Читать книгу The Chatsfield: Series 2 - Эбби Грин, Кейт Хьюит - Страница 18
ОглавлениеSOPHIE COULD ONLY stare at Zayn, his admission settling heavily in the room, like a blanket of dust, covering everything it touched. She didn’t want to speak for fear she might disturb it all, for fear she might disrupt it, cloud the air and stop his confession. Interrupt what he was about to say. And yet, she found she could hardly breathe in the silence, waiting for him to continue. Waiting for him to explain.
But he didn’t speak. He only sat, his dark eyes fixed on a spot behind her, not the tent wall, somewhere more distant than that. Perhaps somewhere back in the past.
“Zayn?” she asked. Her voice seemed far too loud in the stillness, competing with the rain falling on the tent top. Disturbing the natural order.
He still didn’t speak, a sharp breath making his chest pitch, lifting his shoulders. And then he looked back at her, snapping back to the present, as though he had never been gone. But he had been, she knew it as certainly as she was sitting there.
“I am responsible for the death of my younger sister Jasmine.” He said the words again as though to affirm them both to himself and to her.
He had mentioned his sister just last night, and yet, at the time nothing had been brought up in her memory. But now... Dimly she thought she might be able to remember a news story about the death of a royal princess somewhere in the world. But it was hard to say what was memory and what was her brain trying to forge a connection between this moment and a moment in her past. Trying to find a way to connect even more deeply than she already had. Which was a mistake, and yet she couldn’t stop herself.
“And she was younger?”
“By only a couple of years. Leila, my sister who is still alive, is the baby. Jasmine and I were much closer in age. And we were friends. Often, we got into trouble together. Until I outgrew her, until I started to do things I did not want my sister involved in. Of course, I did not want my younger sister sleeping around and drinking to excess. Those things were fine for me but in my mind off-limits to her. To this day I cannot say what I was thinking. Because I do not understand. I do not understand that man. That man I was sixteen years ago.”
“Why have I heard so little about this? It seems as though if there were a real scandal here it would be covered in the news even now.”
“Yes, and it would be, if anyone knew the full story.”
“Are you sure you want to tell the whole story to me?”
She had to give him a chance to change his mind. A chance to leave it unspoken. To leave her in the dark. But she wanted to push him to tell her, too, because this might be the scandal he’d mentioned. The one she needed to stop the Chatsfields.
Did you ever stop to think who else it could ruin?
No. And she couldn’t. This was for Isabelle.
His dark eyes leveled with hers. “I am going to tell you the story. What you do with it after is up to you. You want the scandal, and this is the scandal I can give you.”
“The scandal I’m after?” she asked, her throat dry.
“Somehow I doubt it. But does it matter? You’re a journalist. And this is the better story. This is the thing you need.”
Her throat tightened, her stomach cramping uncomfortably. “Is it about James Chatsfield?”
“No, it is not. The only villain in this story is me. Or perhaps Damien, should you wish to cast him as such. But I don’t blame you if you do not wish to speak ill of the dead.”
Dimly she thought she should turn on her digital recorder, but she didn’t want to interrupt him for anything. Didn’t want him to become conscious of her recording his words. It was okay, though, because she wouldn’t forget them. No matter what she did with his words after this, she would not forget them.
“I’m listening.”
“When you live a lifestyle such as mine you attract a certain sort of person. And it must be acknowledged that I was one of them. I was not above any of those I brought to the family palace. I was a part of them. I was the chief of sinners, in no way above any of their actions, and often leading them. These were the people I brought home. And my sister, who had been my closest friend growing up, was confused as to why I preferred these people over her now. Damien was my partner in crime. The drinking, the womanizing, he was there for all of it. I knew what manner of man he was, and yet, I introduced him to Jasmine.”
Again she wanted to say something, wanted to interrupt and offer comfort in some way. Wanted to stop the flow of words from coming out of his mouth, so he wouldn’t expose himself in this way. So he wouldn’t reveal his secrets to her. Because she wasn’t certain she was equal to them, wasn’t certain she was worthy of them.
