The Desert Lord’s Bride

Eight

“I’ve never heard of strip chess.”

At her breathless comment, Shehab lifted a face ablaze with the flames of the fire he was stoking, the majestic sunset and the passion perpetually brewing between them.

They’d dived again today, had had another session in his hammam, prepared a meal together, then he’d seen to some business, as he’d been doing for the past three weeks.

Since that day he’d made her his, he’d almost never left her side, had concluded his business on site. She’d been ecstatic yet worried he was succumbing to their magic and neglecting his work. He’d assured her the worst of the crisis was over, that he was now smoothing edges. If he had to leave, he would, but he would take her with him this time. He couldn’t be apart from her now. And he never was, never left her side during days and nights spent in the escalating delight of exploring each other.

He’d taught her to fly, in every way as he’d promised, freely admitting that she’d taught him, in turn, how to truly experience and revel in the flight. He said she’d done the same in everything else, made him feel with new senses. And they’d shared everything, from listening to music, to discussing books, movies, world state and business affairs, to preparing meals and tasting food, to sharing jokes and games and silence, to experiencing every nuance of this place, from its skies to its underwater world, from dawn to dawn.

He straightened from the fire, looking straight out of impossible female fantasies, in another of those sumptuous traditional garbs he’d promised he’d wear for her to have the pleasure of seeing him in it, and the far more intense delight of getting him out of it.

This one was more intricate, in gold-embroidered grays and blacks, the open abaya billowing around him in the gentle wind like the swirls of a magic spell.

He approached her as she sat under the small shade tent they’d put up, facing the fire. The huge bespoke tent he’d had erected for them earlier was at his back by the lapping waves. His movements echoed the tranquility all around them, deepening his impact, and that of the evocative surroundings.

He came to stand over her, brushed his hand down her cheek. “It does exist, I assure you. You’ve just led a sheltered life.”

She loved his teasing, its wit and gentleness of intention. He was always true to his early words, laughing with her and never at her. And loving it when she reciprocated.

She shivered as he came down on his haunches before her. The weather was hot and dry, would become balmy at twilight, cooling gradually as the night deepened, until he’d have her wrapped in the warmth of cashmere and the velvet of his heat. Right now her shudders were emotion-induced. How she loved him.

She reached an unsteady hand to the ebony locks that had escaped the darkness of his headdress, and teased back. “While you’ve sampled all life has to offer?”

To her alarm his eyes became serious. “Is this what you think? That I led an indiscriminate existence?”

“No. I just meant that you-you’ve…”

Gentleness reentered his gaze. “It’s not unreasonable to think someone with my wealth and power might not have known where to draw the line, might have sought escalating experiments and risks to stimulate his glutted senses. But I assure you, I have no excessive or perverted tendencies, was never idle to get into mischief, and I am extremely fastidious and wary. But not sampling them doesn’t mean I don’t know all about stripping games. I never saw the appeal, but now, when the game is between us, when it’s you…” his gaze dragged down her body, totally obscured in the filmy layers of her own elaborate green-and-gold outfit “…I believe stripping is one of life’s most worthwhile activities.” He rose, sweeping her up in his arms in one fluid movement, and headed to the bigger tent.

“So this is why you had us dress up in those elaborate costumes? Many layers to take off.”

He gave her a scorching smile as he pushed aside the tent flap. And she felt as if a genie might materialize at any moment. Not that he’d know what to offer her. She couldn’t wish for more than this. This man, these feelings, this moment.

As for this place, it was enormous, enough to hold a banquet for hundreds, with the tented canvas ceiling undulating from wooden poles, the central one soaring at least fifteen feet, the periphery no less than nine. The ground was leveled and completely covered in a breathtaking array of hand-woven Persian carpets. Everything else, the low couches, the strewn pillows, the tables and urns and lanterns and incense burners, all in a mixture of vibrant colors and burnished brass and copper, was a stunning fusion of many ethnic influences. She could decipher Bedouin, Indian, Ottoman and Moroccan among the blend. And she’d bet that below the authentic decorations lurked all the luxury of ultra-modern amenities.

And in the middle of it all was a twenty-by-twenty-foot chessboard, with pieces made of solid teak and ebony, the tallest, the kings, about four feet tall.

Shehab came to stand in the middle of the chessboard below a hanging brass lantern with Arabian-windows-style glass, its light weaving among the fumes of the sweet-spicy incense, playing over his face. He gave her a playful squeeze. “How about we let the game begin?”

Her head bobbed in a swooning nod on his muscled shoulder.

He set her down on her feet, not giving any sign he’d move away any time soon.

“Your move.”

