Never Resist a Sheikh (International Bad Boys) Read online

Chapter Ten

  Felicity held onto Zakir for dear life, her heartbeat going like one of those tribal drums, her blood like fire in her veins. She’d never felt so hungry for another person in all her life.

  He growled again, deep in his throat, and she felt herself picked up in his arms and carried over to the big bed in the center of the tent. Then he dropped her down onto it and systematically began ripping the robes from her body.

  The look on his face was fierce, dark, and predatory. And she loved it. He was exciting, thrilling. And so sexy she almost couldn’t handle herself.

  Silk tore and she trembled, loving the roughness of his desire. Loving how hungry he was for her that he was nearly out of control. Because this need didn’t come from the deadly desert king who wanted a queen. This came from a passionate man desperate for a woman.

  And not just any woman. Her.

  As the last of the silk came off, she lay back on the bed, staring up at him. She was naked now and he was still fully clothed, towering over her in his black robes, looking at her like he wanted to eat her alive. Then he slammed his hands down on the mattress on either side of her head, leaning over her, surrounding her with that insanely addicting scent of sandalwood and spice, with the heat of his body, his intense, black gaze inches from hers.

  “Why are you not afraid?” he demanded hoarsely. “You should be.”

  “What? Afraid of you?” She stared right back at him. “Why should I be? Because you’re not an easy lover? Well, you’re assuming I want easy. And I don’t think I do.”

  “You are inexperienced. You have no idea what you want.”

  “I know what I want,” she said. “I want you.”

  “I will break you, little one. I will hurt you.” He was breathing very fast and she could see something like desperation in his eyes. Something like fear.

  And she knew why. “No, you won’t. You won’t break me because I’m stronger than I look. And you won’t hurt me because you’re not your brother.”

  “Felicity, you do not understand—”

  “No, you’re the one who doesn’t understand.” She looked up into his black eyes, seeing the flame that burned there. “What I want is your passion, Zakir. And I don’t care how that comes.”

  “Passion is dangerous.”

  “Show me then,” she whispered. “Show me how dangerous it is. Show me how dangerous you are. I’m not afraid. I want it all.”

  The flame leapt in his gaze. He looked almost savage and that, too, she loved. And it made her even more determined to show him that he had nothing to be afraid of. That the man who’d lain her on the bed that afternoon with a cool cloth over her, who’d gotten her a drink to help her with the heat, wasn’t a man who would needlessly hurt anyone.

  She didn’t know why it was so important that he believe her. She only knew that it was.

  He said something harsh in Arabic. Then, with one powerful movement he flipped her over onto her stomach.

  Her heartbeat accelerated and then again as he pulled her arms above her head. There was a pause and then all the air left her lungs as cool material was wound tight around her wrists, binding them together. She glanced up. White silk. He was tying her hands with her veil.

  “This is so you don’t touch,” he said harshly in her ear. “Only I can do that.”

  Excitement caught in her throat and then his hands were on her body, sliding down her sides, over her hips, to her thighs. Stroking, shaping. He caressed the curve of her rear, making goose bumps rise everywhere over her body, and then his hand slipped between her legs.

  Felicity gasped as his fingers began to explore her, sliding over her wet flesh, finding then circling her clitoris in a movement that made her shudder and gasp again.

  “You want this?” His voice was a dark growl from behind her, his breath hot on the back of her neck. “You want me to take you like this?”

  “Yes…” She pushed herself back against his hand, desperate for more.

  He slid a finger inside her, pushing deep. “Beg me for it, little one. I want to hear you say it.”

  Pleasure was a white-hot burst of energy inside her, the edge of it getting sharper as he added a second finger, stretching her. “Please, Zakir,” she murmured, her voice thick. “Please…”

  His hand withdrew from her and as she trembled against the bed, she heard the rustle of fabric, the sounds of him undressing. They were measured, unhurried.

  She blinked. He was still trying to stay in control, wasn’t he? Well, that wasn’t what she wanted. Wild and passionate, that’s what she wanted. This was a point she was trying to prove and she couldn’t prove it when he insisted on remaining in control.

  Felicity rolled over, her arms twisting above her head.

  And all the breath left her body.

  Because Zakir had discarded his robe and was standing there naked. And he was beautiful. She couldn’t stop staring. She’d seen naked men before, but not in the flesh. Not right in front of her. And definitely not a man like him.

  All bronze skin and sharply cut muscle. Hard. Strong. Powerful. Her gaze travelled down over his chest where the graceful lines of the tattoo traced across his pectorals. Down farther to the defined ridges of his stomach. And then down even farther to where he was hard and ready for her.

  “Who said you could move?” His voice was so deep and rough it sent another shiver through her.

  “I wanted to look at you.”

  “Turn over.”

  “No.”

  “Do as I say.” He moved, his hands reaching for her, no doubt to flip her over again, his warm fingers on her hips.

  But she met those black eyes. Held them. “Don’t be afraid, Zakir.”

  His mouth hardened and he bent over her. “I am not afraid.”

  “Prove it then.” And she lifted her bound hands, slipping them over his head and tightening. Pulling his mouth down so he had no choice but to kiss her.

