The Reluctant Princess Page 6

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  Chapter Nine

  I looked up into his dark eyes. “I haven’t agreed to marry you yet,” I said, although I think we were both beginning to guess how the story was going to end.

  He chuckled and tugged on the strand of hair, running it through his fingers. “Of course.” He twisted the hair around his finger. “It is such a beautiful color.”

  “I have never seen anyone with hair like that,” Nedira said. “And your skin is so pale.” She ran a finger down my arm. “And soft!”

  “Are all the women in your country as pretty as you?” Farah asked.

  I stared at them speechlessly. “Is this flirting?”

  They all laughed. “A little,” Farah said, eyes twinkling.

  “You want us to stop?” The Prince twirled the strand of hair, then tickled my cheek with the end, the way I had seen him do to Farah.

  I said nothing, but his smile told me he understood.

  “Tell me about your other wives.” Suddenly I wanted to know. “What are they like?”

  So the Prince told me about Jamila, his first wife, describing her as practical and knowledgeable as well as beautiful. His eyes lit up as he said how he appreciated her common sense, and how he trusted her opinion on everything. Then he told me about Alesha, his fourth wife, and how much he loved her innocence, which he suspected would never disappear, even when they were forty years married.

  The others interjected from time to time, adding their own details, and it became clear to me that they all loved each other very much, and were keen to support each other.

  Malik refilled their cups, and in spite of the coolness of the desert night, the tent grew warm. I watched warily as the two slaves removed their tunics, but when they stretched out on the bed next to Nedira and Farah, the girls just cuddled up to them, all of them occasionally exchanging smiles or affectionate touches.

  The Prince continued to play with my hair, and then at one point he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my fingers. He lowered it again, but kept his hand on mine, and as we talked, he stroked the skin with his thumb, then began to run his fingers over my wrist and a little way up my arm.

  I listened as the others talked, but watched his fingers brush up and down my arm. I knew I was being seduced—not just by him, but by all of them. He had instructed them to help him put me at ease, and it was working. The wine, the music, and their kind and gentle manner meant gradually my body was relaxing, and when the Prince’s fingers traveled up my arm to my shoulder and neck, I didn’t complain.

  The others had been talking for a while about the Palace and telling me a little about daily life there, but now the Prince finished off his wine, gave the glass to Malik, and moved closer to me, until his chest just brushed my right arm.

  “Your turn,” he said.

  I raised my eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

  “To talk. You have questions, I can tell. You should ask us.”

  Suddenly shy, I looked up into his large brown eyes. “I cannot.”

  “Just ask, Eleanor. You have the right. I will answer everything honestly.”

  I nibbled my bottom lip, tingling as he brushed my cheek with the back of his fingers. “I would live in the harem with your other wives and concubines?”

  “Yes. It is a wing of the Palace. There are several large rooms where you can spend your days, and of course you are welcome to visit the rest of the Palace—the libraries, the observatory, if it interests you. But you would have your own bedchamber, and slaves to serve you.”

  “How often would I see you?”

  “Every day, unless I am away on business. We all eat in the dining hall, and although men are not supposed to enter the harem, we have a shared common room where I visit the women and children.”

  “How often do you call your wives to your chamber at night?” I whispered.

  “As often as I can,” he said. He raised an eyebrow as the others chuckled.

  “He has great stamina,” Farah informed me.

  He nudged her with his foot. “Don’t tell her my secrets.”

  “You are insatiable,” she scolded. “I am relieved you have so many women. One alone would not be able to cope with your demands. They would be worn out within days.”

  He just laughed and ran a finger up my arm. I met Farah’s amused gaze, and she pointed at him and mouthed the word, Stallion!

  She’d meant it to be funny, but the notion of this man being so demanding just made me nervous. “Can I refuse to go your chamber?” I asked. I needed to know. Was I exchanging one form of servitude for another? Ultimately, was I just going to be an object for sexual gratification, the same as I had been in my previous marriage?