She had no armor in this moment, adrift in a sea, rather than clinging doggedly to the pier and trying to appear as though she was secure.
“She was taken with Damien from the first, but I assumed, in my arrogance, that Damien knew better than to touch her. Still, when I noticed my sister’s fascination with him I warned her away. I was not kind. I told her that silly virgins should never even speak to men like that. She asked if that meant she should not speak to me. Of course I said that was different. But I started to wonder if it was. I started to wonder why I was content to be the sort of person I would not allow my sister to associate with. But it was too late.”
He continued. “One day I walked into my chambers to find Damien with Jasmine. He had clearly given her alcohol, and possibly another substance, and she was impaired. Laughing, and hanging all over him. And then Damien, my friend, looked at me and told me that she was no longer a silly virgin and asked if it was okay now for her to associate with him.” Zayn clenched his jaw, a muscle jumping in his cheek. “I was enraged, Sophie. Were there a weapon in my hand I think I might have destroyed Damien there and then. I told them to go. I told him to get out of my sight, to leave my home and never come back. And Jasmine, in love with him as she was, clung to him and told me she was going with him. And I told her I did not want to see her again. I told her...that she had brought shame onto our family and that she was dead to me. I said...I said terrible things to her.”
He pushed his hands through his hair, and lowered his head. “So she left with him. And only an hour later we received word they were in a terrible accident, and that none involved had survived. So you see the reason there was no scandal. No hint of what went on between us. How could there be? It would endanger public opinion of me if word were to get out how I spoke to her at the end. Of course, I never imagined he would drive, not in the state he was in. But I should’ve known. Because the most disturbing thing about my confrontation with Damien was that it was like looking into a mirror. It was realizing that had the roles been reversed, had he invited me into his home, had his innocent sister showed interest in me, I cannot guarantee I would not have done the same thing he’d done. He didn’t love Jasmine. And yet he took her, took her from the palace, took her from this world. And I do not believe I would have done any better. I do not believe I would have acted any more honorably. It destroyed me to lose her. It destroyed me that I introduced her to the man who led her down that path, that I drove her away from the palace and into his car with him. And that was when I knew I had to change.”
She tried to swallow, but her throat was dry. “That’s why you believe so strongly in duty. That’s why you’re marrying Christine.”
“I trust nothing in myself, which is why I don’t depend on what I feel. I simply must do what’s right. It’s the only thing that matters. It’s the only thing that can matter.”
“Zayn, surely you have to know that it wasn’t your fault. Not really.”
“Do you remember what I told you about consequences? I had never in my life faced a consequence before that moment. Before my angry words, before my own selfishness, my own desire to deny my behavior for my sister. Killed her. There was no amount of money, no amount of power, that could bring her back. In that moment I was simply a man, and nothing I had would fix the devastation that I had wrought. It was my consequence. One I could not pay off. One I could not ignore. And I will not turn from it now. A man is meant to learn from his mistakes, to learn from the ramifications of his actions. I’d avoided that for years. Until the moment I could not avoid it anymore. So I bear it now, so I let it change me. Because if not, then her death truly is in vain. That cannot be.”
He stood, stooped beneath the roof of the tent, a strange kind of desolation in his dark eyes. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“I am going out to check the SUV. And to get a look at the roads. I will return.”
He pushed open the flap on the tent and went out into the downpour, leaving her sitting there, shell-shocked and alone.
And then she realized, this was the end of the story. Or rather the end as it had happened so far. Ultimately, it would end with the wedding, the wedding to Christine. A wedding that was taking place as part of Zayn’s quest for atonement. The story of the nation, the story of the monarchy and the story of Zayn. He had told her to try and make her understand why he felt he’d fallen short, why he must go on to do his duty for his people.
And she ached for him, for the pain he had been through when he lost his sister. But she could not blame him. She could not blame him because she had spent her life refusing to accept what she had been given. Refusing to allow the decisions of other people to shape who she was. Jasmine had made a decision, one that might have been different with the benefit of age, but a decision all the same.
