The Desert Lord’s Bride

nerve.

“E’emorini-command me. What’s your pleasure?”

“Come with me…”

“Amrek, ya galbi.” And he rammed inside her. She keened, the pleasures gathering in her core smothering each other around him. She dug her fingernails into his buttocks, wanting him to stab her to the heart. He did, gave her the savagery the epicenter of destruction needed to be unleashed.

She vanished in a moment of whiteout before detonations radiating from his driving manhood razed her, reformed her for the next sweep. Then he joined her in this darkest ecstasy, roaring his completion, his orgasm tapping into hers, boosting its power as his seed splashed into her womb, scorching her and putting out the fire all at once. If not for long, as she knew by now.

A long time later, still hard and throbbing inside her, he rose on his arms. “I trust you’re satisfied with my obedience?”

“Any more satisfied and I’d revert to the liquid state.”

He moved inside her, drew deep groans from both their throats. “Any more satisfied and I’d burn to ashes. What do you command of me next?”

She was savagely pleasured, boneless yet feeling ambitious. “A swim. Then the barbecue. Then you let me take you.”

He heard the beep. It made no sense for a whole minute. Lying there, wrapped in Farah, still hard inside her, he could feel or think of nothing that originated outside them and their union.

The beep came again. The third time he realized what it was. A message. On the cell phone only three men had access to. His king and his brothers.

“What’s beeping?” Farah stirred over him, her internal muscles rippling around his erection.

He thrust deeper into her, unable to contemplate having to leave her. The beep came again. He knew it would keep on doing that until he read the message. Knew they wouldn’t send one unless there was something worth disturbing him for.

And he was disturbed. He hated the intrusion into the bliss he was sharing with Farah. Dreaded it even.

“A message. From either my uncle or one of my brothers.”

She raised her head off his chest. He groaned as he saw the dreaminess seep from her eyes as alarm inched in. “You think it’s something urgent?”

“It must be. Or they wouldn’t contact me.”

This made her spill off him, and they both lurched, groaned at the pain of separation. “Answer it, then.”

With a growl, he succumbed, reached for the infernal phone.

The message was from Farooq. Video conference. Now.

His heart clenched inside his chest. What now?

“Take a shower until I come back. Or sleep a bit. The night is just starting, and I intend to keep you up for most of it.”

“Oh, yes, please.” She spread herself, inviting, delighting. “And take your time. You’ll find me right here, waiting.” He took one more kiss from those succulent lips that promised heaven. And they only promised more. “Remember, it’s your turn to lie there and let me explore you and pleasure you to my heart’s content.”

“I’m all yours to do with what you please, ya hayati.” He plunged for another clinging kiss, then withdrew.

She lay back, watched him with an adoring smile as he stood up, put on drawstring pants and an abaya, his eyes devouring her back. Then he gritted his teeth and went to see what the world that existed outside them chose to blight him with.

In his study, he turned on his computer and its three connected widescreen monitors, activated the video conferencing. Farooq and Kamal appeared on two of them.

So, the king still wasn’t up to making an appearance. He wondered if his uncle ever would be again. If his own days as crown prince were numbered and his days as king of Judar were hurtling nearer.

Farooq’s golden eyes still had that apologetic heaviness they’d been full of since he’d thrown the succession into Shehab’s lap. He wanted to tell him to stop feeling uneasy, that instead of saddling him with a burden, he’d done him the favor of his life, allowing him to find Farah, share all this with her, live in anticipation of a lifetime with her. It now turned his stomach to think Farooq might have agreed to marry her. He was certain he would come to feel the same way about her no matter what, and it would have been hell seeing her in his brother’s arms, duty wife or not. He couldn’t even bear thinking about it.

Before he said any of that, Kamal spoke.

“It’s been six weeks, Shehab.”

His eyes swung to his brooding brother, met the gaze that seethed with genius and mercilessness. “Aih, I miss you, too.”

Kamal raised one winged eyebrow, the movement eloquent with abrasive mockery. “You’re going soft on us, aren’t you?”

Shehab gave his younger brother a considering look even as his comment scraped his tightening nerves. Kamal had always been the one to provoke friction, the one with the harshest opinions, the least compassion. He not only didn’t suffer fools, he made them suffer. He had followers, but no friends, and but for the presence of Shehab and Farooq in his life, was a total lone wolf. As for enemies, while he had many, no one dared declare the enmity or act on it.

He’d become this rough and ruthless only in the past years, since his stint in the States. He hadn’t talked about what had happened there, but he’d come back ready to maul anyone who stepped out of line, like a lion with a festering wound. And he’d remained so, as if all the humanity in him had been extracted.

Shehab finally demanded, “And your definition of soft?”

Kamal leaned forward, as if he’d reach through the screen and take up his challenge physically. “Taking six weeks to do what you could have done in six days. B’haggej’Jaheem, in six hours. You had her on your jet and on the way to your island within that time frame, ready and willing. Why didn’t you just-”

Shehab banged his fist on the desk. “Shut up, Kamal. If you want to keep those perfect teeth of yours.”

Kamal narrowed his wolf’s eyes at him, whistled. “You’re not going soft, you’re already there.”

“I’ll help you knock his teeth out later, Shehab. But we do need to know what’s going on.”

He turned his eyes to Farooq, heard a squeal in the background. Suddenly all his tension drained. Mennah. Farooq’s one-year-old daughter. The smile that surged to his lips came straight from his heart. The little tyke had conquered him on sight. His life had suddenly become so much richer for having the privilege of being her uncle. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how he’d feel about a daughter of his own. With Farah…

His eyes searched behind Farooq, hoping to catch a glimpse of the toddler. Farooq understood at once, got up, was back in seconds, his arms filled with the incredible fresh life that, along with her mother, had changed his brother’s forever.

“Ya Ullah, she gets more beautiful every day.” Shehab waved at Mennah, who tried to reach him by pawing the screen, before starting to bang on it in chagrin when she couldn’t. He laughed as Farooq pulled her back, telling her in both Arabic and English why she couldn’t reach her uncle. Farooq insisted he’d never talk down to her, that she was brilliant and would learn as much as they let her and it was never too soon to start. Shehab happened to agree with his methods. He sighed as Farooq distracted Mennah. “Where’s Carmen? And how is she?”

At the mention of his wife, Farooq’s eyes kindled with the heat of love and lust, the warmth of pride and trust. “She’s taking a shower. And she’s magnificent.”

“She’s out of the shower. And look who’s talking.”

Kamal gave a rough exhalation of impatience as Carmen appeared behind Farooq, taking both him and her daughter in an exuberant hug before looking at Shehab. She did look well. She was a lovely woman, but now she truly glowed with the overpowering beauty only absolute love and happiness could generate. He was happy that Farooq, who’d always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, had found the one woman who’d love him as endlessly and unconditionally as Carmen loved him. No wonder Farooq had so easily given up the throne for