Stolen Lives (Blood Brothers Book 1) (47 page)

“And more sensitive,” I gasp out, causing him to grin.

He continues his exploration of my body, as if reacquainting himself with every inch. I can’t help myself squirming. His gentle touches are ramping up my arousal, and I need relief. With a knowing smile, he huffs out a soft breath against my stomach, almost causing me to shoot off the bed. Grinning, he kisses and licks me all over until he reaches my mound. He raises his head to look at me, and I see his expression sober. With a growl he changes position, pulling my legs apart and kneeling in between them. His eyes catch mine, and hold them as he plunges his finger inside me. My body contorts at his long-awaited touch. It seems so long since I felt his touch; I’d forgotten how good it felt. His invasion is so right. His mouth comes down exactly where I want it, teasing, making me writhe as I try to get him to the right spot, the point where all my nerves are screaming for his touch. He licks and nibbles. My hands come down and I grasp his hair, trying to move his head when, all of a sudden, two fingers are inside me, curling round on that soft spot that will send me over the edge while, simultaneously, he bites hard on my clit. My body jerks violently and I scream as I experience the most forceful orgasm of my life, made all the more intense by the passion and emotion sweeping through me. Wave after wave of endless pleasure, his tongue swiping across me as my body convulses time after time. Eventually, the spasms fade. It’s a while before my breathing is anywhere back to normal.

When I’ve partly recovered, I look up to see his chiselled, handsome face looming over me.

“Do you want me, Cara? Do you want me to fuck you?”

Without hesitation I stroke my hand down his cheek. “I want you.” My hand moves lower, and tugs at his shirt. “I think you are overdressed.”

In response he pulls his T-shirt over his head and reaches for his belt.

“Let me.” He pauses as I sit up and slide off the bed, first crouching down to untie and remove his boots. Next I go for his belt, my hands shaking as I fumble with the buckle but he waits patiently, giving me all the time I need. The leather slips through the loops and slowly, but carefully, I reach for his zip.

His hands come and cover mine. “Careful. I’m commando.” I grin at his rueful smile. I can feel his cock throbbing under the denim as though trying to punch its way out.

Gently, I ease down the zipper and push his jeans off his hips, grimacing at the vivid scarring on his leg. But I don’t pause for long. His cock springs free, proud and ready. Licking my lips, I have an overwhelming urge to taste him. Acting purely on instinct, I lean forwards and suck the moisture from his slit. It’s his turn to gasp. His fingers come up, twisting into my hair, taking hold. Feeling braver, I put my hands around his length and my tongue swirls around the engorged head.

“Put your lips around me, Cara,” he tells me gruffly. I open my mouth, taking him in as far as I can while my hands caress the span that’s too much to take. “That’s right. That feels too fucking good!”

Sucking him in and out, I reach down to touch his heavy balls, feeling them react to my touch as I gently roll and massage them. His hands are in my hair, gripping it tight, controlling, but not forcing. The feeling excites me; I love his dominance. I pull my mouth away, lick the veins on each side of his cock, and then take him in my mouth again, feeling his width stretch my jaw, trying to accept as much of him as I can. My naïve attempt makes me gag and swallow convulsively, and grasping my hair he pulls me away.

“Later.” His voice is gruff.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how…”

“Fuck, Cara, I’m not complaining.” He caresses my head. “It’s too fucking good. I’m a second away from coming and I want that to be inside you.”

He turns us around and pushes me down on the bed, coming down over me in one smooth movement. With a total lack of finesse, which brings no complaints from me, he positions himself at my entrance and starts to push inside gently, inch by torturous inch.

It’s not enough; I need him now. “Nijad, please!” I cry out.

He knows what I’m asking and doesn’t hesitate. With one long, fast thrust he’s inside me, stretching me, filling me, making me complete, his face taut as he struggles to keep control. Neither of us is going to last long. I can’t stop the contraction of my muscles around him, nor hold back my release. As my muscles squeeze him, he roars as he comes inside me, pulsing, filling me, spurt after spurt of hot cum which triggers another orgasm, extending both our pleasure.

