Hajar's Hidden Legacy Page 10

  He turned to her and her words dried on her tongue, along with all of the moisture in her throat. Dark emotion blazed in his eyes, a fire, a hunger, that made an answering, heated ache begin to burn in her stomach.

  She backed up a step, and he advanced, one step, then two, and she didn’t retreat again. He hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her to him, her breasts crushed against his hard chest.

  His kiss was a shock, no preliminaries, no hesitation. He simply took. And she took back. She wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him as he clung to her. His hands were rough on her hips, gripping her firmly, his blunt fingertips digging into her flesh.

  He backed her up against the wall, pressing her flat against the surface. She released her hold on him, turned her hands and pressed her palms against the cool inlaid gold and onyx, trying to find purchase, something to keep her from sliding to the floor. He released her mouth and curved his head, pressing hot kisses to her neck, down to her collarbone.

  Zahir let go of her hips and moved his hand to hers. She wove her fingers through his, his weight keeping her pinned to the wall. But she didn’t feel trapped or frightened. She was with Zahir. And she was protected.

  She felt the tension ebbing from his body, flooding away as his passion mounted. But it was replaced with intensity of a different kind. An entirely new kind of need.

  And she felt it, too. Her body ached for him, with need of him.

  “Zahir,” she whispered.

  He went stiff in her arms, his intake of breath swift and harsh. And just like last time, he jerked away, his eyes clouded with desire. His erection was obvious, thick and ready, pressing against the filmy layer of fabric that concealed his body from hers.

  He stepped back from her, his chest moving up and down sharply, his expression hard. “When you say my name,” he said, his voice rough. “I come back to myself.”

  She didn’t know why he said it that way, as though it pained him. She had used it in the alley, had been able to shake him from the flashback that had held him in its iron grip.

  “I don’t … “

  “I do not want to come back to this body,” he said, the words forced out of his throat. He turned and walked away, leaving her there, her arms still pressed against the wall as though he held her there.

  Leaving her cold and hot and wanting more than she knew she would ever have.

  Zahir wasn’t a religious man. He never had been. Still, the habits of his people were ingrained in him, and drinking alcohol, especially to excess, had always been frowned upon by most in his culture. He had always frowned upon it.

  He was tempted now. To drink everything away until it all faded from him. To find something to numb reality, to make it less … real.

  No. When reality faded, he lost time. He lost parts of himself. He saw that day. Had to watch it all play out from beginning to end.

  Ebn el sharmoota.

  He couldn’t start down that path.

  Instead, his thoughts turned to Katharine. He had been rough with her, worthy of his name. And yet she had given it all back to him. Her body so soft against his, soft but aggressive. Kissing her was anything but one-sided.

  And she had been sweet. Five years without the touch of a woman. Without anything but the cold, clinical touch of doctors. But she was hot, her touch warm and so much more. Personal. It touched him beneath his skin, deep into him.

  The attraction between them was electric. Beyond electric. It was a living thing, threatening to consume anything in its path.

  And then she’d said his name. As she’d done that night in the study. As she’d done in the alleyway in the market. And it brought him back. Back from the abyss. Back from rapture.

  Because he was Sheikh Zahir S’ad al Din, the Beast of Hajar. And she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his thirty-three years. Everything about her was stunning perfection and he …

  He was a monster. And it had little to do with his face.

  Yet he lived. He lived in this shell of himself. No, he was not handicapped like he could have been. Limited vision and a limp were minor when compared to the fate of his family.

  But he was not himself. He was hollow. He never moved on, and he never could. He felt nothing. Wanted nothing.

  No. That’s not true.

  He wanted her. So much that the craving was nearly unbearable.

  He tugged the tunic shirt off and discarded it, then stood, facing the bar. He could walk over there and get drunk. Wake up with a pounding headache and unsatisfied desire.

  Or he could go and get the only thing he’d wanted in five long years.

  Two things stopped him. Would she be with him out of pity? Be with him because she thought he’d changed the terms of the agreement? She was so determined for the marriage to go through he wouldn’t be surprised. The other thing that stopped him was the fear of losing himself. When he kissed her, everything faded behind the red haze of passion. If he found release with her, if he allowed himself to be lost, he was not sure of what he might do.

  He didn’t know anymore, how much of him was the man, and how much was the beast.

  He gritted his teeth. He might not be the man he had been, no, not even close. But he knew a woman’s body. There were things he knew how to do very, very well. Tonight, he would give her every bit of that skill, pour all his desire into her needs.

  And he would prove that he would not lose himself in the process. He would not be manipulated or used. He had the control, and he would show her.

  Katharine flung the bedcovers back and stalked to the window. She was hot. And the desert wasn’t to blame. The night air was cool and dry, and it was usually her favorite time in Hajar. But nothing could extinguish the flame that Zahir had lit inside her.

  Nothing had been able to dampen it. The chilly shower she’d taken had only made her blood run nearer to the surface, had only made her more aware of all of the parts of her body. Tender, needy parts that wanted Zahir’s rough, insistent hands on them. Without that sweet little yellow dress in the way.