She shivered again at the passion in his voice, moved away reluctantly. She weaved among the pieces, gliding her hands over them, marveling at the perfect smoothness of their polished surfaces, her mind bounding ahead to images of Shehab stripping.

She’d better get her act together, play a killer game.

She moved her pawn forward. He moved his. In five more moves she’d taken his first rook, and looked up at him expectantly.

“Off with your ghotrah.”

“You have this wrong. The rules are like this. I lose a piece, you strip a piece off of me. You can be as creative, as leisurely as you like in how you do it. And I must stand there and bear it in silence, keeping my hands and every other part of me to myself. Same goes for you, of course. The one who ends up winning has the other at their total disposal for a week.”

She rushed to him, her hands stinging with anticipation. “I love the rules of strip chess.”

“Actually, those are my rules.” He let her reach up and free him of his headdress, groaned and stiffened as she dug her fingers in the luxury of his hair. She urged his head lower so she’d have her fill of massaging his scalp, combing through his hair, twisting locks between her fingers before she finally tugged on them, brought his lips to hers, her tongue gliding over their painstaking chiseling, breaching their seal and dipping into the fount of his taste. He was soon breathing hard, groaning continuously, the hardness she kept pressing against turned to the consistency of rock, his whole body buzzing and quivering with the tension of holding back.

He finally wrenched his inert lips away, staggered back, his heavy-lidded eyes fuming with pent-up frustration. “That everything-off-you stipulation is the most foolish one I’ve ever made. I almost blew an artery.” He shook his head, straightened, moved his bishop and took her knight. “Now I get to pay you back.”

She stood riveted, clamoring for whatever he chose to do to her. He dragged her to the ground, went down beside her, took off her sandals, made her discover the one thousand erogenous zones connecting her feet’s every bone and inch. When she was whimpering and clawing at him, he withdrew, looked on her condition in satisfaction. “It’s a great game, after all.”

The game progressed with each getting more creative, inflicting more sensual torment on the other until she was in her lace panties and he in the drawstring pants he had nothing beneath. Then Shehab moved his black queen.

He came behind her, took her with an arm beneath her screaming-for-mercy breasts, murmured in her ear, “Shah matt.”

“Wha…?”

“Those are the Persian words, what became checkmate. Shah, or king, mat, or died. You’re mine now, to do with as I please.”

Her knees buckled at the sheer depth and darkness of his voice, his passion. “I’m yours anyway, in case you haven’t noticed.” She ground back into him, felt him hot and hard and huge, throbbing into her back. “But you’re wrong.”

She twisted out of his arms, stumbled between the huge pieces. “This isn’t shah matt. This is only Shah, or whatever check was originally called.” Her trembling hands moved her queen. “Now it’s your king who’s matt.”

He stared at her move for stupefied moments. Then he burst out laughing, peal after peal of guffaws that sent another river of hormones gushing in her system. “Hada w’Ullah suheeh-by God, it’s true. I didn’t even see this coming. I’ve officially lost my mind, then. Or more accurately, you’ve stolen it.”

“Turnabout is fair play, since you’ve stolen mine. And now you do as I please.”

He spread his arms wide. “Always. Anything. E’emorini. Command me.”

She stumbled back to him, her prize, heat surging and splashing through her like a relentless fountain, turned and pressed her back into the breadth of his body, stood on tiptoes and squashed her buttocks into his erection. “I want you to take me, just like this, no waiting, no bringing me to orgasm first. I want to come around you, and only around you tonight.”

Something reverberated in his chest, wild and voracious as he snatched her up in his arms, rushed to a compartment at the far end of the tent. Behind the waterfall of damask drapes isolating it lay another setting of senses-soaking sensuality, dominated by a huge bed draped in gold and red satin and flanked by mirror-polished brass panels, with a gleaming copper tray table beside it, laden with fruits and delicacies.

He placed her on the bed, on her knees, tore the drawstring off, let his pants pool to the ground as he freed himself. Then he thrust inside her in one stroke.

The blow of sensation as he stretched her beyond her capacity paralyzed her. But it was their reflection in the brass panels, him bending over her back, her kneeling, impaled on his erection, that made her convulse on a sucker-punch orgasm.

“Aih, come around me, give it all to me,” he growled as she bucked beneath him, screeched and clawed at the satin beneath her fingers. He rode her crest, pressing her down until her face was wetting the satin with tears and sweat, kneading her breasts, her nipples, her mound, spreading her slick core and stroking her everywhere but at the focus of sensations until the pressure inside her rose once more, threatened to implode her.

“I can’t…Shehab…can’t…too much…”

“You can. You will. Take what you want. Me, unable to wait, driven all the way inside you, your captive, at your mercy. You at mine, taking all of me, like this…” He touched her cervix.

