The Sheikh King's Ward (Halabi Sheikhs Book 1) Page 6

  “I need you,” she said. “On me. Inside me.” She blushed as she said it, and her stomach fluttered with nerves, but she knew it was true.

  “And?”

  She pressed back against him, desperate for more. “I think of you at night, how it might feel to kiss you. To swallow you.”

  He made a tortured sound. His cock swelled against her, thick and hard. “And what do you do when you think of me?”

  “This.” She took his hand and guided it between her legs. He thumbed at her slit through her panties, and she nearly came right there, her whole body thrumming as he pressed against her clit. He cupped her sex, and she gasped at the sensation, rough and tender at once. She rocked against him, helpless to restrain herself.

  “I’ve thought of you too,” said Bas. “Of holding you down, pounding that wicked streak out of you.”

  “Do it, then.” Fiona wriggled out of his arms and out of her dress. She stretched back against the pillows, letting her legs fall open. “Don’t even bother undressing. Just take off that belt and come get me.”

  Bas didn’t waste another moment. Fiona hardly had time to draw breath before he was upon her. She threw back her head as his hot breath tickled her neck, sank her nails into the coverlet as his kisses ventured lower. He took one nipple between his teeth, and she felt herself melt. He traced the curve of her belly with his tongue, and she took him by the hair and urged him down. He hummed with pleasure as he sucked at her clit, and the sensation was almost too much.

  “I need you inside me,” she managed.

  “Mm?” Bas looked up, lips wet with her juices.

  “Don’t make me say it again.”

  “I should make you beg for it.” He dipped his tongue between her folds, just enough to tease.

  “Please.”

  That seemed to awaken something in Bas. He surged up to meet her, eyes hard with lust. She could feel his heart pounding as he leaned down to kiss her, and she tasted her own arousal on his lips. He nudged her thighs apart and she welcomed him, tilting her hips up to meet him.

  “Just a moment.” He pulled a condom from somewhere and tore the wrapper with his teeth. Fiona held her breath as he rolled it on one-handed, and then he was in her. One smooth stroke, and he claimed her, burying himself in her heat. She cried out before she could stop herself. The sensation was intense, not quite painful, but far more than she’d bargained for. Her whole body stiffened as her eyes opened wide.

  “Are you all right?” Bas leaned in, eyes sharp with concern. He pushed her hair back off her face.

  “I’m fine,” she managed, and she was. She was relaxing now, and it felt good, not just Bas’s cock inside her, but his closeness, his caring.

  She rocked her hips experimentally, wanting more, but Bas shook his head.

  “Slowly,” he said. He took her in long, languid strokes. It was sinful, delicious, and she found herself lost in it, savoring every moment. At first, she could only lie and enjoy it, trembling at every thrust, but soon she was giving as good as she got, wrapping her legs around his waist to pull him in deeper, dragging her nails down his back. Soon, his breathing grew ragged and he picked up his pace, and she heard herself pleading for more.

  “Can’t hold on much longer.”

  “Go ahead.” She dug her nails into his shoulders and held on for dear life. The world fell away as the pleasure overwhelmed her. It was just her and just Bas, just showers of sparks in her belly as he carried her over the edge. Her pleas turned to gasps, then soft, desperate whimpers as her orgasm crested, then faded, then crested again. She hardly noticed when Bas shouted his own release, only opening her eyes when he rolled off her.

  “Oh…” He brushed at his shoulder and hissed. “I’m bleeding. You’ve marked me.”

  “Property of Fiona Nadide.”

  “So it would appear.” He turned his head lazily, eyes half-lidded. “Give me ten minutes. I’ll want you again.”

  “You think I can wait that long?”

  Bas hooked his fingers in her mouth, sliding them deeper as she tongued at them, and she knew their night had just begun.

  10

  Bas found the kitchens in the quiet hour, that brief lull between the last dishes of the night going on their shelves and the first loaves of the day going in the ovens. He assembled his ingredients, oil and yeast, eggs and honey, a bag of flour. There weren’t any poppy seeds, so he grabbed sesame seeds instead. He reached for a mixing bowl, and what had he done?

  No.