When Sophie had been that age she had already decided she would not drink or do drugs. She had already decided that she had too many things ahead of her to allow herself to be distracted. She barely had friends, she’d never dated. Maybe her decisions hadn’t been healthier, but she’d been safe. And in many ways, she’d been in control of her fate, rather than someone who’d followed a guy blindly.
She had never seen the point of sitting back and blaming her father, her mother, for her situation in life. Not when she could transcend it.
Jasmine, as tragic as her death was, could have done the same. And may well have if her poor decision had not been the first and last poor decision she’d ever made. Life was unfair that way. There were those who made mistake after mistake and came out just fine, and there were those who put one foot wrong and paid a dear cost.
But Jasmine’s hand had not been forced. Not by Zayn, not by anyone.
She burst into a sitting position, and scurried out the door of the tent, shrieking when a fat drop of water landed on her head and rolled down her face. The rain was cold, torrential, creating tributaries that flowed down the side of the embankment, down to the road below. A road that now appeared to be a river.
She looked toward the SUV, but didn’t see Zayn anywhere. Then she looked the other way, and saw nothing but scrub brush and dark clouds. “Zayn!” she called, looking all around, hoping to catch sight of him. But she couldn’t. She didn’t see him anywhere. “Zayn!” She called his name again.
Her voice was swallowed up by the wind, swallowed up by the falling rain.
She pressed forward, moving away from the tent, away from the vehicle. Because she had a feeling he had gone toward the wilderness. Because it just seemed like something he would do. She knew it, as deeply as she knew anything about herself.
In many ways, he seemed to perpetually be wandering the wilderness alone. Standing separate from everyone else, from everything else. From the law, from modern mores, from anything that might interfere with the protection of his country and his family.
A strange realization, followed closely by the realization that she had been doing the same.
Yes, Isabelle was her friend, yes, she had other casual acquaintances. She went into an office every day and worked with people surrounding her. But she was alone. She did not allow people to touch her. Because she was in the wilderness, fighting to survive.
Because she was afraid of revealing weakness, afraid of depending on anyone. Afraid of nearly everything. And so she insulated herself, kept herself separate, so that no one would ever know.
How very strange that the two of them, wandering alone in separate parts of the world, had managed to find each other.
If only she could find him now, in this literal wilderness.
Then she saw him, down on one knee, rain pouring over his back, seeping through his tunic, his head bent low.
“Zayn?” She approached him cautiously, her heart thundering in her temples.
He lifted his head, then straightened slowly. He turned to face her, water drops sliding down his face, a haunted look at his eyes. She blinked back tears, not sure if they had already fallen or not. There was water on her face, but it was very hard to say where it had come from.
They simply looked at each other, an expanse of dirt between them, the rain pouring down on them.
“I wanted to tell you—I needed to tell you—it’s not your fault.”
He shook his head. “You are hardly going to undo sixteen years of guilt with a simple phrase. But you must know I appreciate the effort, Sophie.”
“The effort isn’t enough. I need you to understand it.”
“This has nothing to do with your story. I don’t see why you would care what I think.”
She blinked against the rain. “I care because I don’t think you should carry this burden. I don’t feel like you should blame yourself like this. You can’t live your life for other people.”
“Are you any different? Answer me, Sophie, are you any different?”
“I live for myself, Zayn. How can you ask if I’m different?”
“Do you? I don’t think you do. You are here because of your friend Isabelle, even if you won’t tell me the reasoning. You are questioning me to benefit her. You are afraid to show that you are vulnerable because of what other people might think. You went to university so you can show your father that you were worthy. Yes, Sophie, you do live for other people.”
“How dare you use what I shared with you against me?”
“Is it a bad thing, Sophie? Is it a bad thing to live for others? I have lived for myself, and I’ve never seen anything fruitful come of it. It brought nothing but death and destruction. I will not apologize for living for a higher calling. I am not insulting you by pointing out that you do the same. But I will not allow you to stand there and accuse me of something that you yourself do.”
“She made a choice, Zayn.” Sophie continued as though he hadn’t spoken. Because she didn’t want to process what he had said.