  She felt like her skin was too tight. Like she needed to shed it. At least shed her clothing. She arched against the silky camisole top she was wearing and the filmy fabric brushed over her nipples.

  She sucked in a sharp breath. The slight abrasion of the fabric sent sensation arrowing down to the apex of her thighs, made inner muscles she had never been overly aware of tighten in response.

  She took a handful of hair and twisted it around her hand, holding it up off her neck. It was damp with sweat and some of the coolness in the air finally made its way into her. Like the shower, it didn’t help.

  “Katharine.”

  She dropped her hair and let it fall down past her shoulders. Zahir was standing in the doorway, wearing nothing more than those pale linen pants, low on his narrow hips. Showing perfectly defined muscles, gorgeous bronzed skin.

  He hid his imperfections in the shadows, and for a moment, it was easy to forget he had any. That made her feel strange. Like she was adrift in the sea without an anchor. Because without the scars—those marks that made him who he was—she didn’t recognize him. It was only for a moment, but it was so strange and strong.

  She moved nearer to him, breathed in a sharp breath when she saw the roughened side of his face.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I am here to finish what should have been finished in the entryway today. What should have been finished last week in the study.”

  She drew in a shaky breath, just before his lips crashed down on hers. And then there was nothing beyond desperation. It clawed at her, tore at her stomach, creating a frenzied desire in her that seemed to possess her, drive her actions.

  He slid his hand down to her backside, his palm resting on the tiny silk sleep shorts she was wearing, his heat burning through the thin fabric. Even that was too much. The barrier was too inhibiting.

  “I’m here to show you that there are still ways I can put any man to shame.�
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  A tremor of desire spasmed in her and she wiggled against him. He locked his other arm around her waist, holding her still as he continued to kiss her, the strokes of his tongue slow and languorous against hers, then ferocious and hungry.

  He moved his hand up, pushing her top up, making contact with her bare back. A short sound of pleasure escaped her lips.

  “Good?” he asked against her mouth.

  “Oh, yes.”

  He took both hands and moved them up her waist, his thumbs curving beneath her breasts, so close and so far, teasing her, tormenting her. She arched, begging him, needing him to give her more.

  He chuckled, ignored her offering as he continue to move his hands over parts of her body that shouldn’t have the power to send such erotic currents through her.

  But they did. Her stomach, just below her belly button, to the top of the low waistband of her shorts, back up, thumbs skimming the plump flesh of her breasts without ever really touching them. Without ever satisfying the ache that burned within her.

  He moved his hand to her back again, down so that both palms were flat on her backside. He pulled her into his body, let her feel the hard length of his erection pressing against her stomach. She rocked against him, seeking out any kind of satisfaction she could find, getting nothing but a tease.

  And that only made her hotter, wetter, needier for more.

  He knew it, too. He broke their kiss and looked at her, his eyes black in the dim light, his smile wicked, predatory. She was his prey, and he was clearly set on devouring her.

  She shivered in anticipation. She had no problem with that scenario.

  He lowered himself slowly, his lips soft on her neck, then the tip of tongue, gliding down between the valley of her breasts as his hands traveled upward, pushing her top up, his bare skin brushing her stomach, higher, to her breasts.

  He went to his knees, pressed a hot kiss to her stomach. He fingered the edge of her camisole. “Assistance?”

  She gripped the hem and pulled it up over her head, baring her upper body to him. She waited for embarrassment of some kind to hit, but it never did. She felt cocooned in the space, in the near darkness. It was their own place, and there simply wasn’t room for embarrassment in it.

  He pushed her shorts down to her ankles and she stepped out of them, kicking them aside. She was completely naked now, and it was fine. More than fine.

  He moved his hands over her bare hips, thighs, around to her butt. “You are incredible.” He pressed a kiss to her stomach again, tracing a line downward with the tip of his tongue. She moved her hands to his shoulders, holding on to him to keep from sinking into a puddle on the floor.

  He teased her there, too. His tongue so close to the bundle of nerves that she knew was there just to send her over the edge into total, orgasmic bliss. He didn’t, though, even though she had no doubt he could with the slightest flick of his talented tongue. He simply teased, his tongue moving over tender skin, making her body shiver with delight.

  He stood suddenly, pausing to look at her, that wicked smile, the most genuine show of emotion beyond anger that she’d seen, was still on his face.

  “The bed,” he said.

  And she knew it was an order. One she would gladly follow.

  She walked backward, keeping her eyes locked with his, until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress. She sat down, pushed herself backward. It put her in a vulnerable position, like a buffet spread out for a starving man.

  He joined her on the bed, his hands moving over her curves as he kissed her mouth with ravenous need.

  He cupped her breasts, teased her nipples, sending sparks of pleasure skittering through her veins. He moved his other hand between her thighs, pushing two fingers near her entrance gathering the moisture there and sliding it over to her clitoris.

  The slick stimulation was so good, everything she’d been waiting for. She didn’t bother to suppress the groan of pleasure that climbed her throat.