  He wasn’t going to think about it. Yeast and water. Eggs and honey. A pinch of salt…

  A pinch, not a handful. He poured out the mixture and tried again. She was all he could think about, how she’d kissed him so sweetly and begged him for more. How the moon had silvered her hair as she rode him on the couch. What had that been, round three? Round four? At least they’d been safe, but nothing was foolproof. No one knew that better than he did, and still he’d risked it all.

  He scooped the dough from the bowl and slapped it down on the counter. He punched it, then punched it some more. Somehow, that only fueled his frustration.

  “What was I thinking?”

  “I don’t know—you were hungry?”

  He jumped as Chadil clapped him on the shoulder. Danyal elbowed up on his other side, poking a finger in the dough.

  “What is this, bread?” He stuck out his tongue. “Boring. I want cake.”

  Bas waved his brothers off, annoyed. “It’s challah. And where did you spring from? I thought you were in Morocco.”

  “We came back early. Aren’t you happy to see us?” Chadil reached for the cinnamon. “Make us some baklava. And tell us how you’re faring with that ward of yours. Found her a match, have you?”

  “Or picked her off for yourself?” Danny waggled his eyebrows, and Bas pushed him away.

  “As if I’d do that.”

  “Wouldn’t you?” Chadil stroked his beard. “We waited for you at dinner.”

  “We’d hoped to surprise you,” added Danny.

  “But you never showed. And I couldn’t help but notice one more chair standing empty.”

  Bas puffed himself up, the picture of indignation. “I took Miss Nadide on a perfectly chaste outing. The time got away from us, and we ate dinner at the Palms.”

  “Or at the botanical gardens?” Chadil leaned forward, suddenly serious. “Your secretary got quite the strange call this afternoon: a man who looked remarkably like our king had crept into the gardens, and was—”

  “Cavorting in the hedge maze with an unknown female companion.” Danny grinned. “We had them send us the footage. Are you really our older brother?”

  “It’s not what you’re thinking. We were just…” Bas trailed off. He didn’t like lying to his brothers, especially when the truth was plain to see. “I didn’t think anyone would be watching the security feeds. It’s a garden, not a bank.”

  “I say enjoy.” Danny hopped up on the counter and watched Bas knead his dough. “They’re our gardens, right? Even a king deserves a day off.”

  “Don’t listen to him. Listen to me—about the baklava, too. Come on. Let your dough rise.” Chadil dropped a cloth on Bas’s challah and pushed it aside. “Listen, a day off’s one thing. I wouldn’t begrudge you a walk in the gardens when they’re open. But sneaking in with a woman, unchaperoned? How does that look?”

  Bas swallowed, tasting bile. He knew exactly how it looked.

  “I mean, I can see why you did it, but consider your position. What was it Father used to say? A king has no privacy, even when he’s alone. And you weren’t alone.”

  “You don’t have to tell me.” Bas’s stomach hurt. “Who else knows? The press?”

  “Not so far. The head gardener has no interest in scandal. But you won’t always be so lucky.”

  “I know that.” He reached for a mixing bowl to start the baklava. “It was a moment of madness. Sunstroke, maybe. Nostalgia gone awry.”

  “We did have some good times there
, eh?” Chadil leaned on the counter, watching Bas pour the olive oil. “Remember when Edlyn found that toad?”

  “Mm…” Bas did remember. She’d dug the thing up and slipped it in some lady’s purse, but all she’d gotten was a talking to. His choices carried real weight. The bad ones were weights, and they didn’t just drag him down. They could sink his whole family, the kingdom itself, and he’d let that all slide for a few hours of pleasure? And then there was Fiona’s reputation to consider. He’d still be king if it got out he’d crossed the line, but it might prove more difficult to find her a match. The rules were his to uphold, but it was Fiona who’d suffer.

  “Hey. Don’t take it so hard.” Chadil squeezed his shoulder. “You got away with it. Everything’s just as it was. Remember who you are, and it’ll be like it never happened.”

  Like it never happened. That hardly seemed possible. He trailed his fingers along his shoulder where Fiona had left her mark, four tiny crescents. They’d fade in a week, but the sentiment behind them…he’d called her his own. She’d staked her claim in turn. How could he look her in the eye and pretend it had meant nothing?