  “Of course,” he said.

  “Although it has never happened,” Farah added. “Ever.”

  He shrugged. “What can I say? I am greatly desirable.”

  “And modest,” Nedira added.

  “That too.” He grinned, and then went back to stroking my arm. “I want the women in my harem to feel pleased when I call them. It is very important to me.” He lifted my hand and kissed my fingers again.

  “And will you…um…always share me with others?” My cheeks burned at the thought of one of the men or women on the bed joining us.

  “Not always. And not until you are ready.” He gestured at Jasim. “But look at this fine specimen of a man. Is he not greatly desirable? I am sure you cannot wait to take him to bed.”

  Jasim flexed his arm, displaying his muscles, and then laughed when Farah pushed him.

  The Prince smiled at them both, then turned his gaze back to me. “Not everyone is the same. We try things, and if you do not like them, we stop.”

  I must have looked uncertain, because he stroked my cheek. “Eleanor, your experience is different than anyone else’s here. I would not presume to make you do anything you were unsure about before you were ready. I have had many virgins in my bed, and I am used to women being unsure of what is required of them.” He spoke matter-of-factly, without conceit. “Normally I enjoy teasing them out of their shells, but this is not the same. You have been hurt, and you are scared, and I am very aware of that. I will not force you to do anything you don’t want to do. Do you understand?”

  I nodded, touched by his words.

  “What else?” he asked softly.

  “I just…” I wasn’t sure how to phrase it.

  He bent his head and kissed my shoulder. “What, Eleanor?”

  “I don’t know what to do. How to pleasure a man. Or even how to feel pleasure myself. It has always hurt before—a lot, and it makes me nervous. I don’t know how not to be anxious.” Emotion rose within me, and I stopped and swallowed, wondering if my words would make him angry again.

  But he just kissed my shoulder, then my arm, soft, gentle kisses that I knew were meant to comfort and reassure. “If the woman does not enjoy sex, it is the man’s fault, not hers.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Eleanor, a woman’s body is made to enjoy pleasure. It has special sensitive spots… I do not know the word in French.” He said something in his own language. “Places like here.” He touched the inside of my wrist. “And here.” He brushed his finger up my arm to the tender skin inside my elbow.

  I shivered. How could a single touch there send hairs rising all over my body?

  “Here,” Nedira said, stroking the skin behind my ear, and touching my earlobe.

  “And here.” The Prince stroked his thumb across my lips. “Before a man even thinks of entering a woman, it is important to pay these areas some attention. Because when a woman becomes aroused, her body lubricates itself ready to receive a man.”

  I blinked in confusion. I did not know this.

  “Kissing, touching, being touched,” he continued, “all are important. And also watching others do the same—it arouses the mind, which in turn arouses the body. Men are ready for sex almost immediately.”

  Farah translated, and Malik snorted. J
asim just grinned.

  The Prince sent them a wry look before he continued. “It takes a little longer for the woman’s body to prepare itself for intercourse, but it is important to wait, because then it is more pleasurable for both man and woman.”

  This time, his fingers stroked up to my shoulder, then down my body. He didn’t touch me intimately, but the brush of his hand along my ribcage, down to my hips, and across my stomach sent every muscle in me quivering.

  I wasn’t sure if it was the effects of the wine, the music, the incense in the air, the smell of sandalwood rising from his warm skin, or just his gentle touch, but the atmosphere in the room was turning sultry as gradually I fell under his spell.

  I glanced around, and I could see the others were also entranced, watching us with eyes wide and lips parted, fascinated by his seduction.

  “After the woman becomes aroused,” the Prince said, “she can be touched in more intimate areas, here,” he circled my breasts without touching them, “and here.” He moved his hand to my thigh and brushed it up and over my pussy. Tingles radiated throughout me, and I shivered again.

  “What does it feel like?” I whispered. “An orgasm?”