Because he cast her in a different role than the one she had placed herself in. It didn’t make her sound like a hard worker, like an independent person who had made her own choices. It made her sound like someone who was beholden to the expectations of others. Who had only succeeded because she was afraid of what others might think.
Yes, she knew she worried about what others might think, but it was only because she needed them to think highly of her in order to achieve what she needed to. She was using their approval, she was not dependent on it. And that was an entirely different thing.
“And I made choices that delivered her choice to her. We affect the choices others make, Sophie. Your life is a classic example of that. Your father’s actions affected your choices.”
“I make my decisions. I have controlled my life. Nothing controls me.”
Suddenly he closed the distance between them, wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her up hard against his chest. She could feel his heart beating hard against her breast, could feel the sharp rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in deep. “Nothing controls you? How about this, habibti. Does this control you? Or are you immune to me?”
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. In spite of the cold, in spite of the wet, she felt like she was overheating. Felt as though she might melt into a puddle, and flow down the mountainside along with the rest of the rain.
“Who controls you now?” he asked, his voice rough and soft, sending a shiver through her body.
She looked into his eyes, and she was suddenly hit with a swell of longing that overtook her completely. That nearly made her knees buckle, that made her feel as though if she didn’t close this minute distance between them she would die.
She had been in this position once before. With a man’s lips hovering near inches from hers, and she had felt nothing. Nothing but vague curiosity. A curiosity that had been satisfied, to a degree that she had never felt the need to experience it again.
And yet, for all the similarities between these two situations, she knew that the end result would be completely different. She knew she was on the verge of something that would be unlike anything she ever experienced before. And she knew she should turn away from it.
Because there was no hope here, no future.
But they were out in the wilderness together. Two travelers who had been alone for so long, finally meeting in one place. And it would never go beyond here. Would never go back to real life, would never be something that had a future. But there was now.
And she didn’t have to pretend now, didn’t have to act as though she had everything together. Because she had given that up when they’d come up the mountain. Had set it all aside and embraced the freedom in being honest about who she was, and what she knew. Because she had lowered her shield, and made herself vulnerable.
It was already done, so there was no point in pretending now.
Not when he had shared with her his greatest failing. Not when he had stripped himself bare for her.
“Right now? I feel as though you control me.” They were some of the hardest words she had ever spoken. One of the most difficult admissions she had ever made. “I feel like you’ve taken my body and made it yours. I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I want.”
He gripped her chin, tilting her face up so that her eyes met his again. “Liar. You know what you want.”
“Does it matter what I want? Does it matter when nothing can come of it?”
“I have been lost in the past for a while now. And I have done nothing but plan for the future. Perhaps for this moment you and I can enjoy the present.”
His words echoed in her soul, reverberated through her. Because they were true for her, as well. The past had informed what she wanted for her future, and she had spent very little time actually in the present. She had always been looking ahead, using the things behind her to keep her moving.
But in her life, there had been no now. There had been no moments where she had simply existed.
But in this moment she wanted it. More than anything, she simply wanted now.
“It won’t fix anything,” she said, her voice small.
“A great many things are unfixable. Are they not?” He shifted position, cupping her face with his hands, sliding his thumbs over her cheekbones, wiping the rain from her face.
“I suppose so. Although, it could be argued that we are just making more problems.” She didn’t know why she was playing devil’s advocate in this, because all she wanted him to do was lean in, touch his lips to hers. And it didn’t matter that it was crazy. It didn’t matter that this could never become anything. Didn’t matter that he had forcibly dragged her to his country. Didn’t matter that she had simply been using him to try and help Isabelle. None of it mattered. Because if those things mattered, it meant the rest of the world existed, and she was certain, in this moment, that it did not.
“A great many things could be argued. For one, that I should not touch you for your sake. For another...” He let his sentence trail off, and she allowed it. Because she didn’t want to know what he’d been about say. She had an idea, but she didn’t want the reminder.
“I’m a lot stronger than I look.”
