2
UPON REACHING THE HOTEL where Malik was currently checked in, Emmanuel bid them goodnight and then it was just Kyria and the sheikh. Unlike their ride back, which had been filled by laughter and conversation, their walk to his suite was quiet. It wasn’t exactly awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either, and it was beginning to dawn on Kyria that she might have been a little too...impulsive?
Her eyes squeezed shut in despair. Sweet heavens, had she really asked the sheikh if she could sleep at his place tonight? She had only asked it because she had wanted to talk to him in private, but now that she had more time to think about it, the more it seemed like a bad idea—-
“Kyria, wait—-”
She looked up, but it was too late, and she ended up walking straight into a door and nearly knocking herself out.
“Owww!” Straightening, she rubbed her forehead and looked up at the sheikh. His handsome face was expressionless, but the gleam in his eyes was unmistakable. “Go ahead,” she said dourly. “You can laugh.”
“You know I won’t do that.” His voice was gentle, but the amusement in his eyes was gleaming even more brightly, and at that moment he looked too adorably handsome for words—-
Her head snapped back just as her heart threatened to leap out of her chest.
Oh, Gates of Heaven, it was just as she feared.
From the corner of her eye, Kyria noticed the sheikh frown and knew he had felt her sudden tension. She wished she could apologize, but she also knew that was impossible. Right now, even the mere thought of looking at him in the eye was too much to contemplate.
Inside his suite, which was as vast and luxurious as one would expect, the sheikh gave her a swift tour: an open-layout living room, a shared balcony for the living room and the master’s, a library, and finally the spare bedroom where she would stay.
“Will it do for you?” Standing by the doorway, the sheikh began to unknot his tie as he spoke—-
It was too sexy, just too much of everything, and everything that Kyria had fought so hard to suppress in the club surged to the fore.
Her knees started to quake.
“Kyria?” The sheikh raised a brow at her as he whipped his tie off.
Oh God.
She smiled brightly at him. “Everything’s alright.” And then she slammed the door in his face.
Again.
Her hands flew to her mouth in dismay.
Oh dear.
This was...this was very, very bad.
Outside the hallway, the sheikh stared stoically at the door that had been slammed shut in his face. Twice, he thought grimly. This had only happened twice in his life, and in both instances Kyria had been the instigator.
He had thought – and foolishly so, as it seemed now – that things could still change between them. He had thought that things could go back to the way they used to. But now he knew.
“Kyria?”
Inside the room, Kyria literally shuddered at the too-soft voice of the sheikh, knowing from experience that it was not a good sign. Gulping hard, she whispered, “Y-yes, Malik?”
“If you don’t open this door in three seconds, I’ll take it as a sign that you wish nothing to do with me.”
Her face paled.
“And if so, I shall never show my face to you again.”
Her hands fell to her sides.
Three...
Two...
She threw the door open, crying out, “It’s all your fault!”
The sheikh only stared at her, unflinching and too painfully handsome for her heart to take.
“All y-your fault!” Her tone was violent, but her eyes were shimmering with tears, and the sight of it killed whatever hope he had left of keeping her in his life. He knew how much Kyria hated to cry, and for her to be on the brink of tears now...
Two years , he thought bleakly. He had fooled himself for two goddamn years, but now it was time to face the truth. The thought made him feel weary, and far, far older than his thirty-one years. Looking at Kyria, he said tonelessly, “I’m sorry.”
The sound of his voice made Kyria swallow back a sob. “I wasn’t asking you to say sorry.”
“I know. But it’s all I can say. I’m sorry that morning happened.”
“Your s-sorry is not enough—-”
“Then what do you want?” he demanded bitterly. “To punish me for something I couldn’t help?” Tears started running down her face, but it was different this time. “What do you want, damn you?” The sight of her crying made him want to explode, made him want to beat something up until the impotent rage inside of him was completely spent—-
Kyria was crying harder, but it only fed his rage. “Say it!”