Sensations buried her, squeezing wild response from her core, her lungs. “Yes…like that…please, don’t stop…”

He did, withdrew from her. Before she could cry out, he spread her on her back and plunged inside her again, letting her feel the rawness of the strength that could pulverize men twice her size leashed to become carnality, seduction, cherishing. He undulated his hips, stretching her around his invasion, his eyes leaving her one exposed nerve.

“E’emorini-command me. What’s your pleasure?”

“Come with me…”

“Amrek, ya galbi.” And he rammed inside her. She keened, the pleasures gathering in her core smothering each other around him. She dug her fingernails into his buttocks, wanting him to stab her to the heart. He did, gave her the savagery the epicenter of destruction needed to be unleashed.

She vanished in a moment of whiteout before detonations radiating from his driving manhood razed her, reformed her for the next sweep. Then he joined her in this darkest ecstasy, roaring his completion, his orgasm tapping into hers, boosting its power as his seed splashed into her womb, scorching her and putting out the fire all at once. If not for long, as she knew by now.

A long time later, still hard and throbbing inside her, he rose on his arms. “I trust you’re satisfied with my obedience?”

“Any more satisfied and I’d revert to the liquid state.”

He moved inside her, drew deep groans from both their throats. “Any more satisfied and I’d burn to ashes. What do you command of me next?”

She was savagely pleasured, boneless yet feeling ambitious. “A swim. Then the barbecue. Then you let me take you.”

He heard the beep. It made no sense for a whole minute. Lying there, wrapped in Farah, still hard inside her, he could feel or think of nothing that originated outside them and their union.

The beep came again. The third time he realized what it was. A message. On the cell phone only three men had access to. His king and his brothers.

“What’s beeping?” Farah stirred over him, her internal muscles rippling around his erection.

He thrust deeper into her, unable to contemplate having to leave her. The beep came again. He knew it would keep on doing that until he read the message. Knew they wouldn’t send one unless there was something worth disturbing him for.

And he was disturbed. He hated the intrusion into the bliss he was sharing with Farah. Dreaded it even.

“A message. From either my uncle or one of my brothers.”

She raised her head off his chest. He groaned as he saw the dreaminess seep from her eyes as alarm inched in. “You think it’s something urgent?”

“It must be. Or they wouldn’t contact me.”

This made her spill off him, and they both lurched, groaned at the pain of separation. “Answer it, then.”

With a growl, he succumbed, reached for the infernal phone.

The message was from Farooq. Video conference. Now.

His heart clenched inside his chest. What now?

“Take a shower until I come back. Or sleep a bit. The night is just starting, and I intend to keep you up for most of it.”

“Oh, yes, please.” She spread herself, inviting, delighting. “And take your time. You’ll find me right here, waiting.” He took one more kiss from those succulent lips that promised heaven. And they only promised more. “Remember, it’s your turn to lie there and let me explore you and pleasure you to my heart’s content.”

“I’m all yours to do with what you please, ya hayati.” He plunged for another clinging kiss, then withdrew.

She lay back, watched him with an adoring smile as he stood up, put on drawstring pants and an abaya, his eyes devouring her back. Then he gritted his teeth and went to see what the world that existed outside them chose to blight him with.

In his study, he turned on his computer and its three connected widescreen monitors, activated the video conferencing. Farooq and Kamal appeared on two of them.

So, the king still wasn’t up to making an appearance. He wondered if his uncle ever would be again. If his own days as crown prince were numbered and his days as king of Judar were hurtling nearer.

Farooq’s golden eyes still had that apologetic heaviness they’d been full of since he’d thrown the succession into Shehab’s lap. He wanted to tell him to stop feeling uneasy, that instead of saddling him with a burden, he’d done him the favor of his life, allowing him to find Farah, share all this with her, live in anticipation of a lifetime with her. It now turned his stomach to think Farooq might have agreed to marry her. He was certain he would come to feel the same way about her no matter what, and it would have been hell seeing her in his brother’s arms, duty wife or not. He couldn’t even bear thinking about it.

Before he said any of that, Kamal spoke.

“It’s been six weeks, Shehab.”

His eyes swung to his brooding brother, met the gaze that seethed with genius and mercilessness. “Aih, I miss you, too.”

Kamal raised one winged eyebrow, the movement eloquent with abrasive mockery. “You’re going soft on us, aren’t you?”

Shehab gave his younger brother a considering look even as his comment scraped his tightening nerves. Kamal had always been the one to provoke friction, the one with the harshest opinions, the least compassion. He not only didn’t suffer fools, he made them suffer. He had followers, but no friends, and but for the presence of Shehab and Farooq in his life, was a total lone wolf. As for enemies, while he had many, no one dared declare the enmity or act on it.

