She lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist, holding on to him for dear life. He pulled at the black silk of the negligee, tearing it at the neck, so that he could see her breasts. The sheer feral barbarism of the act should have disgusted her, as a strong, independent woman, but it did not. On the contrary, it tipped her over the abyss, into another swirling cluster of release. She arched her back instinctively, as his tongue rolled her nipple, sending shockwaves of pleasure spiralling through her.
“Please, Radiz,” she moaned, stretching her arms over her head, and crying out as he transferred his mouth to her other breast. His arousal was so hard and so enormous, she could feel him touching every part of her. She lifted her fingers to his hair and tangled them with the coarse black ends, moaning against his ear as her body began to tremble.
He increased his rhythm, and finally, with an animalistic curse ripped into the night air, he allowed himself to run after her, chasing her to the ends of earth and up into the heavens.
His breath was torn from his lungs, his whole body was heavy with desire and lust, his skin seemed to tingle from spent passion. He stared down at Miranda, with her beautiful, sex-red cheeks, and felt an unmistakable urge to lay beside her, and pull her into his arms.
It was the very last thing he could do. She was there because he needed information. Sex was sex, and nothing more.
He pulled away from her and removed the condom, discarding it carelessly into a waist basket, then scooping his robes back up off the floor. He slid it over his head and crossed to the door without looking at Miranda.
“Hey!” She shouted, when his hand was on the glass knob.
He paused, certain that it was imperative that he achieved a swift exit. Talking to her was a bad idea when he felt as he did now.
“What the hell was that?” She demanded fiercely, striding across the room in pursuit. Her negligee was torn, and hung loose about her stomach. She pulled it off impatiently, uncaring that she was totally naked.
He turned, slowly, his back ramrod straight. He seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Sex, Miranda. That was sex.”
He sounded bored. As though he were explaining a simple concept to a child.
“You can’t just…. I mean… I haven’t seen you in days. I haven’t heard from you. And you just… walk in here… and expect me to… for us to…”
He crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to let her confusion wear him down. The more tenderness he felt for this woman, the harder he had to be with her. For she was not someone he could ever become involved with, other than sexually, and he would not give her the wrong impression.
“Of course I can, Miranda. This was our deal, remember?”
She closed her eyes and swayed, her body still tingling from the flood of feelings he’d aroused in her.
Radiz ignored the compunction that swelled in his chest. “My personal physician will come to see you in the morning.”
“What?” She blinked up at him, a frown tugging at her face. “Why?”
“You were a virgin until three days ago. I presume you are not on the pill?”
“Oh.” Her cheeks flushed pink. “Actually, I am.” She’d gone on it several years earlier, when she’d been travelling through Africa and had wanted to avoid the business of feminine hygiene products. It had agreed with her, and she’d stayed on it.
“I see,” his eyes glittered in his face, as he dropped his hand from the door handle. He lifted a single finger to the side of her neck. When she went to jerk away from him, he clamped his other hand to her hip. His touch was light, but it was enough to keep her still. Slowly, he traced a line downwards, from her neck, to the valley between her petite breasts, to her flat stomach, and finally, to the triangle of hair that covered her womanhood.
“Radiz,” she gasped, as he slid his finger inside her wet, warm core. She was angry with him, so angry, and yet she relaxed completely where she stood when he began to move his finger inside of her. It was so different to him. He was an overwhelming invasion, this was a just a hint of what he could do to her. “What are you doing?” She asked between snatched breaths, as her body felt so weak that she truly wondered if she might pass out.
“I do not like using protection. I am safe, and you are too. I want to take you without barriers. I want my skin to feel you.” He slid his hand from her hip to her back, and pulled her hard and fast against his chest. She gasped as she connected to his wall of abdominals.
“Undress me,” he commanded thickly.
She lifted fingers that were shaking to his robes and pushed them from his shoulders. He had to break the intimate contact so that she could lift the white fabric over his head. It brought her body brushing up against his, and the force of his erection made her gut twist with a stab of longing.
The second his clothes hit the floor, he lifted her, as though she weighed nothing more than a kitten, and carried her to the nearest wall. He held her against it, her back pressed to the wallpaper, as he lowered her onto his erection. She screamed with pleasure and relief, as his body took command of hers once more. This time, with him standing, and her legs wrapped around his waist, it was different. Raw, and harsher, but also somehow… better.
“Without latex between us, I can feel so much more of you,” he muttered, rotating his hips and digging his fingers into her buttocks.
She couldn’t speak. She feared she would be forever unintelligible. But that wouldn’t matter. Because Miranda was almost certain that she’d died and gone to heaven.
Afterwards, Radiz eased Miranda to the ground, holding her hips just long enough to be sure she could stand up on her own, before stepping away from her completely. He wanted to turn away from her, in case his inner torment was visible on his features. She was certainly staring at him as though she demanded some kind of explanation, and unfortunately, he didn’t have one.
At least he had the luxury of being Sheikh. The necessity of explaining himself to anyone was obsolete.