She started shaking her head. “I c-can’t—-”
“Say it, damn you,” he raged. “Just say it—-” Because that was the only way for things to end between them. He needed her to tell him to get out of her life, needed her—-
“I just want it to stop, okay?” she choked out.
Her head lifted, her red-rimmed eyes clashing with his, begging for something he dared not think of.
“Since that morning,” Kyria wept, “I’ve become so weird, and I just can’t change it.”
The sheikh slowly shook his head. “Kyria—-”
“No!” And to his surprise, Kyria started to babble. “You have to listen. Listen until the end! You have to understand how much things have changed since that morning. I hear your voice, and I panic—-”
Malik stiffened.
“I see your face, and I panic—-”
And there was that word again , he thought grimly. “Are you panicking at the thought that it would happen—-”
“Oh, Malik.” She let out a laugh that sounded crazy even to her own ears. “Don’t you get it? Do you really need me to spell it out loud?” Her lips curved in a smile that pierced his chest. “I’m panicking because that morning changed e-everything, and when I’m n-not mentally prepared to see you, or even hear you, I can’t help but think of things—-” Her arms wrapped around herself as her voice lowered to a shamed whisper. “ Weird things .”
Malik could only stare at her. “But at the club—-”
“That was different,” she said miserably. “There were people around. We weren’t alone. And I...I saw you first before you saw me so I had time to prepare. But the other times and even just now, when I saw you taking off your tie—-”
“My tie?” he echoed blankly.
“It made me think of really weird things.” And again, her whispered words were ridden with guilt. “Things that a s-sister—-” Her voice came to a choking stop. “A sister should never think of her brother.”
Ah.
Their eyes collided, hers still wet with tears that flowed endlessly down her face, while his—-
Kyria’s lips parted in bemusement, and her heart started to ache and race at the same time.
Why?
Why was it—-
Why was he looking at her like he wanted...to do the same weird things with her?
“Kyria.” The sheikh’s tone was grave and hoarse, and the light in his beautiful dark eyes glittered like diamonds wrapped in midnight.
“Come here.”
Said the flame to the moth, lion to the lamb , Kyria thought hysterically. And now, it was Malik to Kyria—-
But even knowing this, she found herself taking that one small step—-
Her feet crossed the doorway of her bedroom, and his arms closed about her.
He had hugged her earlier, but this...was different.
This was...a man’s embrace.
Her body stiffened with shock, but instead of letting her go, the sheikh only pulled her closer, every inch of his hardness now pressed against every soft, pliant curve of her body.
Fire engulfed her senses, and she squeezed her shut, her body trembling at the sheer effort she had to expend to swallow back the whimpers that filled her throat.
“You know those weird things you’re talking about...” His lips touched her hair, just a few inches above her ears. “They have another name.”
His mouth moved down, and even as she started to tremble, and her fingers started to curl into fists against his chest—-
His mouth continued to move, all the way down, until it reached her ear, and Kyria could no longer hold back—-
“It’s called sexual attraction.”
A whimper escaped her lips.
“And I feel it, too.”
Her fingers, which should have pushed him away, clutched his shirt instead.
“I’ve felt it far longer than I should.”
****
M OONLIGHT GLIDED INTO the room from below the billowing curtains, its silver light softening the harsh perfection of the sheikh’s face. He was lying on his side, fully clothed, head propped up by his arm while he played idly with the short, loose strands of her hair.
Kyria, too, lay on her side facing him, her wide-eyed gaze resting on his. She was freshly showered, her body now sheathed in a cotton nightdress but hidden under covers that she had pulled all the way up to her neck.
The sight was a strange mix of adorable and poignant, and the sheikh said solemnly, “You look like you’re scared I’m about to eat you.”
Her cheeks turned rosy with color. “Malik!” Her tone was faintly chiding but mostly breathless, and her cheeks turned redder when the sheikh smirked. “S-stop it.”