  He leaned toward her, flicked his tongue over nipple, then laved it with a long, broad stroke. “Oh, Zahir.”

  She paused then, afraid that she’d make him stop. Afraid she’d ruined it again.

  A dark intensity lit his eyes and he dipped his head again, sucking the tip of her breast deep into his mouth, then running his tongue around the edge of her nipple.

  “Say it again,” he said roughly.

  She never thought to do anything but comply. “Zahir.”

  “Again,” he said, kissing her stomach, beneath her belly button.

  “Zahir.”

  He parted her thighs with his broad shoulders, his grip on her legs keeping her immobile. Keeping her just where he wanted her.

  He stroked her aching flesh, rubbing the tips of his fingers over her that most sensitive part of her again.

  He lowered his head and followed the same path his fingers had just taken with the flat of his tongue. So hot and slick, so much more intense than anything that had come before. He explored her, pleasured her that way until she was certain she was going to have to shed her skin to find some relief from the tightening, spiraling sensation that made everything in her feel too large for her body.

  He pushed one finger into her and stars exploded behind her eyelids, raining down on her, leaving little prickles of heat where they landed as wave after wave of pleasure moved in her, pulsing in time with her internal muscles.

  She felt shell-shocked, numb and sensitized at the same time. Like it was too much and not enough.

  Zahir moved up to lie beside her, caressing her face, stroking her hair, scattering kisses on her shoulder. His erection pressing hard and insistent against her hip.

  “Now what?” she asked, making a move to cup his shaft.

  He caught her hand in his, kissed her upturned palm. “More of the same.”

  He leaned in and kissed her mouth, and she started to melt again.

  CHAPTER NINE

  WHEN the last shudder of pleasure escaped her lips, Zahir stood from the bed. Katharine rolled to her side and watched him. He was still half-dressed, and physically unsatisfied, his erection evident, pressing against his pants.

  “Come here,” she said, more than ready for that next step. He’d brought her to orgasm three times, and it was time, not just for his pleasure, but for her to have him. She didn’t know why, but it felt possessive. Like he would belong to her when she had him inside of her.

  “I think that’s enough, don’t you? Not that I haven’t enjoyed watching you take your pleasure.”

  “Come and get some of your own,” she said, not entirely understanding his cryptic statement.

  “I’ve had plenty of it this evening. Tasting you, touching you, that was pleasure enough.”

  “Zahir … “

  He turned away from her, the moonlight filtering through the window, catching the raised ridges of flesh that marred his back. “You are a virgin?”

  “I … at this point only a technicality.”

  “You should remain that way then.”

  “Isn’t that up to me?” she asked, clutching the bedcovers to her bare breasts and pushing herself into a sitting position.

  “And me. If I do not wish … “

  “You don’t wish to be with me?” She looked down at the clear outline of his arousal. “I call foul on that.”

  “Tell me, is this virginity of yours a part of my marriage bargain?”

  She felt heat creep into her cheeks. “More or less.”

  “Is that why you’re still a virgin? Because you thought you might need it with Malik gone?”

  “I … It’s complicated. But I would be lying if I said that had nothing to do with it.” It was shaming to admit. She’d never truly imagined any man would question it. Royals tended to have that view of the world. A virgin bride was important, and her being able to qualify as royal bride material had always been essential. A part of her purpose. The biggest part.

  It had been ingrained in her that it was the r
ight thing. That it was one of her commodities.

  The thought made her sick now. It wasn’t something she dwelled on, not usually. Why would she? She hadn’t exactly had suitors banging down her door and part of her had been afraid that, if she’d chosen to seek out relationships, it would make her father start looking for someone else to sell her to.

  She’d been enjoying her reprieve too much to let it end. But when marriage to Zahir had come up as her best option for protecting Austrich, she’d been ready.

  “What if you need it later?” he asked, his tone dark.

  “I’ll be divorced,” she said. “No one will expect it.”

  Her throat tightened. Was she really doing this? All but begging the man to have sex with her? Was she really thinking of sleeping with him now, divorcing him and finding someone else later?

  Rage shook her, mingling with a slow, rolling shiver of shame that seemed to start in her stomach and move through her limbs, making her feel weak. Angry. “Get out.”

  He inclined his head. “As you wish, latifa.”

  He turned and walked out. She wanted to call him back. So she could scream at him. So she could make love with him.

  She lay back down and curled her knees into her chest. She’d never felt so out of place in her own body. A body that was still humming from his touch, still lit up with pleasure, from all he had done. And inside … inside was raw. Tender and bleeding.

  She thought back to the intensity she’d seen on his face when he’d first walked into the bedroom.

  I’m here to show you that there are still ways I can put any man to shame.

  He hadn’t been here to prove it to her. He’d been proving it to himself. On the heels of the comment that journalist had made … and then Katharine had defended him. His pride had been on the line and he’d used her body to restore it.

  He’d given her pleasure, more than she’d ever imagined possible, but it hadn’t been hers. It had been his. His retribution. His proof.

  She pounded her fist on her pillow and let out a growl of frustration. She had been his therapy yet again. She had proven useful.