Ice filling his veins, he froze. Then he rolled his shoulders and searched for her gaze. “Lauren? You said—”
“Zafir!” Eyes, wide in her narrow face, locked on him. Her lashes cast shadows onto her cheeks, her skin damp. “I’m just...embarrassed, that’s all.”
Relief unlocked his wrist. Smoothing his palm over her belly, he continued again and gently cleaned her up.
Because they had never lingered like this after sex before, he realized. Because every time, after he had taken her, he had left.
The only time he had actually stayed at her apartment had been when she’d had the flu.
Because, every time, he had told himself it would be the last time.
Because, from the moment of his father’s announcement to an outraged Tariq and a stunned council, he had not been just Zafir. Or was it even before that when his mother had given him birth.
The way Rashid had raised him, it seemed it had been inevitable.
But now, he needn’t walk away.
Because she had helped him carve a small compartment in his life, for her.
He liked that—the permanence of something in his life, the freedom to be himself, even if it was in the very confines of this one relationship.
Freedom by binding him to her, that’s what she had given him.
“You’re smiling,” she said then, and she was smiling, too. Lovely mouth trembling, dark black eyes glowing.
His heart crawled to his throat.
It was one of those perfect, precious, rare moments, he just knew it, even though there hadn’t been very many in his life until then.
“I plan to be there when you give birth, Lauren. I plan to cut the cord and see my child enter this world. This,” he said, gesturing to the cloth, “it’s nothing, habeebti.”
“Yeah?” she said, something low and tender in her tone more than challenge.
“Yeah,” he replied, with a smile. He thought he saw a flash of wetness but she blinked and looked away.
Getting off the bed, he cleaned himself and then washed up. He felt her gaze on his back and turned.
She looked utterly breathtaking on that vast bed, the bodice of her dress clinging to her breasts.
He hadn’t even undressed her, he realized now. Just shoved her dress up and out of his way before plunging into her. Even the chilly waters of the oasis hadn’t cooled him down.
He had been high on his victory, drunk on his own power, as she had blamed him once.
He had meant to take it slow, to savor the long night, but the moment he had touched her, found her ready for him, he had lost any semblance of will.
She wanted it just as much as you did, a part of him whispered. And she never pretended otherwise.
She had never feared him or his passion. Not before she knew who he was, not after.
Something inside him, something that feared that he would heap a world of hurt on this fragile woman, finally calmed.
This wild heat between them, Lauren wanted it.
Lauren always chose it, always chose him, he realized with a leaping feeling. And for the first time in his life, he could give back what little he could.
He returned to the bed and pulled a thick rug over their bodies. Traced the upper swell of her breasts and felt her shiver. “I’m a fool, habeebti, not that I would admit it to anyone but you.”
“How so?”
“I ignored these glorious breasts.”
“Hmmm...no arguments here,” she said, sinking her fingers into his hair and pulling.
She didn’t do it gently either. Then satisfied, she moved those long fingers down his forehead, over the bridge of his nose, his mouth, before settling over his shoulders again.
Then she petted him some more.
He lay still, silent, shuddering at the possessiveness in her touch, submitting to this woman who was slowly stealing into him. “Zafir?”
“Yes, Lauren?”
Her thickly fringed gaze fell on him, then shied away. She was hesitating, and instantly, he felt something in him twist and brace.
Against her? Against what she would say?
Was it fear, he wondered, trying to hold the curious feeling swirling through him. It was the same sensation that had shot through him when she had so boldly blurted out that their marriage would be short if he didn’t...
Buried deep inside her, straining to not use her body roughly like he was used to, he had growled back at her.
He, who had finally achieved everything, could he fear what this mere slip of a woman could say to him? And what she could do?
She roughly pulled his chin up to meet his gaze. The uncertainty there pushed away his own jumbled thoughts. “What is it?”
The flush was receding from her cheeks, but her mouth was swollen. From his rough kisses. “Focus, will you?”
This time, he laughed. “I am focusing. You’re the one hesitating. Which is as strange as a rainfall in a desert.”