“Stop what?”
She rolled her eyes. “You know I’m not used to hearing you say such words.”
“Yes, I do know.” His lips twitched. “But do you really think that’s going to stop me?” He expected her to make a face or something similar to express her chagrin, but instead Kyria directed a look at him that could only be described as shy and uncertain, and Malik frowned. “What is it?”
“Do you...” She swallowed hard. “Do you really like me that way?”
“Yes.” His voice was grave. “I do really like you that way.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Kyria’s lips at the way he repeated her every word, but even so she insisted, “I’m being serious.”
“As I am.” And he tugged the locks of her hair with each word for emphasis.
“Honest?”
It was the sheikh’s turn to roll his eyes. “Why do you find it so hard to believe?”
“How can I not?” She was just as incredulous as he was. “You’re Malik Al-Atassi! You can have any woman.”
“And so can you,” Malik retorted. “You can have any man—-”
“No, I can’t.” Kyria’s tone was faintly exasperated. He was always, always like this. He always made it seem like she was the most beautiful girl on the planet, even though they both knew she was not. She was plain, really, and in the times he had forbidden her to attend occasions where she might ‘attract the wrong sort of men’, Kyria herself would point this out. I know I’m not ugly, but I’m no beauty either. I won’t attract any sort of men!
And every time, Malik would only look at her like she was crazy for thinking so—-
Just as he was doing now , Kyria thought helplessly.
“Malik...look at me.”
“I am.”
“Really look at me,” she insisted.
Malik’s gaze became perplexed. “I have been looking at you for almost half of my life, Ky.”
Her heart skipped a beat, but Kyria steadfastly refused to let his words get to her head. “I’m not beautiful. I’m not even talented like Harper. I’m just ordinary, so how can you like someone like me?”
Malik frowned. “Why do you keep saying these things? You are beautiful.” And the way he was looking at her, she could almost, almost believe it herself. “And more than that, you’re perfect.”
“Oh, Malik.” She could see it in his eyes. He meant every word. But how could he? “What if—-” She swallowed past a lump on her throat, whispering, “What if you were just used to having me around and—- ah! ”
In a blink of an eye, the sheikh had rolled her to her back, and he was suddenly above her, the weight of his body bearing down on hers.
“If anyone has reason to be worried about this not being what it is,” the sheikh said broodingly, “it should be me.”
“Why?” Kyria was genuinely confused.
“Because you’re young,” he said grimly. “You’ve barely started your life, and there’s every chance you could still meet someone else—-” But Kyria was already shaking her head even before he finished speaking, and the sheikh’s words broke off.
“Do you think I didn’t try?” she whispered. “It was one of my most important goals in the past two years, Malik. But just the thought alone of going out on a date with another guy made my skin crawl—-” She stopped speaking when she saw his eyes squeeze shut at her words. “Malik?” Her tone was quietly anxious. “What is it?” Had she said something wrong?
Malik lowered his head to her shoulder. He had always wondered if she had ever been attracted to any other man, had always wondered how he would feel if he learned that there was someone else. And now she was telling her there wasn’t a single fucking one—-
“You shouldn’t have said that,” he said roughly.
Oh, she knew it! She had said something wrong, and she wondered dismally if telling the sheikh about how she felt about other men had made him feel guilty or pressured. Raising a trembling hand, Kyria threaded his fingers through his silky hair, whispering, “I’m sorry, Malik.”
“As I am.” His head lifted. “Because I had promised myself to give you time and space...”
Her eyes flew wide open at the savage look in his eyes. That was definitely not the look of a man who was guilty or pressured. Rather, that was the look of a man who wanted...her.
“I wanted to give you a chance to think this through,” Malik growled. “But after what you said—-” The sheikh gripped her by the hair. “Fuck that.”
His mouth covered hers.
And the weird things that she used to have fantasies and nightmares about...became reality.
Her eyelids swept closed.
