Elizabeth Lane - Special Deliveries - Heir To His Legacy - Heir to a Desert Legacy

She sucked in a sharp breath and looked back down at her empty plate. She hardly remembered eating the lamb and lentils, but clearly, she had.

The drumbeat increased, became louder, the dominant sound in the room now, and one of the tribal leaders seated at the head of one of the long tables stood, speaking loudly in Arabic, his voice carrying over the music.

Sayid leaned in, a translation just for her. “He is wishing us long life. Happiness. Many children.”

Her stomach clenched in anxiety. “Not gonna happen.”

“And he is bidding us a good night, as we go to make the marriage official.”

“What does he mean by that?” she asked.

Sayid stood, extending his hand to her, and she grasped it, allowing him to help her up. He waved and began to walk through the tent, leading her.

“What did he mean by that?” she wondered aloud.

“The vows, the feast, are all a part of the sealing of the marriage. But the marriage is not truly valid until the groom has possessed the bride in the ultimate way,” he said, his voice smooth, deep. His words, however vague, were completely provocative, and she was certain he knew it. Certain he knew the kind of images it brought to her mind. The kind of ache it brought to her body.

“What?” she asked.

They exited the tent and cheers erupted behind them. “They will continue the party long into the night,” he said, ignoring her question.

“In the United States, the marriage is legal when both parties and the appropriate witnesses sign a marriage license. Are you telling me that in Attar we actually have to…”

“That is the custom,” he spoke calmly.

“And you knew,” she said. “You knew. You said we wouldn’t… that you wouldn’t…”

“You are being hysterical now,” he said as they walked into the palace, his words echoing in the empty corridor.

“Where is everyone?” she asked, looking around the empty hall. The palace was always bustling, staff everywhere, but not now. Now it was silent.

“They are enjoying the party, and giving us time to enjoy our private party.” He took a step toward her and she retreated, her back hitting the wall.

“You are not forcing a wedding night on me,” she said.

“No,” he bit out, advancing on her. “I’m not.” He pressed his palm against the wall behind her head, leaning in. “Although, we both know I wouldn’t have to force you to do anything. You want it.”

“I don’t,” she spat.

“Liar,” he said. “I know you feel it. I see it in the way you look at me. Wide, curious eyes. You’re hungry. For me.”

“And you are an egotistical jerk who thinks that women will want him just because he’s a man and it’s his due!”

“No, I’m simply a man who can see. And I can see that you feel the same way I do. That no matter how badly you want to deny it, you want me.”

“No,” she repeated, “I don’t.”

No one had ever accused Chloe of being stupid. She’d been called a great many things in her life, but never that. And she knew, before she issued the denial, that doing so would be a challenge. A challenge that Sayid wouldn’t let go unanswered.

And so she had issued it. Because she wanted the consequences. Craved them. Hungered for them. He was right, she was hungry. For something she’d never tasted. Something she’d spent her life avoiding so that she would never learn to want it.

He lifted the hand that had been resting at his side and placed it on her hip, sliding his fingertips over the thin fabric of her dress, the heat seeping through, branding her, sending a streak of fire through her veins.

His dark eyes never left hers as he leaned in, letting his hand drift upward to her waist, his thumb just brushing the underside of her breast.

“Then walk away,” he whispered, angling his head, his lips nearly touching the tender skin of her neck. “Walk away from me now.”

“I…I…”

He put his other hand on her waist, both thumbs running beneath her breasts. So close. So very close to her tight, aching nipples. Oh, how she wanted him to move his hands. Not away, but up. To cup her breasts, to give her the touch, the pressure she so desperately desired.

“You won’t,” he said, hot breath fanning over her skin. “You won’t because you’re as desperate as I am.”

She tried to swallow, but couldn’t, her heart thundering so fast she was afraid it would beat out of her chest.

“There is something I’m regretting,” he said.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“That the Attari wedding tradition does not require the bride and groom to kiss.”

“I don’t regret it,” she said, knowing she was challenging him again. Knowing there would be consequences.

“You don’t sound very convincing,” he said.

“Because I’m lying,” she said.

He chuckled and then she felt the hot press of his mouth on her neck. “I thought you might be.” His fingertip traced a line from her shoulder, up her neck, and along her jaw, then around her lips. “Yes, I was certain you were.”

He moved then, his lips brushing against hers. “Tell me you want this,” he said, his voice rough.

He was going to make her ask. Was going to make her drop her defenses, lay her pride down. Was going to force her to be weak before him.

But she already was. Too weak to stop herself from complying.

“I want it.”

That was all it took. His lips were hard on hers, his kiss devouring, insatiable, proving she wasn’t the only hungry one.

She’d wondered about kissing. More than once she’d wondered if it would be wet, or warm. If it would be awkward. If having someone’s tongue in your mouth would be more gross than sexy.

She had her answer now. Warm, wet in the best possible way, not awkward in the least and… his tongue swept against the seam of her lips, requesting entry, and she gave it. And sexy. The answer to the last question was: sexy.

She returned the kiss, fully aware that her movements weren’t anywhere near as smooth as his. That when she slipped her tongue between his lips, it wasn’t with the kind of practiced confidence he possessed. But his hands curved around her back, pulling her tightly against him, she didn’t care. Not at all.

She slipped her arms around his neck, fingers curling into his hair, holding him tightly to her mouth as she continued to taste, and to be tasted. Being tasted was her favorite part, she was pretty sure.

Then he growled. A rough, masculine sound that radiated from his body and through hers. Her back connected to the wall again, hard and cold behind her, Sayid hard and hot in front of her. Pinning her. Trapping her. And she didn’t care.

As long as he kept touching her, as long as he kept kissing her, he could do whatever he wanted. As long as she could have this feeling.

An alarm went off in the back of her mind, the sane, rational voice that had dominated for so many years screaming at her to listen to her last thought. And a memory intruded, one that she should never have let fade. One she should have kept closer.

Why do you stay with him, Mom?

Because as bad as he makes me feel sometimes… when he makes it feel good, he makes it feel like heaven.

No.

She broke the kiss, gasping for air, shoving at his chest, blinding panic moving through her, taking over the pleasure that had made her behave so foolishly. So much like her mother.

“Stop,” she said, her chest rising and falling quickly, her voice shaking. She was going to cry. She could feel it in the sting of her eyes, the ache in her throat, the sick feeling in her stomach. She didn’t want him to see her tears.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, choosing to embrace anger. Anger was so much better than weakness. So much better than acceptance. “You… you’re trying to dominate me by making me feel good. Trying to exert power over me with sex, but it isn’t going to work.”