And that was all she said before he dipped his head, pressing his mouth against hers. Their lips were slick with rainwater, and he angled his head, sliding his tongue across her upper lip and her lower lip, sipping the water from her skin. She shook, the decadent contact washing through her like a raging river devastating everything in its path. Reshaping the landscape, uprooting the anchors that had always held her fast.
He kissed the corner of her mouth, then the center, moving to the other corner before going back again. “Kiss me,” he said, his lips moving against hers.
She realized then that she was frozen, simply letting herself be washed away on this tide of pleasure, on this wave of need. And while it was a wonderful feeling, she was not the kind of woman to allow herself to drift out to sea.
She would swim against the current.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself more firmly against him, parting her lips and allowing him deeper access into her mouth, his tongue sliding against hers. It was like the darkest, smoothest chocolate dessert. Imbued with the kind of richness that made you feel as though you couldn’t possibly take another bite, while at the same time making you feel as though you could go on tasting it forever.
That was what kissing Zayn was like. Like too much and not enough, all at once. Like something she needed more of, while needing badly to break away, and take gulps of air.
But she continued to indulge, because he was holding her tight. Because he was so firm and sure. A pillar for her to cling to in the storm.
He was stability, and desire. Strength and heat. And she wanted nothing more than to cling to him until it all subsided. Though now, she could not tell if the greater storm waged above them, or inside of them. Between them.
She squeezed her eyes shut tight and kissed him with all of the ferocity in her body. Because she wanted to, and because she wanted him to know that he was okay. That he was not a terrible man, but a man who was worthy of this moment. Of being the only man she had ever wanted to kiss in this way. She didn’t know if her admiration was worth anything, but she would give it to him, if it would only take away that terrible haunted look in his eyes.
When they parted, they were both breathing heavily, both soaked through with rain. “We should get back to the tent,” he said.
She didn’t want to go back to the tent, because she feared it would break the spell they were under right now, right here. Back in the tent, sanity may return, and she didn’t want it to come back. She didn’t want reality to intrude at all. She would rather stand in the rain and nearly drown in it than go back where it was dry and warm and lose this connection they had found out here.
He must have sensed her hesitancy, because he traced her upper lip with his thumb, his eyes never leaving hers. “I will not pretend this didn’t happen.”
She nodded and he moved away from her, walking back in the direction of the tent. She stood for a moment and watched him, before going after him.
She followed him inside, suddenly very aware of the fact that her clothes were sticking to her skin. That she was cold. That she was shivering. She had not anticipated being cold out in the middle of the Surhaadi desert.
Of course, she hadn’t anticipated being caught in a downpour, either.
Her teeth chattered, and Zayn looked at her. The concern in his eyes made her warmer. And she wondered when the last time was that she’d been looked at that way. If she ever had been. When last someone had wanted to take care of her. When last she had wanted to let someone.
“You will freeze in that.”
She lifted her shoulder. “I suppose I might. It is very cold.”
“You could take it off.” His voice was rough, and it brushed against her nerves, sending a shower of sparks through her.
She nodded wordlessly, catching the hem of her top and tugging it over her head before she could think twice. For some reason, it did not seem embarrassing. For some reason, it seemed as natural as breathing.
She pushed the linen pants down her legs, and stepped out of them. She was only wearing her underwear now, Zayn’s eyes sharp, intense, as he looked her over.
Her hands shook as she reached around behind her and unclasped her bra, discarding it along with the rest of her clothes.
Zayn bent and picked up a blanket, holding it out to her. “Get warm.”
It was a command, and one she felt compelled to obey, even though she thought it was strange he wanted her to cover up now that she had uncovered.
She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, closing it in the front. And then she looked at Zayn, her mouth drying. He had pulled his shirt off, leaving him standing half-naked in front of her, his broad chest and slim waist on display. Every muscle was clearly defined, brushed lightly with the perfect amount of dark body hair. She’d been around half-naked men at pool parties, of course, but for some reason she had never been quite so conscious of all the skin on display. Perhaps because she had not been standing less than a foot away from them completely naked. Perhaps because she had not kissed them.
And perhaps because they hadn’t looked at her as though she was dessert and they were starving.