Their first kiss.
His lips prodded hers to open, and her arms went up to wrap around his neck just as his tongue slid inside her mouth.
“Kyria.” Her name on his lips was a rough rasp, but it was also the most sweetly arousing sound, and she found herself arching against him with a moan.
“Aira.” Fuck.
The kiss deepened, and he began sucking on her tongue hard. She gasped for breath, but he only let up for the last second, leaving her to stare up at him dazedly while the erotic sound of their panting filled his room.
“More?” he asked hoarsely.
Oh.
Her heart ached when she realized that he was deliberately controlling himself, fearful of frightening or overwhelming her.
She gave him a small nod.
“More.”
And his mouth went back to hers, the kiss even rougher and hungrier this time, and her body began to writhe under his. Her nails raked his back, her legs snaking restlessly against his muscular thighs.
“More.”
His hands slid between their bodies, his fingers swiftly reaching for the hem of her nightdress before whipping it out of the way.
“More.” The word coming out a whimper just as he found the front clasp of her bra—-
“More.” She found herself begging him, desire shredding her inhibitions into pieces until all she could do was breathe and pant for his touch.
Her bra fell to the floor, followed by her panties, but before her passion-clouded mind could take in her sudden nakedness, his mouth had latched on to her nipple and thinking once again became an impossible feat.
Her fingers clutched his shoulders as he squeezed her breasts while suckling harder on her nipples.
Her head fell back.
His mouth moved down.
“Malik...”
And this time, she no longer cared whether the name she was calling out belonged to a man who was her brother in other people’s eyes.
“Malik...”
His mouth found that tiny sensitive flesh hidden under her folds.
And once again, he began to suck.
Her body arched.
“Malik!” A scream. “Oh, Malik.” A shuddering moan. “More.” And lastly, a choked whimper as his mouth destroyed her from below, and her body began to thrash in wild abandon. Orgasm struck like a tidal wave, and all she could do was moan and hold on to him as pleasure threatened to sweep her away.
Later, much, much later, Kyria was only drowsily aware as Malik lifted her up in his arms and carried her to the tub. He washed her with such brisk but gentle efficiency that it was already over before she had enough functioning brain cells to feel embarrassed about the entire process.
When they returned to the bedroom, her last thought was that it wasn’t her room that they had returned to but theirs. She wanted to protest. She tried to protest. But then Malik was kissing her so expertly, and the timbre of his voice so wonderfully soothing as he told her to sleep...
Her eyelids drifted shut.
Tomorrow , Kyria thought sleepily. Tomorrow was soon enough for them to talk, and she would tell him that they should take things slowly.
Tomorrow.
But when tomorrow came, the exact opposite happened.
Kyria stirred into consciousness as the steady sound of knocking slowly penetrated her mind. She stretched and twisted in her bed, thinking that it felt a lot bigger—-
Oh!
She shot up to a sitting position, and her worst fears were confirmed. She was still in the sheikh’s bedroom, and someone was knocking on the door—-
“Good. You’re awake.” Malik came out of the en-suite shower, a white towel wrapped low on his hips, droplets of water still dripping from his hair and down to his glistening body.
Her throat dried at the sight, and the sheikh stopped walking when he saw Kyria staring.
Beautiful.
It was the only word Kyria could think of. Every inch of Malik Al-Atassi was beautiful.
The gleaming ebony shade of his hair, the exotic darkness of his eyes, the chiseled perfection of his face-—
Beautiful.
All the way down to the imposing breadth of his shoulders, the muscular expanse of his chest, and his ripped abs—-
Beautiful.
And then there was that prominent and distinctly growing bulge under his towel—-
Oh!
The sight of his arousal shocked her back into reality, and her gaze flew up to him. “Malik.” Her tone was faint. “Your—-” She couldn’t make herself say the words and simply waved in the area of his arousal.
But the sheikh only smirked when he saw what she was gesturing at. “My what?”