Miranda watched him from hooded eyes, and something clicked in place in her chest. She was his very willing, very devoted sex slave. Yes, she knew it was wrong. That it was beneath her in so many ways. But she also knew that theirs was an ancient dance of need and hunger, and she was not strong enough to walk away from it.
But she had a life in England. A life that she would one day need to return to. And Steph would be worried. Worried about her, and worried about money. “I need a computer,” she said, without dropping eye contact.
Radiz stared at her, one arm raised in silent enquiry. “A computer?”
“Or an iPad. I need to be able to email people back home. My friends. Family. My lecturers.”
His frown deepened, and a small dimple formed between his eyes. He was on the verge of refusing her request, when the desperation in her eyes punctuated his command. “Fine,” he agreed with a nod. “You will have access to email only.”
She pulled a face. “Heaven forbid I load up a news website.”
He continued to stare at her in complete silence, and finally, brought his body back to hers. He put a leg on either side of her, pleased when she immediately softened her stance and put a hand on his chest. Her fingertips stroked his stomach of their own volition, running over the muscled ridges slowly and purposefully.
“Are you bored?” He asked, with silky determination.
She bit down on her lip, and now, she lowered her eyes. The penetrating understanding in his own astute gaze was too much for Miranda to bear.
“I’m…” She clamped her lips together. “What do you think?” She whispered, finally, and all of her bravado disappeared in an instant.
He frowned. “I think that if I hadn’t rescued you, you’d be sitting in that prison cell still. No laptop. No books. And no me.”
She nodded, her mouth dry. “I know, and I’m grateful for that…”
“Grateful?” He barked harshly, and cursed as he spun away from her. Grateful? He didn’t want her gratitude. He
didn’t want gratitude to be the reason she’d given him her virginity. Something about Miranda replaced the floor beneath him with quicksand; all of the certainties he’d long taken for granted now seemed changeable and weak.
“Grateful?” He asked again, turning to face her with an expression that revealed none of his inner torment.
“I was scared,” she stammered, her voice unsteady as she remembered the horrible conditions she’d been held in.
“Scared then, but not now?” He pushed, his handsome face intent on hers.
She was terrified now, but for entirely different reasons. Her fear had nothing to do with Radiz, who she ridiculously trusted on some soul-deep level, and everything to do with her own reactions. They scared the life out of her. How could she be so desperately obsessed with him, craving his touch at every moment of every day? She nodded with static detachment. “I’m still scared,” she admitted quietly.
Radiz’s eyes scanned her face. “What are you afraid of?”
She couldn’t admit that to him. She crossed her arms across her chest and shrugged. Her lips were pouted, her shoulders slumped, and her blonde hair formed a curtain on either side of her face.
“You remind me of a naughty child when you look like that,” he murmured, reaching out and wriggling his fingers. She put her much smaller hand in the middle of his palm, and followed as he pulled her towards the bed.
“Sit,” he commanded, watching as she did just that, gracefully placing herself on the edge of the mattress. He was pleased by the fact that she did as he asked, when he had partly expected her to argue. He couldn’t know, of course, that Miranda was willing to do anything he requested of her, if it meant he would stay just a little longer.
He forced himself to ask the question, though he suspected he would not like the answer. “Are you afraid of me?”
Miranda’s heart turned over in her chest. “Not really.”
His frown was a brief flash on his face. “You are not?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t think you’re going to hurt me. I don’t think you want to keep me here forever.”
And though she was absolutely right, Radiz could not explain the torrent of ice that sledged his veins. “No,” he agreed with a nod.
Pain gnawed at the edges of her stomach. Sexual infatuation had to explain how she was feeling. That was all. Once they’d been together a few more times, she’d probably get past this mind-blowing pleasure. She’d see that it was normal and predictable.
“So what you afraid of?”
She said the first thing that came to mind. The statement blurted out without her consent and she regretted it as soon as she’d uttered the sentence. “I thought maybe I’m bad in bed.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. Her fingers toyed with the detail on the quilt. “I mean… after last time.”
Emotions leaped inside of him. Surprise. Regret. Remorse. And affection. It was the last one that made him stand straighter, and to tighten a field around his heart and soul. He could not feel affection for this woman. Fascination was one thing, but it had to begin and end with their sexual attraction.
“And now?” He asked quietly, his eyes scanning her thoughtfully.
“I still don’t know,” she whispered, dipping her head forward and shrugging her shoulders. He could see the depth of blush in her cheeks and again, that feeling of vulnerability and compassion spiked within his chest.
He hardened himself against it. “You are fine in bed, Miranda. Stop fishing for compliments. Do you honestly think a man like me would sleep with you to save your feelings from being hurt?”
Her head jerked up, pain searing her insides. “I didn’t say that,” she retorted with a quiet dignity that made his stomach twist.
“Then what?” He pushed, his anger reserved for himself, but finding expression at her. “You think I make a habit of having sex with women when I do not enjoy it?”