He rolls his weight off of me, lying on his back; one arm flung up over his eyes. I reach out my hand as though to make sure he is real, and this hasn’t been a dream. But my hand meets solid flesh and I start to allow myself to believe this man is mine.

“I love you,” I tell him, softly.

“Oh Cara, my Sheikha. I love you too.” He’s breathing heavily. “Fuck, that felt good.” His hand caresses my stomach and I smile, knowing he’s thinking about the baby. The child whose future is now settled. I try to roll over to cuddle him, but he stops me. “Hold on a minute.”

Sitting up, he leans over the side of the bed and picks up his jeans from the floor, fiddling about to extract something from the pocket. Straightening, I see something clasped in his hand. He holds it out to me, telling me gravely, “You’ll wear this again, always.”

My eyes widen in surprise at what his opening hand is revealing. It’s my collar, the one he’d taken off and discarded the day he’d taken me to the harem. I lean forward, allowing him to fasten it around my neck. As his warm hands click the padlock closed, I stutter out, “How… I… I thought it was lost?”

He lifts my chin, taking a second to admire the chain on me. Then his eyes seem shuttered with pain.

“I couldn’t stand to leave it there, Cara. I went back to get it. I’ve carried it with me ever since, though every time I saw it, touched it, it caused another crack in my heart. Deep down, I’ve always hoped this day would come.”

I kneel up, moving and clasping him tight to me, my head resting on his chest, having to stifle a sob at the thought of all the hurt we’ve both suffered, and all as a result of accusations of crimes we didn’t commit. I’m not naïve enough to think our road ahead will always be smooth, but I believe we’re now strong enough to cope with any bumps we might come across.

I’m just opening my mouth to express my thoughts when suddenly his phone rings, shattering the emotion filled moment. Cursing, he rifles through his jeans again, trying to locate the right pocket. He scowls as he recognises the caller’s ID.

“Jas, not a good time, brother.” But apparently Jasim hasn’t been put off. Nijad continues to listen, his side of the conversation mainly grunts of agreement. When he ends the call, he holds out his hand to me and yanks me off the bed as I grasp it.

“Come, Sheikha.” He interrupts himself by gently kissing my lips. Then, framing my face between his palms, he continues, “The emir is waiting. Apparently we’ve got a wedding to plan.”

Nijad

Now I have to suffer and sit through the most tedious meeting with the emir that I’ve ever had in all my life. Tedious because all I want to do is whisk Cara off to the nearest bed somewhere and fuck the last few weeks or, more to the point, the last three years, out of my system. The emir wants to arrange a full state wedding to show the world that his youngest son has been welcomed back into the family fold, his reputation proven to be untarnished. As I sit restlessly in my seat, my leg bouncing in impatient anticipation, I try to listen to the plans and ideas he’s putting forward, and keep casting incredulous glances towards my wife. It’s still hard to believe the incredible faith she had in me. Out of everyone I know, only she believed in me, her conviction sufficient to prove my innocence.
Fuck, and she’s carrying my child! Could she be any more perfect?
I reach out my hand to take hers, squeezing it tight, wanting to hang on to her, unable to shed the dread that she might disappear any minute. Pure happiness rolls over me, begging the question: have I ever felt truly happy before? In my fuck-’em-and-leave-’em playboy life, was I ever really content? Or was I just waiting to find this one woman, the woman forced to marry me? Three lost years of my life? Or was it three years waiting for Cara? I’d do that penance all over again if it were to achieve the same result.

She turns and smiles at me. I can’t look away, trapped by the view of her beautiful face still flushed from our lovemaking, her blatantly swollen and ravished lips, steadfastly being ignored by my father.

At last realising his audience is not fully attentive, the emir finally wraps up the meeting. Taking a hasty leave of my father, I waste no time in whisking Cara out to the small four-seater helicopter, the R44, which I prefer. As I throw her inside, she giggles as I fasten her harness, and I find myself laughing with her, for absolutely no reason at all. I gaze over at her like a schoolboy with a crush, and she just smiles that winning smile back.