“Malik, be serious—-” Another polite rap on the door interrupted her, and she turned white at the sound. “There’s someone at the door.”
“As there should be,” he said complacently. “I ordered breakfast for the two of us.”
“What?” Kyria was aghast.
He raised a brow. “Don’t you want to have breakfast with me?”
“Of course I do, but—-” She threw him a helpless look. “Should I hide then?”
“Why should you?” The sheikh then crossed the remaining length of the room, and Kyria found herself holding her breath. Her senses swam, further and further away from her, that by the time he reached her, she was lost.
Nothing else mattered except...him.
Her sheikh.
Malik.
He sat on the edge, and the bed dipped under his weight. Her body swayed at the movement of the bed, and she suddenly felt herself pressed against his hot, wet skin.
Kyria bit back a cry.
His fingers cupped her chin. “What do you want me to do, Ky?” His hand moved, fingers threading through the sleep-tousled locks of her hair. “Do I hide you...or do I let the world know you’re mine?”
Ooooh.
“I only want to take it slow,” she confessed haltingly, “for your sake.”
The sheikh’s lips curved in a smile. “Is that so?”
She nodded.
“And if I say I don’t want to take it slow at all because it’s all I’ve been doing for the past four years?”
A gasp escaped her.
“What then?” The sheikh’s voice became taut. “Do we still take it slow?” His fingers moved down to curve around her nape. “You should know by now, Ky.” And his head started inching closer, and her heart started thudding harder against her chest.
“I will only always do what you want.”
She gulped. Oh no, oh dear heavens, no...
“So tell me...”
His eyes captured hers, and the look in the sheikh’s eyes told her exactly what he wanted.
Kiss her. Touch her. Fuck her.
“What do you want?”
Him, she thought dizzily. She wanted him.
But because that look in his eyes was too much, and all of this was still new—-
KICK.
The sheikh grunted as he fell to the carpet, completely taken by surprise by Kyria’s reaction.
A horrified moan escaped her.
She had just kicked the sheikh out of his own bed.
To raise a hand against any member of the royal family was punishable by death, but more than that, it was the most shameful of all offenses for any person who considered himself loyal to the kingdom.
Kyria jumped off the bed and sank to her knees, head down. “I’m so sorry!” This was the end. She just knew it. She had hung up on him, slammed the door on him, slapped him, and now she had actually kicked him!
And yet...
Her head lifted at the strange, puzzling sound of the sheikh’s laughter, and Kyria was even more bemused when she saw Malik rising to his feet, a grin on his handsome face. Had she...kicked him so hard he had lost his mind?
He took her hand. “Up you go, milady...”
Kyria allowed the sheikh to pull her up to her feet. “You’re n-not mad?”
He shook his head. “Never with you.” His tone was gentle. “Remember?”
Her eyes teared. “Even though I kicked you?”
“Even then.”
“And I slapped you and slammed the door on your face—-”
Wincing, he cut her off hastily, saying, “No matter what you do.” And while he did mean that, Malik would rather not have Kyria list her transgressions. If she did, it only made things seem more impossible between them, and he would rather not think about that.
Right now, and after all those goddamn years of holding himself back—-
Kyria impulsively threw herself at him. “Oh, Malik.” And again, her voice was muffled with her face pressed to his shoulder. She was never the impulsively affectionate type with anyone, and even with Altair and Vanna, the smallest part of her had always held herself back, in the event that either of them would realize they didn’t actually love her—-
But Malik was different.
With Malik, she had always been sure.
He would always love her, would never leave her.
She had known that even as a child, and now it made Kyria wonder...if even then she had known—-
“Malik.”
His whispered name, underlined by worry and uncertainty, made the sheikh pull back so he could look into her eyes.
“If I tell you,” she said unevenly, “that I might have unconsciously known, even as a child, you could never be just a brother to me...” She swallowed hard. “Would you think I’m crazy?”
He slowly shook his head.