  He looked at Farah and raised his eyebrows.

  She wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her chin on them, her eyes glowing in the semi-darkness. “It is amazing. The best feeling in the world. Like sneezing, only much nicer.”

  The Prince laughed. “A blissful sneeze,” he said. “You have a way with words, Farah.”

  They all thought it was funny, but I could not explain my fear to them. What if I could not do it? Would the Prince be angry? What if I did not like it? Maybe that was why I had experienced such pain—because there was something wrong with me?

  Nedira must have seen my distress, because she put her arm around me and kissed my brow. “Please don’t be upset. We will show you how to give pleasure, and more importantly, how to receive it. The Prince is very skilled at lovemaking. He is different with each woman—he somehow knows what each woman needs.”

  “I have a talent,” the Prince said. “Honed over many years.” He winked at me.

  I rolled onto my side to face him. His confidence intrigued me. He did not seem worried that there was something wrong with me. He seemed convinced he would be able to give me pleasure.

  “I don’t want to let you down,” I whispered.

  His brow furrowed. “In what way?”

  “I just don’t know if I can do these things…”

  He smiled and cupped my face. “Why don’t you let me worry about that?”

  Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to mine.

  I closed my eyes, entranced by the butterfly kisses he placed on my lips, my cheeks, my eyelids, and then on my lips again. Around me, I heard the others murmuring, Malik refilling the wine glasses, the musician playing, none of them paying any attention to the Prince and me.

  He kissed me lazily, languidly, and my body warmed at the sheer notion of being so intimate with a man, of being invited to partake in his pleasure, of having desire stirred within me like silt from the bottom of a lake.

  He touched my lip with his tongue, requesting rather than demanding entrance, and I opened my mouth shyly, allowing him access. He slid his tongue against mine, slow and gentle, the feel of it such an erotic sensation that I couldn’t stop a shiver passing through me.

  I felt him smile, and he pulled back a little, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Is that nice?”

  I nodded. I wanted him to do it again.

  He picked up my hand, interlinking our fingers for a moment and rubbing his thumb across my palm. Then he brought my hand up, turned it, and placed it on his chest, on top of his tunic. He covered it with his own hand and waited.

  I felt the rhythmic beat of his heart beneath my fingertips.

  “Yours,” he said, lowering his hand and leaving mine there.

  I swallowed hard against a wave of emotion. Concentrating on my hand, not wanting to cry, I slid it up a few inches to where the neck of his tunic parted in a V. My fingers touched his warm, brown skin, then traveled up almost as if they had a life of their own to his neck, his beard, and into his hair.

  The women in Bavaria had teased me that the hair of Persian men would be oily and unpleasant, but it just felt thick and clean, soft between my fingers. He inhaled and shivered, and to my surprise I realized I was having an effect on him—he was enjoying my touch.

  I could feel him holding back, not wanting to scare me, as if I were a deer in the forest, about to spring away at any sudden move. He had known me only a few days, and yet already he cared for me more than any man had ever done.

  I cupped his face, stroked his beard with my thumb, and gathered my courage. “Make love to me,” I whispered.

  * * *

  Chapter Ten

  The Prince’s eyebrows rose, and he looked genuinely surprised. “Eleanor, that is not why I invited you here tonight.”

  “I know.”

  “We will be in Samarkand tomorrow. We can be married the day after. There is no rush.”

  “I haven’t decided if I’m going to marry you yet,” I reminded him.

  Humor lit his eyes. “Of course. But you do not have to do this.”

  “I know. But tonight, I want to make love with you. I need to. Do you understand?” He had promised so much. I needed to know if it was all a lie, or if anything of what they had told me was true.

  He tipped his head, studying me with his warm eyes.

  “Unless you don’t want to,” I added, concerned as the moment stretched out.

  He snorted. Without saying anything else, he pushed himself off the bed and stood. He spoke to the others in his own language, and as one they arose without complaint, parting to go to their separate areas. He dismissed the musician, and fastened the flap of the tent behind him for the night.

