She would forever try to save him while he would damn her.
Even that realization was not enough to keep him from her. The greed inside him to be near her, to touch her, to feel her hunger for him, had no bounds or rules.
Pulling the long tunic he wore over his head, he climbed onto the bed. He turned on the bedside lamp, and lay on his side, content to watch her. He pushed strands of her silky hair back from her face.
Leaning on his elbow, he rubbed the pads of his thumb over her mouth, the familiar ache in him building with the velocity of an approaching storm. He sucked in a deep breath.
He had accepted long ago that it was always going to be like this with her. Nothing had changed. The pleasure he found with her was intense, binding him to her. He rode the wave at night, until nothing but self-loathing remained during the cold light of the day.
This fierce princess had become his salvation and his purgatory.
* * *
Zohra came awake the instant she felt Ayaan’s hard body thrashing next to her. Sleep melted away as his soft whimper traveled over her skin. She turned the bedside lamp on just as his arm shot out. She held it hard between her hands, the chill of his skin a shock to her. Hot tears rose to her eyes. Turning to face him, she held his shoulders, the drumbeat of her heart thudding in her ears.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, the tendons in his neck stretched out tight.
Just as she had done that night so many weeks ago, she whispered to him, ran her hand over his forehead and tried to calm him. She had no idea how much time had passed before the tremors that racked through him stilled, the shadows of pain on his face retreated. She brought his palm to her cheek, forcing back her tears. She kissed every ridge and mound on his palm, breathing his name into it, feeling every inch of his pain as if it was her own.
His gaze fell open and landed on her.
And she braced herself for his wrath. He looked at her, his expression inscrutable, his mouth a straight line that gave no hint of what he was thinking.
But he didn’t speak. Instead he pulled her down to him, his breathing still uneven from the physical energy he spent during the nightmare. When he pulled her into the embrace of his body, Zohra melted into it, joy bursting out from her heart. It was more than enough for her that he understood that she wanted to be here, that he didn’t question her right.
She tucked herself in as close as she could get to him. His arm was a heavy weight over her waist, their breaths slowly finding a matching rhythm. Her bones felt like they were molten, a strange mixture of lethargy and well-being turning her blood sluggish.
His hand moved over her arm, over the indent at her waist, up and down, again and again. His face was buried in her hair, his breath fanned over her nape. Just the fact that he was holding on to her, drawing comfort and strength from her presence filled her with an incredible, quiet joy. It was an intimacy that tugged at the deepest part of her, that burrowed itself into her skin.
She needed no words from him, she wanted no declaration of love. She only wanted to be by his side for the rest of their lives, to be there whether or not he needed her, to learn from him what honor and duty truly meant, to help her brother become an honorable, strong man like him.
She pulled the hand that rested under her torso and buried her face in it, tried to choke back the tears that somehow had gained a foothold in her tonight.
She had no idea how long they stayed like that and she didn’t care. His breathing evened out, his touch offering comfort to her. She was scared to even breathe for the fear of fracturing the moment, for the fear of reality intruding on it.
Until suddenly his touch changed, his breathing raced.
His palm still moved over her bare arm, over the dip of her waist covered by her silk pajamas. But now his fingers pressed into her, demanded her skin react to his touch, remember every line and ridge of his palm. His other hand became seeking as it stole under her arm. The moment his long fingers covered her breast, Zohra moaned and shamelessly arched into it.
She had no idea how he disposed of her pajamas, or when he pulled her top over her head. Except suddenly, his body was a furnace of desire behind her. His chest rasped against her back, his erection a delicious, heavy weight against her buttocks. His leg covered hers, moved over hers creating a delicious friction that she wanted to feel everywhere.
His fingers pulled at her nipple, and she sank deeper into the mindless pleasure he incited. His erection lengthened and hardened against her. The image of the rigid length tucked against her bottom sent sparks of pleasure exploding over her skin. As sweat beaded her forehead, a relentless ache built in her groin and she moaned.
“Zohra?”
A whisper, a question, a command—her name on his lips reverberated around her.