“Why?”
“Because it was the same for me,” he said simply.
Oh. Kyria laid her face against his chest again and hugged him tightly. “I’m happy. Really happy, but is it bad that a part of me feels like it’s waiting for me to wake up and realize it’s all a dream?”
“It’s not bad. Rather, it’s entirely natural.”
“Is it?” She began rubbing her face unconsciously against his chest like a kitten.
“It is.” He wondered tautly if she realized that other parts of her anatomy were starting to rub against his body as well.
“I just wish...” Her body stilled, and the sheikh was torn between relief and disappointment when all of her rubbing parts came to a stop as well.
She looked up at him, her eyes innocently questioning. “Do you think there’s something that I could do to make this feel...”
“More real?”
Kyria nodded.
His lips slowly curved.
Uh oh.
“As a matter of fact, anisdi—- ”
That smile of his was positively devilish, and she gulped. “Umm—-”
“I know exactly what we can do.”
Alarm bells started to ring inside of her head. “I don’t think—-”
The sheikh placed a finger on her lips.
Oh!
“Trust me, shaqifa.” The last word meant ‘little sister.’ A word that Altair and even the other sheikhs used when talking to her, she thought dazedly, but never him.
And now she knew why.
With the others, the word sounded exactly the way it was meant to. But when it was Malik calling Kyria his ‘little sister,’ it sounded like the dirtiest word in the planet—-
Oh, how she liked it that way.
And so did he.
This was going to be bad , Kyria thought, gulping. Trepidation, fear, and a forbidden kind of thrill started unfurling inside of her stomach.
Really, really bad—-
And so it was.
Breakfast was served at the balcony of the sheikh’s suite, with Malik already seated at the head of the table when she stepped out to join him. Two maids in uniform were also present, with one setting the table while another was busy preparing their drinks. Unlike Khalil, who preferred to travel with a minimum-sized staff, Malik preferred to surround himself with locals, and so upon seeing her, the maids – who knew Kyria back from when she was a child – smiled cheerfully and greeted her with a sense of familiarity.
“Sabah alkhayr, anisdi.” Good morning, milady.
The sheikh glanced up at their words, and Kyria tried not to act self-conscious as she felt his gaze on him. “ Sabah alkhayr, Dima, Fatima .” She managed a smile for the two as she made her way to the table. In the corner of her eye, she noticed the sheikh nodding at the maids in dismissal, and the two quickly bowed before hurrying out of the balcony.
Pausing in front of the chair adjacent to his, Kyria took a deep breath.
Act normal, Kyria Markides.
She slowly raised her gaze, and at the exact same moment his fingers wrapped around her wrist.
Ah!
One tug, and she fell into his lap.
Her head jerked up, and his beautiful face filled Kyria’s vision.
Oh!
It was still too much, and her hand went flying up before she could stop himself. Thankfully, it was also exactly what the sheikh predicted, and so even as his broad shoulders rocked with silent mirth, he was able to readily capture her other wrist before it could connect with the side of his face.
“You are quite the sadist, Ky,” the sheikh drawled.
Kyria’s face turned red.
“And surprisingly, it’s also quite the turn-on—-”
Her face turned even redder. “Malik!” She squirmed on his lap, trying to get away, but this only made the sheikh grin.
“Relax,” he crooned.
“L-like I can!” She struggled harder to get out of his hold, but his fingers around her wrists were like manacles.
“I’m only doing this so that you’d get used to me.” The sheikh spoke like he was the voice of reason; the gleam in his eyes, however, was anything but. It was the very definition of devilry, and oh—-
Would it be a sin if that look in his eyes thrilled rather than terrified her?
“This is bad, Malik,” Kyria said in a small voice.
“It is.” His lips curved in a sinfully beautiful smile. “And that’s how we want it, don’t we?”
Her heart slammed against her chest.
His head started to lower.
Oh no.