She started trembling again, and this time it wasn’t because of the cold.
He turned away from her, and pushed his pants down to the floor, her eyes widening when she saw his backside, the fabric of his dark underwear clinging tightly to his skin. Some mature, sensual part of her recognized that he was a work of art. While a much more prurient side of her nature only registered that he was hot and she wanted to touch him.
Of course, if she did touch him, she would have no idea what to do with him.
Really, she had only just got her first proper kiss a few moments ago. She didn’t think she was ready for more. She didn’t think she could possibly pull off more.
He turned back to her and she tried to redirect her gaze. “I think we would both be warmer if we laid down.”
“Sure.” She nodded dumbly, not entirely sure if she’d spoken, or if she had just stared at him like a dazed marmoset, all wide eyes and soaking wet hair.
He went over to the nest of blankets that was in the corner of the tent, and rearranged the pillows. She swallowed hard and went to where he was, sitting down alongside him, her blanket still wrapped firmly around her.
“You know, the quickest way to get warm is to be skin to skin,” he said, his tone grave.
She opened up the front of her blanket and adjusted herself, throwing one side over him and drawing herself beneath the same one he was under. Heart pounding she folded herself into his embrace. She rested her cheek on his chest, felt his heart raging against his skin. The hair over his skin was rough, the flesh beneath smooth and hot. She raised her hand and pressed her palm flat against him, reveling in the feel of him. In the differences between their bodies.
This moment should have been surreal, and yet it wasn’t. It was too sharp, too all-consuming. She was wholly in this moment with him, completely aware of who he was, who she was and what they were doing.
She lowered her head, resting it in the curve of his neck. He tightened his hold on her, one hand rested between her shoulder blades, the other on her lower back.
His breathing was ragged, fanning over her temple.
“I want...” She didn’t know quite what to say, because she didn’t know quite what she wanted. She only knew that her heart was raging out of control, that she felt shaky, that she felt needy. And she knew he had the answer. “I want—”
He cut off her words with a kiss, a gentle one, a soft one. This wasn’t a claiming, but a tasting. A question.
She slid her hands up his chest, and locked them around his neck, deepening the kiss. She could feel his arousal, hardening beneath her hip. She shifted, bringing his hardness between her thighs.
He moved, bracing his weight on his arms, settling between her legs. His dark eyes bored into hers, his focus unwavering.
“Sophie—” his voice was rough “—do you know what you’re asking for?”
Pressure built in her chest, built in her body, squeezing her throat tight. All she could do was nod. And she hoped she was being honest.
This seemed like the right time. It seemed like the right place.
He seemed like the wrong man. Engaged to another woman, the ruler of a country worlds apart from her own. A man who controlled the fate of the nation, a man who held the fate of millions in the palm of his hand.
He seemed like the wrong man, but at the same time he seemed like the only man. Because no one else had come close to this, no one else had made her feel this way.
Attraction, lust, it always seemed like something terrifying to her. Something to be avoided. It had seemed like great bouts of weeping, depression and a stalled-out life that was enslaved by one person who held all the control, all in the name of something that was supposed to be love.
But this wasn’t like that at all. This had been so easy. So easy to kiss him. So easy to take her clothes off for him. So easy to lay down with him, and let him take her into his arms. It was right in a way she had never imagined something like this could be.
He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, before lifting his head and looking into her eyes, sweeping her hair out of her face. Yes, when she looked at his face it made it all feel very easy.
She had to wonder at who she was right now, at who this woman, lying in a desert tent in the arms of a man who should feel like a stranger, was. Because a week ago this wouldn’t have been possible. A week ago she would never have been able to imagine this.
She didn’t know what she was doing, and it was okay. For the first time it was okay. Because she had stripped off her clothes in the tent, but she had stripped off her armor down at the bottom of the mountain. And now she could feel everything. Every touch, every whisper against her skin, unprotected, vulnerable, exposed. But it wasn’t scary.
It was right. It was everything.
“Sophie,” he said her name again, “I need you to say you want this. I need to know.”