  How could he look her in the eye and not give in again?

  Duty was sacrifice. His father had said that too, and those words had never rung so true or cut so deep.

  Giving up Fiona would be like tearing out part of himself.

  11

  Fiona paused in the doorway, a smile playing about her lips. Bas looked a little rumpled, a little tired, the morning sun bringing out the dark circles under his eyes. She stepped out on the balcony and squeezed his shoulder.

  “Long night?”

  He didn’t laugh as she’d thought he would, just smiled and shook his head. “Coffee?”

  “Too bitter.” She sat down beside him and helped herself to tea, stirring in a spoonful of honey. “What is it? You seem tense.”

  “Ah, my brothers came home early.” He sipped his own coffee and grimaced. “I’m pleased to see them, of course, but you know how it is with family.”

  Fiona nodded. She’d never had siblings, but she knew how it felt to have the same old discussions year in, year out, little quibbles that never quite went away. She reached out and took his hand, and he tensed up again, pulling away.

  “What?”

  “I’m so sorry.” He stood up, visibly agitated. “I didn’t mean to lead you on. Last night meant the world to me, but I still have to find you a groom.”

  Fiona’s stomach turned over, the honey turning bitter in her mouth. “You can’t be serious.”

  Bas looked like he might be sick, himself, but he hardened his face and doubled down. “Your father’s will was clear,” he said. “I’m to find you a husband, not marry you myself.”

  Fiona’s ears rang. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. All her life, she’d seen marriage as a trap, a place hope went to die, but last night in Bas’s arms, she’d let herself picture a life with him—a thousand mornings just like this, stolen moments in the palace. Secrets, theirs alone.

  “And I’m still your guardian,” said Bas. He’d sat down again and was massaging his temples. “I don’t have to tell you what a taboo that is.”

  “That’s because guardians are usually old men, and their wards are children. We’re the same age. And it’s only two more months—”

  “My hands are tied.”

  Fiona stared across the table, glassy-eyed. Bas looked as miserable as she felt. She swallowed the impulse to lash out at him. It wouldn’t change anything, and it wasn’t anger she felt, more a deep sense of loss, of promise snatched away. She reached for him again, and this time he let her take his hand.

  “Let’s remember it for what it was, then,” she said. “At least my first time was with someone I—someone who cared.”

  Bas jerked upright at that, eyes wide with surprise. “Your first time?”

  “You didn’t guess?”

  He surged to his feet and pulled Fiona to hers, drawing her into a tight embrace. His heart was racing as fast as hers, and this time when he kissed her, it was warm and sweet.

  “I’m so sorry,” he repeated. “I wish it could be otherwise. Truly, I do.”

  “I believe you.” Fiona closed her eyes and laid her head on his shoulder, savoring his warmth while she could. Soon, she’d be shipped off to some loveless nest or starting a life of her own abroad, but in this moment, Bas was hers. That would have to be enough, a collection of sweet memories to sustain her through the years to come.

  Bas stood in the archway, surveying the grand ballroom. Fiona looked radiant in her new dress, greeting each of her suitors as he entered. She smiled at each one as Bas had taught her, charmed him with some little anecdote tailored to his tastes. He’d taught her that too, but it hurt to watch her do it with such apparent sincerity.

  Still, this was the right thing to do. Rules were rules, and if Fiona couldn’t be his, he’d want her to be loved. Maybe tonight, with the music and entertainment to take the pressure off, she’d meet someone she liked. That way, at least one of them could be happy.

  Laughter drew his attention, and Bas scowled as he glanced across the room. Fiona was flirting with that upstart Rashid, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. What secrets could they possibly have? Hadn’t she sent him packing weeks ago?

  Bas turned away, frowning. He was being ridiculous, letting jealousy color his perception. Fiona was doing her part, nothing more. Entertaining her guests. He’d half expected her to refuse to attend, and maybe a tiny part of him had hoped she would. Counted on it, even. But she’d presented herself on time and immaculately groomed, full of smiles and warmth. It was everything he could’ve asked for and his worst nightmare rolled into one.

