well that his people would never accept an outsider for their queen.
The echoing sound of the muezzin ceased, and she groaned and swung her legs and sat on the edge of the bed. She had to get up and face whatever was coming her way. She had no other choice. But perhaps, just perhaps, she’d find the diamond, or a clue as to its whereabouts, and then not all would be lost when she had to turn away both from Darrius and this country.
Leonora wasin no hurry to join Darrius for breakfast. She’d half-expected him to come to her room, demanding to know why she’d left him without a word, but he hadn’t. She knew he was too proud. And she also knew that he’d get it out of her one way or another. So she made her way slowly to the dining hall through the palace gardens and rooms.
Every colonnaded walk she walked along, every hidden garden courtyard, every interior room she entered, were filled with enticing glimpses of treasures she’d only read about and yet others she hadn’t. She could spend a lifetime in this place exploring its rich history for its own sake.
But she didn’t have a lifetime. She had a week—tops—in which to do what she’d come here to do, after which time she’d have to leave because there was no future to be had with Darrius. She would never be accepted as queen and she couldn’t bear to be around him when he re-married. She just couldn’t do it.
Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt when the servant who’d been sent to guide her through the maze of rooms stopped at a set of large double doors and opened them for her. It seemed she’d arrived. She held her breath as she entered the room. It was empty. She almost laughed at herself, imagining that the great King of Sifra would be sitting waiting for her. She looked around the room on which the dining hall at her Oxford College had been modeled and smiled. It was stunning.
It had once been the throne room—the main reception room for the castle—and its focus was still the throne, which sat grandly at the far end of the room. Its centerpiece decoration was empty. No attempt had been made to replace the original resting place of the diamond.
Then she looked up to the pièce de résistance—the ornate ceiling—and remained looking up. The shapes and forms were familiar, but that was all. Her own college ceiling, which was much admired since the removal of the false ceiling, was nothing compared to this. It was a faithful reproduction, but it couldn’t convey the absolute mastery of the original. Not only did the design have a fluidity which the Oxford replica couldn’t reproduce, but the precious and semi-precious gems embedded in the intricately carved marble gave the whole thing a sparkling glamor which its copy couldn’t replicate. No, she thought as she turned a full circle, her face lifted to the ceiling. Nothing could compare to this.
She didn’t know how long she stood gazing up at the ceiling, but her neck was aching with the effort and when she heard a noise behind her, she was thankful to turn away.