  Heat and desire engulfed her, the desperation in his kiss reaching all the way down to her soul. So she held on, kissing him harder, deeper. Spreading her legs for him, inviting him to take whatever he wanted from her.

  So he did.

  He made a raw sound deep in his throat, unhooking her arms from around his neck and pushing her back down onto the mattress. Then he reached for the drawer on the nightstand beside the bed and pulled it open. He must have got his gotten his staff to get him a supply of condoms because there was suddenly one in his hand. He tore the packet open and protected himself, and then he hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, opening her wide. And pushed inside her, hard and deep.

  She cried out because it felt so good. Because it was rough and intense and passionate. He held her hands above her head while he ravaged her mouth. While he drove into her, a hard, fast rhythm that had her meeting his thrusts with her own. Showing him she was strong and that she was as hungry for him as he was for her.

  Then things became even more desperate.

  He nipped at her bottom lip, licked down her throat while she arched beneath him, chasing the intensity of the pleasure. He bent farther, finding her breast, taking her nipple into his mouth and sucking hard.

  She cried out as everything drew tight inside her, the driving movement of him inside her, stretching her, becoming too much. She called his name as the climax took her, twisting beneath him as the pleasure short-circuited every nerve ending she had.

  Then he began to move even faster, even harder, finding his own pleasure, burying his head in her neck as it took him, too.

  Afterwards she lay there in a kind of daze, content not to move as the aftershocks pulsed through her. Content not to move ever again.

  He covered her, his body a heavy weight on hers, but that was okay. It felt good. Like he was the anchor that held her down and without which she’d just float away.

  She didn’t know how long they remained like that, but eventually he shifted. Withdrawing from her, he didn’t say a word as he moved off the bed, disappearing t
hrough a tent flap to what was probably the bathroom area. Seconds later, he reappeared, coming back to the bed and she sat up as he reached for the white silk around her wrists, untying them. Then he took her hands in his, chafing lightly at her skin.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, a hoarse edge to his voice.

  “Yes.” She pulled her hands away from his, placing her palms on his chest, feeling the smooth oiled silk of his skin and the heat that warmed her all the way through. Then she looked up at him. “I’ve never felt better in my entire life.”

  His gaze was searching, as if looking for signs she was lying. “I did not hurt you?”

  “No.” She smiled. “That was the most amazing experience of my life.”

  “Your wrists—”

  “Zakir.” She spread her fingers out on his chest. “I’m fine.” Then she pushed him back onto the bed, straddling him.

  He let her do it without protest, watching her and she could see the hunger kindling again in his eyes. It made her feel bold, powerful. Like she could do anything.

  She looked down at the Arabic letters inked into his chest and did what she’d been dying to do from the moment she first saw it, traced them with her finger. “What does this mean?” His muscles tensed beneath her touch. “You didn’t tell me before.”

  “It is a vow the kings of Al-Shakhra take when we become king. It says ‘Before the people, only God’.”

  “A vow of protection,” she murmured.

  “Yes. That is what a king is for. To protect his people.” There was so much certainty in his voice and a kind of reverence, too, as if the words were sacred to him.

  But no, there was no as if about it. They were sacred to him. He was a man who believed in his purpose. Believed in it deeply enough that he’d do whatever he had to in order to help his country. Even kidnap a woman to be his queen.

  She let her fingers rest against him, feeling the strength beneath the skin, the power. All that determination. He was enduring, solid.

  I am possessive. Violent. I have…killed.

  Maybe he had. But he was not cruel or a capricious with it. He was a man of strong passions with a very strong will. A soldier. A king. He would fight for those he loved, for those he’d sworn to protect.

  She pressed both palms him his chest, the strong, steady beat of his heart against her skin. “I want to touch you.”

  “Felicity, I don’t—”

  “Let me. Please, Zakir.”

  His dark eyes held hers for a long moment and she thought he might refuse her. Then he said quietly, “Very well. But understand, my control with you is very, very limited.”

  She smiled, feeling relief go through her, not knowing how much she’d wanted him to say yes until now, letting her hands drift down his chest and over the hard corrugations of his abs. Then she bent over him, putting her lips to his chest, flicking her tongue out to taste him. Salt and a musky, spicy flavor that was all Zakir.

  One warm hand was at her hip, holding on tight. “Be careful, little one,” he murmured, deep and rough.

  “Why?” She went a lower, licking one flat, male nipple. “Are you afraid I’ll hurt you?”

  His intake of breath was a sharp hiss. “You know that is not what I’m afraid of.”

  “You should be. I’m very fierce.” Feeling bold, she bit his nipple gently, and was rewarded when she felt all those beautiful muscles tense beneath her hands.

  “You are. Too fierce. I am afraid I will have you on your back before you have had your chance to touch me as you want.”

  Felicity grinned and pushed her hand farther down to where he was already hard and ready, circling him with her fingers. “In that case, perhaps it’s my turn to tie your hands.”

  Something dark leapt in Zakir’s eyes and he smiled, the curve of his mouth promising all kinds of wickedness. “You are more than welcome to try.”

  So she did.

