Desert Orchid: The Desert Princes: Book 1 (23 page)

With her past, how could she be?

For too many years, he'd had sex whenever and wherever he wanted it. He only had sex with experienced, beautiful women; models, actresses and socialites who shared his sexual appetites and needs. But having sex with the woman he loved would be so very different. Even though he'd only touched her once, it had been amazing.

Wonderful.

Unbelievable.

However, he had needs.

Dark desires that Charisse, so sheltered and protected, had no conception of.

The flat of her hand slapped his bare butt, hard.

His eyes found hers and she did it again, harder.

Or did she?

His eyes narrowed now on her flushed face as she gazed up at him. And he remembered the silver scars on her bare bottom. The memory of how mortified and embarrassed she'd been when he'd seen them slid like a snake into his mind. She was ashamed of her body. She was ashamed of what had happened to her. And because Khalid lived with shame every single day and understood the agony of it, he found it intolerable that Charisse should suffer, too.

He could do nothing about his own shame, but he could do plenty about hers.

She trembled as she kept perfectly still with her arms wrapped around his waist, her big eyes on his, and he could almost see that clever brain of hers working out her next move.

He was being played.

Being manoeuvred by an expert into exposing the black heart that lived at the core of his being. She had no idea who she was dealing with here. He could almost see the white puffy clouds depicting her dreams of a happy-ever-after in her poor deluded little mind. Charisse wanted a fairytale happy ending and she'd cast him as her prince.

He was her worst nightmare and she didn't even know it.

Anger with himself, but mostly with her for making him wish for something he could never have, roared into his psyche.

A harsh laugh almost escaped from his throat and he shook his head.

She loved him, did she?

He took a step back, and her hands dropped to her sides.

She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes as she watched him.

Khalid could see by the stubborn set of that chin that she was prepared to fight for him, and with him, until he came around to her way of thinking. To persuade him that he was the man she thought he was.

Time for a wake-up call.

He kept his voice dangerously low. "You think you've got me all worked out. Don't you, darlin’?"

He walked around her.

She didn't move so much as a muscle as the atmosphere in the room plummeted and grew too tense.

She turned her head, looking over her shoulder as he stood behind her. Those big blue eyes appeared confused as she frowned.

Then she opened her mouth to speak.

Christ, the scent of her made his mouth water.

He bent his head to growl in her ear, "I haven't finished speaking."

Her shocked gasp had him nod.

Oh yeah, he knew why he was so stunningly furious with her.

The little fool wanted to change him.

She'd decided to mould him into the man she wanted, rather than accept him for the man he was.

Well, it would be a cold day in hell before that little fantasy happened.

She was trembling.

But not afraid.

Not yet.

"These clothes make you look about twelve." His hands gripped the tissue thin silk of her top and ripped it in two. The fabric floated to her feet. "I don't want a girl as a wife. I want a woman," he whispered in her ear.

The matching panties went the same way.

Her response was a convulsive shudder, as a tidal wave of goose bumps rose over her clear skin.

Walking slowly around her naked body, Khalid took a good long look at the woman he was going to make his in ways she'd never dreamed of.

And his body went rock hard.

To torture himself even more, he stood behind her and counted each silver scar on her tight little bottom. Twenty-three. And his heart ached as he imagined what she'd gone through. Dear God, how much she had suffered. But she didn’t need his sympathy. No. What she needed was her own... acceptance.

The sly voice, a constant companion who resided deep within his psyche, now rose to whisper the words, '
You did that
.' And God help him, his hand trembled as he swiped perspiration now beading on his top lip.

And then he studied the raw flesh where the bullet had grazed the bottom of her ribcage. The black, purple and green bruise was already turning yellow at the edges as it stretched up towards her armpit and down in a path of pain to her jutting hipbone.

Again the sly voice taunted,
'Where were
you
when she was shot?'
And bile rose into Khalid's throat. His eyes then counted the bruises on her arm where the nurse had injected her, where the doctor had fought to save her.

Yet again the sing song voice in his head spoke,
'Love? You don't know the meaning of the word.'

Now the room spun as his heart rate spiked.

Lastly, he absorbed how terribly thin she'd become, and that voice in head showed no mercy.
'You did that.'

Khalid's jaw clenched so hard to stop his moan of pain it was a miracle his teeth didn't shatter. A slimy worm of sweat slid down his spine.

He stood in front of her, about three feet away.

Her big blue eyes were wary now as they searched his.

He read a cocktail of emotions, including confusion and a growing dismay. But the biggies were arousal and lust.

Oh yeah, Charisse liked this.

She liked being dominated.

Even if, intellectually, she knew she should be standing up for herself and calling him to account for his behaviour. Khalid could read precisely how she felt by the expressions crossing that fabulous face and by how her eyes flicked over his body lingering between his legs, and by her body's response to his tone, to his words.

Her nakedness hid nothing as he studied her with the eyes of the artist, of the connoisseur.

That beautiful face was flushed.

Those sweet nipples were so hard they actually pulsed as her breath came out of her throat in hot little bursts. Her heart was beating so fast against her ribs, it reminded him of a tiny trapped bird he'd held in his hands once as a boy. But it was the arousal glistening between her legs that had him nod once in satisfaction.

Well, well, well.

Who'd have thought it?