His lips, now an inch away from hers, started to move. “Kiss me,” the sheikh whispered.
Oh, oh, no.
But her eyes still closed, her face lifting to his, and their lips touched.
Oh yes.
The kiss was heartbreakingly tender at the first second, but then his tongue slipped in, and their kiss turned hot and fierce in an instant. His hands let go of hers to hold her by the waist and haul her close, and instead of pushing him away Kyria’s arms went around his neck while her legs wrapped around his waist. The new position had the sheikh groaning her name out loud, and the sound demolished what little sense she had left.
She moaned against his lips, a silent plea for more of the pleasure that she knew only the sheikh could give her.
“Kyria, fuck ...”
The sheikh’s hands moved down to her hips, and gripping them hard, he began moving her up and down his engorged cock.
Arousal and disbelief warred inside of her, and fighting hard to cling to her sanity, she tried to get up, stammering, “We’re o-outside—-”
“It’s fine,” the sheikh rasped. “This whole area is covered by my security.” And with that, his hands tightened around her hips, and even as Kyria let out a small sound of protest, he was still making her move, grinding her pussy down on his cock. His ridged erection rubbed against her folds, faster and harder, driving her mad, making her want more of the pressure—-
Sweet heavens, she wanted more.
More.
MORE!
The sheikh’s fingers disappeared under the loose folds of her robe, and everything else ceased to matter. His fingers found her already wet panties, and she gasped his name. Their gazes clashed as his fingers slipped under the drenched fabric—-
“I’m going to make my little sister come,” he whispered.
Such dirty, dirty words, words no prince like him should say, but oh—-
A whimper escaped Kyria as a sensual shudder racked her body.
One finger thrust inside of her, and her eyes rolled back.
“M-Malik—-”
He pulled his finger out and shoved it back, harder, and another shudder tore through her body, her breasts swelling painfully against her bra.
And then he was doing it rhythmically, his finger thrusting in and out of her—-
Malik, finger-fucking her, his little sister —-
The thought made her stiffen, her fingers clutching his shoulders hard. “Malik—-”
It was all she could manage to say, the sensations rocking her body too much, but it was enough. He knew exactly what she was asking for.
“Come for me, shaqifa .”
A cry escaped Kyria, and as his finger pushed deep into her one last time, her body tumbled into a maelstrom of pleasure, a place where right or wrong didn’t matter, and only the most forbidden feelings existed.
Forty-five minutes later, and the maids were back at the balcony, the two older women expressionless as they cleared the table. The sheikh was still seated at the head of the table, his handsome features relaxed, and his posture one of indolent satisfaction. Simply put, he looked like a man who just had a taste of nirvana—-
And at that moment, said nirvana was red-faced while trapped on his lap.
“Malik, this is crazy,” she said helplessly under her breath on her nth failed attempt to get herself released. “Didn’t I say we should take it slow?”
“That you did,” the sheikh purred. “But I don’t recall agreeing to it. Do you?”
She tried to answer, intending to tell him he had unfairly tricked her on that score, but as soon as she opened her mouth he had covered it with his, and her body stiffened. Dimly, she heard the maids politely excusing themselves, and though her cheeks heated at the thought of how lewd a picture she and the sheikh made—-
It was too late.
His kiss, as always, robbed her of logic, and by the time he lifted his mouth she could only look up at him, a slave to his touch.
“Do you regret this, Ky?”
Slowly, she shook her head. “No.” Even though things seemed to be moving faster than it should be – faster than she felt comfortable with even – she meant it. Swallowing hard, she asked, “Do you regret this?”
His eyes bored through hers. “What do you think?”
An uncertain smile touched her lips. “I guess...not?”
“Fuck guessing,” the sheikh said, and a little laugh escaped her, the sound fading only as Malik clasped her face with both hands. “I will never regret this.”
“Same here,” Kyria whispered.
They looked at each other, both believing that they spoke the truth.
But it wasn’t so.
****