“I’ve missed you so much! I can’t believe what a fucking arse I was to send you away.” Now, I don’t know how I had the strength to do it.

She shakes her head; her luscious brown hair, left loose, swings with the motion.

“You did what you thought was best. If you hadn’t, we’d never have found out the truth. We’d have always had that hanging over us.”

Knowing she speaks the truth, I have to tear my eyes away from my wonderful woman to start the pre-flight checks, and get into the air as fast as I can. It’s a two-hour flight. One hundred and twenty fucking minutes too long! But I didn’t want to spend any more time in Al Qur’ah. I wanted to get my wife home, to
our
home. I try to force my mind away from my cock, already hardening in anticipation of what’s to come. I’ve got precious cargo with me today; I need to focus on flying. I think we’re both in the same state of disbelief about how our circumstances have changed so much in just a few hours. We talk a little, but avoid rehashing the past. It’s time to look forward now. I think we’re both lost in our thoughts and eagerness to arrive at the palace in Z̧almā’. My mind’s already playing around with ideas for scenes in the dungeon tonight.

But when we arrive at the desert palace it seems my staff are going to derail my plans. As I start the descent, I can already see the landing pad is surrounded by well-wishers, all cheering or clapping, glad to see their sheikh, now cleared of all wrongdoing, and their sheikha, whose actions have brought them such wealth. As I switch off the engine, I see Rais waiting for us with a huge smile on his face. As soon as I get out and help Cara down, he’s there beside us, his enormous arms going around me to hug me, slapping my back with his massive hands. I swear I can see tears as he steps away, keeping his eyes on mine.

“Nijad, Sheikh. It is a good day.” I clasp his hand and nod with respect and gratitude. “We have a celebration planned,” he turns to Cara, bowing deeply, “To welcome you both home. And to thank the sheikha for everything she’s accomplished on behalf
of Amahad.”

I swear under my breath, and throw a rueful glance at my wife. She laughs, and then shrugs and grins back. An early trip to the dungeon is not on the cards, it would seem.

With Rais’s arm across my shoulder, I reach out and, taking the hand of my beautiful wife, we make our way into the palace where my staff have put together an impressive banquet and assembled all the tribal leaders, with only one notable, but not unexpected, exception. After their efforts it would be rude to leave, and we enjoy the celebrations late into the evening before the moment comes when, at last, we can escape having been treated to native dances and displays of fire-eating as well as mock fights between the tribal champions. By the time we reach the royal suite I’m too tired to do anything but make gentle, vanilla love to my wife before we both fall asleep, mentally and physically exhausted after the long day.

In the morning, I take a telephone call that I’m delighted to receive. It’s a brief call, and will need to be the first of a number to mend the many necessary bridges. There’s nothing to forgive on my part; fuck, if I believed myself capable of hurting Chantelle, how could anyone else doubt it?
But the proof of my innocence has shaken my blood brother hard and left him full of guilt at having misjudged me so badly. I try to make him understand.

“Jon, you are not to blame. No one allowed you enough time to investigate. My father paid up to get the case dropped.” I listen as he protests, telling me he should have questioned Chantelle more, should have looked further into her background.

“For fuck’s sake, Jon. My blood was on her; her blood was on my fist!” But even though I tried to exonerate him, I could tell he felt despair. Fuck, I’d believed the evidence myself and lost three years of my life in doing so. How could I possibly blame anyone else? And certainly not Jon Tharpe, not when he’s gone out of his fucking way to put a final full stop on the events that now seem so long ago in Paris.

As usual, I’m up and about long before Cara wakes, but after that phone call I can’t leave her to sleep. I’m too buoyed up, wanting to share my fucking fantastic news.

“Sheikha. Cara, my love.” I gently shake her shoulder.

“Mmm...”

I laugh softly. “Cara.” I bend down to kiss her, turning her face to mine. I caress her cheek, her chin, her forehead, touching her as if to assure myself she’s here.

Gradually she comes to full consciousness. The expression on her face is a delight to behold, the love and emotion shining out through her eyes.