She pressed her thighs together as the tip of her tongue licked her full bottom lip.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she stood absolutely still under his intense gaze.

Now he narrowed his eyes.

"You need to be taught a lesson. Why do you think I didn't come to you after the night I broke your hymen, Charisse?" Before she could speak, he interrupted, because he could read her thoughts running across that wonderfully expressive face. "That's a rhetorical question, by the way. I didn't come to you again after the night I made you mine. And that annoyed you, frustrated you, and pissed you off. Didn’t it? It didn't occur to you that I was giving you time to heal, did it? I know exactly what you were thinking, because I know women. And I understand how you tick.

"You were angry because I left you aroused and alone night after night. Weren't you, my little queen? You were so angry that you kept the truth from me about Omar. You went out into the desert at night. You met with a man without me and without my permission. You kept secrets from me about your childhood, about who you are and what happened to you. And for that you will be punished.

"And I can tell by the look in your eyes that you still do not quite understand what I'm saying. So let me spell it out for you, my little queen. You belong to
me
. You are
mine
. When I say jump, you say,
How high
.''

Her splutter of choked laughter broke the tight chain he'd kept on his self-control.

She found the situation funny, did she?

Not for long.

"Lie on the bed on your stomach. Now," he ordered.

Temper flared in her eyes, scorched her cheekbones.

It took her a couple of beats, but she lifted her chin and staring straight ahead, walked past him with a sexy sway of her narrow hips. Her scarred bottom, the buttocks high and tight reminded him of a perfectly ripe peach. He caught the floral scent of her shampoo, her skin and her warm, womanly arousal.

She lay on her belly in the middle of the vast bed, her faced turned towards him.

Picking up a small bottle of essential Bergamot oil and a couple of pillows, he knelt on the bed beside her. Big eyes, wary and watchful, flicked between the oil, the pillows, and back to his face.

The way her fabulous brows rose an insolent fraction made his hand itch to warm that pert little bottom.

He enjoyed sex play. And he enjoyed rough sex. But Khalid realised that he could never, ever, physically hurt her. There were other ways to show her who was in the driving seat in this relationship.

His body ached so hard for her that the pain of it had him take a deep breath.

Small white teeth gripped her full bottom lip as he tipped the oil into his palm. The scent of citrus spun in the air. And he was delighted to see that insolence was now replaced with interest. She didn't have a clue what was about to happen to her, and he kept his desperate need to take her hard and fast under tight control.

She was so slight and fragile. He could count the bones of her vertebrae, and suppressed a crazy desire to press his mouth to each one from her neck to her tight little backside. But he refused to permit himself to be distracted by what needed to be done here and now.

Later there would be plenty of time to play.

"Lift up your hips."

She did as he asked and he placed the pillows underneath her pelvis, which elevated her bottom to just the right angle.

"You have a hang-up about your scars. Am I right?" He poured more oil into the palm of his hand, and placed the bottle on a bedside table.

Charisse turned her head and gave a low mewl sound in her throat as she watched his hands warm the oil. And she couldn't look at her scars. He could tell by the way her eyes flinched, by the infinitesimal nod of her lovely head.

Well, he wasn't having that.

Tonight was going to be a steep learning curve for his stubborn little queen.

"You have a pretty ass," he growled.

Indeed, it was very pretty. He should know, since he'd seen and painted hundreds.

He continued in a conversational tone, "Now, let me lay out the ground rules. You will tell me if anything hurts. This position should keep pressure off your wound. But if it hurts, you tell me immediately. Say, ‘Yes, Khalid.’''

Heat scorched her neck, her face. And he wasn't sure if it was temper or mortification. Probably a mixture of both.

"Yes, Khalid." Her voice was the merest whisper as she closed her eyes.

"Eyes open, Charisse. You're going to learn how to enjoy watching me give you pleasure."

He didn't give her a chance to prepare or give her a hint of what was coming.

His hand itched to spank her until that tight little bottom glowed.

Lifting his hand to swing, he stopped, and shook his head.

He couldn't do it.

Not while she was recovering from being shot.

She jerked at the initial touch of his fingertips on her pert bottom. But then he carefully added pressure as he massaged her buttock cheeks with firm fingers, soothing, pressing the oil into the scars which were now bright silver against the glow of her skin.

The low growl deep in his throat brought her shimmering eyes to his.

"The animal who did this to you is a walking dead man," he swore.

Her voice was the merest whisper, "Why are you doing this?"

"You are not comfortable with your body. The scars shame you. By the time I am finished with you tonight, you won't care. And you'll realise that what evil did to you does not define you as a woman."

The entire time he spoke, his fingertips kept massaging the taut muscles of her bare bottom. He wasn’t gentle. And then he felt her relax as her body pulsed with a different type of tension. Arousal. His thumbs became tender as they stroked down the slippery cleft between her legs, and she trembled.

"On your knees. Use the pillows to cushion your chest," he ordered.

A tiny sob, quickly swallowed, was the only sound she made as the love of his life did as he asked. Her face had gone radioactive, and his heart nearly broke for her and for everything she'd been through.

His fingers slid over her perineum through the slick flesh of her labia and around the hard swell of her girl boner, ensuring he never once touched the frantic pulse of her clitoris. She would orgasm when he said she could come and not before.