“Of course I do, Zayn.” She put her hand on his cheek, kept her eyes on his. “How could I not? I think this was always going to happen. From the very first.”
Whether it made sense or not, there had been something compelling about him from the instant they’d laid eyes on each other. Something different. Whether it made sense or not, knowing him had begun changing her from that very first moment.
“Nothing is inevitable. Isn’t it all about choices? Weren’t you just saying that?”
Something shifted inside of her, an avalanche of feelings pouring through her. “Yes, it is about choices. I had a choice when we met. If I had told you I was leaving, you would have let me go. I’m confident in that now. You didn’t force me, even if you did manipulate the situation. I chose to come with you. I’m choosing to be here now. I’m choosing this.”
“I shouldn’t,” he said.
Her heart squeezed tight. “I know.” Because she did know, she knew that this didn’t make sense. But she also knew she needed it. Needed him. “Doesn’t it feel like we’re the only ones in the world?”
“Out here it’s easy to believe,” he said.
“Yes, a little bit too easy. But you have to know that I feel different right now. What you said about why I make choices... It was true. Everything I do has been in reaction to other people. But if other people didn’t exist, if there was nothing but this, if there weren’t kingdoms, and cities. If there weren’t mansions and hovels, if there weren’t haves and have-nots. If there was only this, I would want to be here with you. And I know that when we leave, all of that other stuff will come back. But right now, right now it’s not here.”
He closed his eyes, letting his head fall back, his expression pained. Then he lowered his head, opening his eyes slowly, black fire blazing from them. “If there are no kingdoms, then there are no kings. And if there are no kings, there is no duty that must be kept. And if there is no duty, if there is only myself, then I choose you.”
She swallowed hard, an ache building in her chest, her throat burning. “Please,” she whispered. “Please, choose me.”
He groaned and cupped her cheeks, kissing her deeply, his tongue sliding against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, opened herself to him. He tangled his fingers through her hair, let one hand slide down the curve of her neck, down her back, before he shifted position and cupped her rear, tugging her up against him. He kept on kissing her, the world beyond the desert a distant memory, and the desert itself slowly falling away, sand through an hourglass. It was a countdown timer that couldn’t be denied. But she was also weightless, falling, all while being held in Zayn’s arms.
He abandoned her mouth, kissed the hollow of her throat, before moving lower, tracing the valley between her breasts with his tongue before adjusting position and sliding the flat of his tongue over one hardened nipple. She gasped, arching her back, pressing herself more firmly against him.
A dull ache beat at the apex of her thighs, a deep feeling of emptiness at her core. She had no idea being hollow could be painful, but it was. In this moment it was.
He palmed her breast with his other hand, as he drew one tight bud into his mouth. She laced her fingers through his hair and held him tightly against her, not wanting the sensual assault to end.
He lifted his head, and she released her hold on him reluctantly. “Sophie, I need to ask you something.”
She shook her head. She knew whatever it was she didn’t want to talk about it right now. Because she didn’t want to talk about anything right now. She only wanted to feel, she didn’t want to think. She didn’t want to discuss.
Instead, she hooked her fingers in the waistband of her panties and shoved them down as far as she could, kicking them the rest of the way when she could no longer reach, her eyes locked with his as she did.
He nodded slowly, then he shifted, tugging his own underwear down. Then he bent to kiss her again, his lips soft and tender against hers. A surprise after the claiming from earlier. He shifted his weight, and put his hand between her thighs, guiding his fingertips through her slick folds. She was wet for him, ready for all of this, for everything.
A little shock of nerves went through her when she realized she hadn’t even seen him naked. But there would be plenty of time for that, plenty of time later. She ignored the feeling of the sand shifting beneath them, more time running out.
She gasped as he slipped one finger deep inside of her, the invasion strange and foreign. But not unpleasant. Not at all. He moved his thumb over her clitoris in time with the thrust of his finger, winding up the tension that had already been building in her core.
He continued to apply steady pressure, continued to keep the rhythm going, drawing her closer and closer to an abyss she could not see the bottom of. To a point she could not envision. It was all beyond her, beyond her experience.