  I knew the others might listen to us through the partitions, but as Farah and Nedira walked away, holding hands, I saw Farah whisper to Nedira and the other woman laugh and bend to kiss her, so I suspected they might be finding pleasure on their own.

  Likewise, Malik bent to murmur in Jasim’s ear as they slipped through to their room. As the Prince held out his hand and pulled to my feet, I had to ask.

  “Do you make love with other men?”

  “Sometimes.” He took hold of his tunic at the back of his head and tugged it off. “Does that bother you?”

  I caught my breath at the sight of his muscles gleaming in the candlelight. “The priests in my country say it is a sin.”

  He shrugged. “I do not understand why. Love is love, whatever form it arrives in.” He drew me toward him.

  Adoring his attitude, I looked up at him, captivated by his height and obvious strength, his sexy smile. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  “There is nobody else like me.” He grinned and bent to nuzzle my ear. “I am unique.”

  “I… oh… I almost believe that…” My eyelids fluttered shut as he kissed my neck and touched his tongue to the lobe.

  Moving back, he took the bottom of my night tunic in his hands. “May I remove this? It is cold, and you should get back into bed. Otherwise I would undress you slowly.”

  I nodded, and he lifted it up and over my head. My hair rose with the fabric, then fell around my shoulders and tumbled down my back.

  He paused, and his gaze slipped down my body like a silk scarf. He said something in his own language, his eyes filled with wonder.

  “What does that mean?”

  He laughed. “It means ‘Fuck, you’re beautiful.’”

  I could barely catch my breath at the heat in his eyes. He didn’t touch me though—instead he held back the covers so I could climb onto the mattress, then removed his trousers before getting into bed next to me. Lifting the covers over us, he moved up close and pulled me into his arms.

  I felt as if I had fallen into the fire. My whole body heated from my face to my toes as he pressed ag
ainst me.

  “So soft,” he murmured, and I knew what he meant because everything about him seemed iron-hard. The muscles of his arms around me and his chest beneath my fingertips were solid and defined. And the erection pressing against my stomach was like an iron bar.

  Sighing, I slid my hands up his neck and into his hair, and tightened them in the thick locks as he kissed me. He was still gentle, but this time he delved his tongue into my mouth without requesting permission first.

  Far from being repelled by it, a sound escaped my lips that I had not heard before, a mixture of a low moan and a sigh as, for the first time in my life, my body hummed with pleasure. He tasted sweet, of pomegranates and wine, and I plucked up the courage to slide my tongue against his.

  He murmured his approval, his deep voice reverberating through me, and slid a hand along my back, over my bottom, and down to my thigh. Pulling my knee toward him, he wrapped me around him, his arms tight, holding me there.

  Oh, he was heavenly, warm and so real, gentle and yet passionate, handsome enough to make my heart race. I loved the color of his skin against mine, light brown against pale cream, and the scatter of dark hairs across his chest.

  As we kissed, he stroked up my body as if he wanted to explore every muscle, every ridge and hollow, his hands light and tender. He touched me in the places he had mentioned, the sensitive spots, on my wrists and the inside of my elbows, the back of my knee and the small of my back, and he kissed behind my ear and ran his tongue over the lobe. I could feel my body relaxing, learning to trust him.

  Eventually, his thumb skimmed up my ribcage, and he lifted his head to survey me with his sultry eyes.

  “May I touch your breasts?”

  Unable to believe he was asking me, I nodded, remembering the look on Nedira’s face when he had done the same to her.

  Moving back a little, he cupped one. “Watch,” he said.

  I looked down. My nipples were soft, relaxed, a light pink, quite different to Nedira and Farah’s dusky brown color.

  “Beautiful,” he said, and stroked his thumb across one. It tightened into a peak, and my lips parted as a pleasurable sensation shot from it to between my legs.