He’d become this rough and ruthless only in the past years, since his stint in the States. He hadn’t talked about what had happened there, but he’d come back ready to maul anyone who stepped out of line, like a lion with a festering wound. And he’d remained so, as if all the humanity in him had been extracted.

Shehab finally demanded, “And your definition of soft?”

Kamal leaned forward, as if he’d reach through the screen and take up his challenge physically. “Taking six weeks to do what you could have done in six days. B’haggej’Jaheem, in six hours. You had her on your jet and on the way to your island within that time frame, ready and willing. Why didn’t you just-”

Shehab banged his fist on the desk. “Shut up, Kamal. If you want to keep those perfect teeth of yours.”

Kamal narrowed his wolf’s eyes at him, whistled. “You’re not going soft, you’re already there.”

“I’ll help you knock his teeth out later, Shehab. But we do need to know what’s going on.”

He turned his eyes to Farooq, heard a squeal in the background. Suddenly all his tension drained. Mennah. Farooq’s one-year-old daughter. The smile that surged to his lips came straight from his heart. The little tyke had conquered him on sight. His life had suddenly become so much richer for having the privilege of being her uncle. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how he’d feel about a daughter of his own. With Farah…

His eyes searched behind Farooq, hoping to catch a glimpse of the toddler. Farooq understood at once, got up, was back in seconds, his arms filled with the incredible fresh life that, along with her mother, had changed his brother’s forever.

“Ya Ullah, she gets more beautiful every day.” Shehab waved at Mennah, who tried to reach him by pawing the screen, before starting to bang on it in chagrin when she couldn’t. He laughed as Farooq pulled her back, telling her in both Arabic and English why she couldn’t reach her uncle. Farooq insisted he’d never talk down to her, that she was brilliant and would learn as much as they let her and it was never too soon to start. Shehab happened to agree with his methods. He sighed as Farooq distracted Mennah. “Where’s Carmen? And how is she?”

At the mention of his wife, Farooq’s eyes kindled with the heat of love and lust, the warmth of pride and trust. “She’s taking a shower. And she’s magnificent.”

“She’s out of the shower. And look who’s talking.”

Kamal gave a rough exhalation of impatience as Carmen appeared behind Farooq, taking both him and her daughter in an exuberant hug before looking at Shehab. She did look well. She was a lovely woman, but now she truly glowed with the overpowering beauty only absolute love and happiness could generate. He was happy that Farooq, who’d always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, had found the one woman who’d love him as endlessly and unconditionally as Carmen loved him. No wonder Farooq had so easily given up the throne for her.

He watched Farooq and Carmen share a kiss that for all its lightness and brevity told volumes about the depth of their relationship, in and out of bed. He knew the signs now. What a fleeting look, even the least gesture or nongesture could convey. For he shared it all with Farah.

Carmen took Mennah from Farooq, smiled at him and Kamal. “It’s great to see you again even if on a screen. Now, say bye, Mennah. Your father and uncles have important stuff to discuss.”

Mennah let out a loud, protesting “aab.”

“She’s trying to say my name!” Shehab exclaimed.

“Of course.” Farooq grinned his elation, before turning to Carmen to share their special smile. “She’s a prodigy.”

Shehab laughed at Mennah’s continuing efforts to throw herself at the screen. “I promise I will soon come to you and we can play catch-you all day long.”

As soon as Carmen and Mennah disappeared, Kamal grated, “It’s so heartwarming to see you both enjoying your family life when our whole region is on the brink of widespread civil war.”

Farooq glared at Kamal’s screen, then exhaled and turned to Shehab. “It’s true, regretfully. The Aal Shalaans are getting restless again. They’re demanding proof that King Atef’s daughter will marry you, that we aren’t only pacifying them until we find a way to cheat them out of having their lineage introduced into our royal family. They gave us two more weeks, threatening extreme action afterward. I don’t know what’s been going on on your end, and I don’t want to know. But you now need to give us an answer. Will she marry you, or won’t she?”

Shehab closed his eyes. So the time had come. He had to ask her. And she was indeed ripe to say yes to anything he asked.

She’d been that for weeks now. But he’d felt that, as soon as he asked her, he’d be counting down to the moment she’d find out the truth. He hadn’t been able to face the possibilities.

So he’d shut out the world, had taken all he could with her while he could.

Now the world had come crashing back on him and he had to brace himself for its weight, its reality. Its inescapability.

Feeling bile fill him to his eyes, he ground out, “She will marry me.”