  Fiona giggled, and Bas couldn’t help but look. She was leaning on a column, bent almost double with mirth. Rashid was laughing too, covering his mouth. Cold fury lanced through him, then a hot bolt of shame. This was the plan, and it was working. Rashid was exactly what Bas was looking for, someone who’d treat Fiona well. Someone who’d make her laugh, but laugh that much? Bas clapped his hands, hating himself for what he was about to do.

  “If everyone could stop what you’re doing, just for a moment…” He gestured at the orchestra. “I’ve arranged for some music. I thought some dancing might be in order.” A few of the court ladies stepped forward, and Bas hid a smirk as one of them claimed Rashid. Fiona paired off with the French count, a man of generous proportions with a booming voice to match. He danced stiffly, without rhythm, but Fiona went along, matching her steps to his. She guided him away from the other dancers, out of their way and into his. Bas stepped back, but it was too late. Fiona swung past him, close enough he could smell her perfume, and he longed to claim the next dance. Her skirt brushed his foot, and he closed his eyes.

  Soon enough, the music changed, and Fiona begged off the next dance. She went to the window and stood admiring the garden. He couldn’t resist joining her.

  “I shouldn’t say this,” she said, pitched low for his ears, “but I was pretending that was us.”

  Bas snorted, stifling a smirk. “I wouldn’t have stepped on your toes.”

  “Perhaps you might show me later, when our guests have all gone.”

  Bas pressed his lips together. There was nothing to say to that. They’d been dancing around each other all week, too polite, too remote. He wanted to take her in his arms and spin her from one end of the ballroom to the other, but time was running out.

  "You should get back to your party,” he said. Fiona’s shoulders slumped, but she did it.

  Soon the music stopped, and Fiona sat with his finance minister, smiling as she poured him a drink. One glossy lock broke free of her updo and went tumbling over her shoulder, and Bas’s hand twitched at his side. He wanted to brush that lock back, or maybe loose the rest of her mane. He closed his eyes and saw her hair spilling over her pillow, her lips parted in ecstasy.

  He wouldn’t fuck you like I do.

  Bas too
k a step forward and caught himself. Abbas was a good man, and if Fiona could see that, she might have a chance at happiness. As if on cue, she leaned closer. Bas looked away, feeling ill. Watching this was bad enough. If they married, he’d see them every day, on the news, in the social pages. At his elbow at state dinners. He’d watch her grow round with Abbas’s child, and give that child his blessing. This night would never end, not for him.

  A servant sidled up, bowing low. “It’s late, Your Majesty.”

  He nodded. “Dim the lights,” he said. “I’ll make the rounds.”

  The words stuck in his throat as he thanked everyone for coming. They all wanted to sing Fiona’s praises, and it made him sick. None of them knew her like he did. They hadn’t seen her stand up for someone she cared about or go teary eyed over a glimpse of the sea. They were vultures, circling her inheritance. Her beauty, her generosity, her passion—to them, these were just happy accidents. To him they were everything.

  “It’s been an honor, Your Majesty.” Abbas inclined his head respectfully. “Whether Miss Nadide finds me to her taste or otherwise, I look forward to our next meeting.”

  Bas managed a stiff smile. He stood aside as the last of the suitors filed out, wanting the night to be over. But Fiona was watching him from the grand archway, standing between him and his rooms. In spite of everything, he felt himself relax as he approached her, and when she smiled, so did he.

  "I won’t ask if anyone stood out,” he said, but Fiona just shrugged.

  “You didn’t dance with anyone,” she said.

  “And you danced with everyone.” The words came out spiteful, and Bas bit his tongue. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You were the picture of grace.”

  “You weren’t.” Her smile turned mischievous. “You stood like a statue all night. I thought you’d turned to stone.”

  “Oh, I’m flesh and blood, I assure you.” Bas cursed himself. Her teasing was awakening his own playful side, and the cut of her dress was stirring another side of him entirely. He summoned all his frustration as he started down the hall. “What were you thinking tonight, all that giggling with Rashid? That man’s no match for you. You’d eat him alive.”