  * * *

  He only had four days. Four days in which to convince one small, passionate American woman to stay with him. So he planned it as he would any military operation—precisely and with great attention to detail.

  He took her to an oasis with a pool big enough for swimming the following day, letting her bask in the cool water for as long as she wanted. Afterwards, in the shade of the awning his staff had brought along, he fed her a lunch of fruit, flat bread, roast chicken, and tomatoes, while she talked to him about her company. It had been clear from the beginning that it was important to her, yet only now did he begin to appreciate why. Red Star was to her as Al-Shakhra was to him. It was her kingdom and she was its ruler, her employees her people. No wonder she was so upset with him when he’d taken her. No wonder she wanted to do all in her power to make sure of its success.

  He would help her, he vowed to himself. He would make sure her company did not suffer from his actions.

  Later, as night fell, he took her to the dunes to watch the sunset flame brilliant over the sands, enjoying the feel of her as she leaned against him, exclaiming in wonder at the colors of the sky.

  But once the night crept up on them, he took her back to camp, back into his tent where he would launch the other aspect of his siege. Pleasure. After that first night, he knew he couldn’t hold back when it came to her, and so he didn’t. Indulging himself and his desires as often as possible. And it was so very, very good because what he wanted was also what she wanted.

  What she’d told him was true. She was strong. She could take whatever he gave her and not only that, but she could give it back, too. It was intoxicating. It made him feel like perhaps she was right. That perhaps he didn’t need to be so concerned about being like Farid. Besides, it felt wrong to hold himself so rigidly in control when she burned so fiercely, so passionately. He didn’t want to hold back because she deserved better than that. She deserved all the fierce passion he could give her.

  And the more he gave her, the brighter she burned.

  The next day they visited the tribes again, where she talked about her company and about the software she’d written. About how it could give them access to information that could enrich their lives, from tracking their livestock to educating their children, to helping communications between the various tribes.

  They were fascinated with her, Zakir observed. And no wonder. She spoke with such enthusiasm and passion and excitement. It was infectious. Afterwards, he found himself fielding many comments approving his choice of wife, which should have made him feel satisfied.

  But they didn’t. Because although he’d decided she would be his wife, she’d made no such decision. And he knew, deep down, that four days was not enough time to convince her to stay.

  He didn’t give up, though.

  The third day he took her for a long ride on his horse, flying across the sands, listening to her laughter in his ear, before setting up a bath for her outside as night descended. In the brilliant light of the stars, he got in with her, washing her hair as she lay back in his arms, and it wasn’t laughter he heard this time, but sighs of satisfaction as he massaged the shampoo in, his fingers stroking and kneading her scalp.

  He’d dismissed his guards long before and just as well, because she turned in his arms and pressed her hungry mouth to his throat, sensual as cat. And he couldn’t resist her. He never could. He lifted her above him, sliding deep inside her, letting her move on him, her hands on his chest, her eyes glittering brighter than the stars above his head.

  One more day. That’s all that was left.

  And as she rose and fell on him, he didn’t know how he was going to keep his promise to her. He didn’t know how he was going to let her go.

  The things she could do for his country, for his people.

  The things she could do for you…

  She shattered around him, crying out in his ear, and he pulled out of her before he came, pressing himself against her soft belly, holding her close.

  No, he couldn’t allow himself to think about what he wanted. This was about her, what s
he wanted. And he wasn’t going to force her; he was going to let her make her own choice.

  * * *

  The last day came and with it a farewell feast for the tribes.

  Zakir sat at the head table, watching Felicity try out some of her fledgling Arabic on various different tribe members, much to their delight. They laughed at her mistakes and she laughed with them, charming them both with her good nature and her determination to learn.

  It did not escape him that most of the people around her were men. And even though he knew no one would be stupid enough to offend the sheikh by flirting with his new bride, he couldn’t stop the anger that rose in him as they laughed with her, teased her.

  It was jealousy, pure and simple, and he knew it.

  The feeling made something icy cold turn over inside him.

  As another burst of laughter rose from Felicity’s admirers, Zakir knew he had to get out. He excused himself, striding to the entrance of the feast tent and stepping through it, letting the chill of the desert night calm him.

  He moved away from the tent a little way, over to a stand of palms. Music and laughter drifted on the air from the feast. Most of the tribes were there, paying their respects and he knew he should go back and join them.

  But he didn’t think he could.

  No, this wasn’t jealousy. His anger felt too wild, too raw for that. It was something more, a possessiveness, a want, that went farther and deeper than jealousy or envy ever could. He wanted to take Felicity and throw her over his shoulder, take her back to their camp and keep her there where no one could ever find her. Never let her go.

  You can’t. You promised.

  He had promised. He just hoped when the time came he’d be able to keep it.

  “Zakir?”

  He turned.

  There were electric lanterns strung up on poles, lighting the way, and Felicity was coming toward him, her formal robes of blue silk fluttering out behind her. She’d taken to wearing her hair loose and he loved it that way, copper and gold curls cascading from underneath her blue veil, falling down over her shoulders.

  “Why did you leave?” She stopped not far from him. “Is it time to go?”