And she was finding power in that. Power in being at his mercy, power in allowing him to teach her. To show her what her body wanted, what her body was made for. For the first time in her memory she felt like she was simply existing, not striving, not hiding. She felt so gloriously out in the open, so wonderfully exposed. And she had never imagined either of those things could possibly be good. But Zayn made them good. Zayn made them wonderful.
He kissed her, deep and hard, as he intensified the pressure between her thighs. The subtle change was just enough to show her how deep the well was. To drag her all the way to the bottom, holding her under until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but simply allow the release to wash over her, pleasure overcoming her completely. When she surfaced, she was breathing hard.
“I don’t know...I don’t want to hurt you.” His voice was rough, his breathing ragged.
“You won’t,” she said, the words meaningless, her lips numb. She didn’t know if she was telling the truth, didn’t know if it would hurt or not, but it seemed like the right thing to say. It seemed like the thing he needed to hear.
He slid his hand on her back, cupping her butt, and lifting her hips as he positioned the blunt head of his arousal against the slick entrance to her body. He met her eyes as he thrust deep inside of her, a shaft of pain shooting through her.
She gritted her teeth, screwing her eyes shut tight.
“Sophie,” he said, his voice gravel. “You said I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“I was wrong. I’m sorry.” Her throat was tight, the words difficult to force through the lump that was forming there.
“Don’t apologize to me.” His tone was regretful. “I should apologize to you.”
“Please don’t apologize to me. Please. Let’s just... Please.”
She was beyond speech, beyond thought. Yes, it had hurt, yes, it still hurt a little bit, but it was also wonderful. She had never felt so connected to anyone in her entire life. For the first time, she felt as though all of the pieces of herself and been swept up and pushed together. Made one. Not only was it impossible to tell where her body began and his ended, it was impossible to be anything but wholly her. Impossible to be false, impossible to be fragmented.
It was right. The most essentially right thing she had ever experienced.
He waited a moment, the tendons in his neck standing out, his jaw clenched tight. She noticed the muscles in his arms were trembling, as he held himself still.
“Zayn.” She said his name, and he started to move.
He started with slow, measured strokes, giving her time to adjust to the feeling of fullness, to the feeling of his body inside hers. Gradually, the discomfort began to recede, pleasure started to build.
She rocked against him, chasing the climax that was beginning to build inside of her again. His movements began to fracture, his control fraying, everything becoming harder, more desperate. And she was right there with him. She didn’t want slow anymore, she didn’t want gentle. She wanted it all. She wanted it fast, she wanted it now.
She clung to his shoulders, met his every thrust, her clitoris making contact with his pelvis, white-hot pleasure streaking through her body with each movement.
She could feel herself starting to slip, starting to head back toward the void. She tightened her hold on him, intent on dragging him down with her. This time, she wouldn’t go alone.
“Zayn,” she whispered, her lips near his ear. “Zayn, come with me.”
He shuddered, his body shaking, the evidence of his loss of control the final ingredient needed to push her over completely. Climax ripped through her, harder this time, more intense than the first. That had only been preparation, it’d only been a primer. It had not prepared her for this. For what it was like to lose control completely, with Zayn. To shake as he did. To be drowning in the swell of pleasure, as he did, too.
When it was over, they clung to each other. She could feel his heart raging against her chest, could see his pulse beating at the base of his neck.
And she heard silence, no more rain, nothing at all.
And she could feel the final bits of sand slipping away.
Time had run out, and the world was encroaching. And she knew that she had been a fool. Because she had imagined that she would walk back into that world unchanged.
But she was changed. Utterly, irrevocably.
She had just made love with Sheikh Zayn Al-Ahmar, and everything inside of her felt new. Felt different. But the world, the monarchy, his engagement, all of the social hierarchy, stood firm. Unmoving, uncaring of everything that had passed between them.
“Zayn?”
He wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her against his chest, reversing their position so that she was partially on top of him. “The roads will still be flooded for a while. You should rest.”
And with those words, he turned the hourglass again, granting them an extension on their time out in the wilderness.