Miranda shook her head, and willed herself not to cry. “No, Radiz. It is just that I have no point of reference. I mean, I know I enjoyed myself, but, um, I just don’t… I have no way of knowing if…”
He groaned and turned away from her. His fingers literally ached from the desire to caress her. To reassure her. “The fact that I am here is a sign that I find our relationship pleasurable.”
Miranda nodded, though he wasn’t looking at her. Insecurity – an entirely new experience to her – potholed her composure. She lifted a shaking hand to her lips and tried to rub away his kiss. When he spun back to her, she had her head in her hands. “Are you ready, Miranda, to talk about how and why you broke into my sister’s apartment?”
She lifted her face, surprise at the left-field question tripping her out of her sorrowful state. “I have told you that I can’t – I won’t – talk about that.”
His smile was derisive. “Perhaps my interrogation methods will have to be improved.”
“Interrogation methods?”
“Mmm,” he said with a nod. “Tomorrow night, I will show you just what your body is capable of feeling, Miranda. And though there will be pleasure eventually, the road to that pleasure will be lined with almost torturous desperation.” He moved closer to her, his gait panther like, his eyes laced with purpose. “You will have it within your power to ease that torture.”
“Torture?” She shuddered involuntarily at the word.
His laugh was a sensual whisper. “Of the best possible kind. Let me show you.”
It wasn’t a question, but he seemed to hesitate. Entranced, fascinated and desperately in lust, she nodded. He echoed the movement, then guided her hands behind her back and held them in place with one firm hand.
He knelt before her, and pulled at her wrists, so that she fell backwards onto the bed. Her own hands, and his, were behind her, making it uncomfortable, but when she went to pull her arms out, he tightened his grip. “A little discomfort is nothing.”
She wanted to say something clever and opinionated, but his mouth on the silky flesh of her inner thigh silenced her. “Radiz,” was all she was capable of groaning, as his mouth slowly moved across her flesh, teasing and tormenting, and yet, torturing her. She tried to pull her hands away again, to touch him, to feel him, to do something, but he only smiled against her most sacred core. When his tongue connected with the apex of her thighs, she jerked in shock.
“Another first?” He demanded, gripping her upper leg with his free hand.
She nodded, then realised he couldn’t see, so made a mumbled noise of assent.
“Then feel this.” Their hands were entwined behind her back, and her body was convulsing with pleasure. She wanted so much more.
“Please,” she groaned, her face pink, her eyes glowing with desire. “Please, Radiz. I need… I need… God, what do I need?”
His laugh was gentle, but there was an edge of cruelty to it. “You need only tell me the truth, Miranda, and I will set you free.”
She cried out sharply as he replaced his mouth with his hand, moving his fingers across her entrance, tantalisingly close to her core. “Please,” she sobbed, no pride left. Only desire, white hot and undeniable, seared her body.
“Why did you go to my sister’s apartment?”
She sobbed, and kicked her legs against the end of the bed. “Please,” she begged, hating herself for the desperation, but knowing she had no choice. “Please,” it was a whimper.
“I do not like torturing you,” he lied, thinking he’d never seen anything better than this. Completely wanton and abandoned to desire, Miranda was the sexiest woman he had ever known.
“Then why are you?” She whispered, the desire in her voice cloaked with a layer of pain reproach.
It penetrated his mind as nothing else could. This woman was guilty of a terrible crime, and yet he felt protective of her. No matter how hard he tried to fight it, he wanted to spare her from the pain she was feeling now. Pain of his infliction.
He sighed and pulled his hand out from behind her back. The confusion on her face further g
ilded his sense of regret. The man he had been raised to be was at war with the man Miranda seemed to turn him into. He made a noise of impatience and stood. He could not be weak. Not when he knew, somehow, that she was hiding something from him.
If it had to with his sister, then he simply had to know.
“That was just a preview of what I intend to teach you tomorrow night, Miranda.”
She sat up, her breath latched in her throat. “I can’t tell you what you want to know,” she said quietly. Again, he felt that admiration, for her stoicism in what was an entirely strange situation.
He exhaled and nodded. “Then let us have fun testing your resolve.”
Her heart turned over in her chest. “The thing is,” she said softly, “I don’t find that fun.”
His green eyes looked like a storm-ravaged ocean when he was lost in thought. “You don’t?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I like it when you’re as out of control as I am. Or at least, close to it. Then I feel like it’s real, and mutual. When you’re cold like that, I…” she closed her eyes and searched for the word. “I feel very powerless.”
It was anathema to him. He did not want to disempower her. At least, he told himself that, but the logical part of the brain would not buy the claim. After all, he’d removed her from the prison, ostensibly to protect her, and had instead preyed on her vulnerabilities.
“You have a sister,” she said cautiously, not wanting to reveal anything about her relationship with Steph. “You said she is my age. I only ask that you treat me with the same respect and consideration you would expect someone to treat her with.”
Radiz felt as though he’d been punched hard in the stomach. “I don’t want to think of you in the same way I think of my sister,” he pointed out with a weak attempt at humour.