In this position she was almost straddling him and she flushed hotly as unexpected images of the two of them naked and entwined came into her head. A year ago she’d seen a sexy magazine spread of a man and a woman pretending to make love. She’d felt a momentary jolt of curiosity at seeing them but it was nothing compared to the jolt she was feeling now. She’d always viewed sex as a means of procreation, not pleasure. So why had her mind transplanted the skimpily clad models in the magazine with the two of them? It was so clear she could almost picture the prince’s powerful body lying beneath her own; she could almost see herself sitting astride him; could almost feel the press of his ribs against her inner thighs. She squeezed them together unconsciously and heat bloomed there, catching her off guard.
The walls of the tent seemed to draw in around her as she fought to contain her body’s visceral reaction to her thoughts and she frowned as the prince’s firm lips remained resolutely closed. Exasperated, she lifted her eyes to his, the angry tirade she was about to unleash on him dying on her tongue as he chose that moment to lean forward and draw the rice and meat—and her fingers—inside his warm mouth.
As soon as her fingers slipped inside his lips, his tongue curled around them to claim the food. She felt its warm, thick moistness and shuddered at the rush of liquid heat between her legs and the tingling sensation that caused her nipples to tighten. She’d never experienced anything like this and she couldn’t tear her eyes from his.
Dimly aware that she was all but panting, she was completely mesmerised by the way he licked and sucked on her fingers, some deep part of her consciousness trying to tell her that her fingers were now well and truly clean. Still she allowed him to linger, another part of her consciousness urging her to replace her fingers with her mouth. It was so overpowering it was all she could do not to lean in and...
Realising she was about to topple into him, she felt a fire rise up to consume her face and jerked back. Before she could remove her fingers, however, he gripped her wrist and stroked his tongue in between the webbing.
‘I think I missed a bit,’ he murmured in a rough voice that worked like a sanding tool over her sensitive skin. His tongue flicked back and forth, back and forth, in a purely sensual exploration, before gently biting down on her sensitive palm.
A small whimper escaped her lips and her fingers curled against his beard-roughened face, her body swaying toward his. Almost absently she was aware that a warning voice had started clanging inside her brain but his hand was pressing hers closer. His hand that was...that was...
By Allah! Farah’s eyes flew to his as it finally registered that his hands were free, only to find him staring into hers with a knowing gleam. Immediately she tried to wrench herself free and the small metal bowl hit the dirt as she valiantly pushed against him. Unfortunately he was on her quicker than lightning could fork into the ground and she was on her back before she had time to blink.
Slightly winded from the way he tossed her onto the ground, Farah twisted away from him to scream, but the back of her head hit the dirt as his large hand clamped over her mouth. ‘Oh, no, you don’t. There will be no calling the cavalry just yet, sweetheart.’
Farah squirmed beneath the weight of his upper body and knew it was futile to push against him. He was too strong. And it wasn’t just from lean, hard-packed muscle either. One look into his furious face and she could see that he’d leashed his rage so successfully she hadn’t realised how deep it ran. Although she should have, and perhaps she would have, if she hadn’t been stupidly distracted by his masculinity and her own rioting hormones.
Knowing she could never throw him from this angle, she tried desperately to get her hands beneath her tunic to her hidden dagger that had saved her skin a few times in the past. Admittedly those times had been from snakes and scorpions, but hadn’t she already noted that this man was just as dangerous as any predator? Having learnt how to use a dagger and to fight with a sword when she was younger, Farah knew just where to threaten him with it so that he’d let her go. But it was as if he could read her mind because he caught her wandering hand in his and brought it over her head.
Frantic at the ease with which he contained her, she desperately curled her fingers towards his skin in the hope of causing some damage but he pressed the hand against her mouth more firmly and brought her eyes to his.
‘Scratch me, little cat, and I’ll scratch you back,’ he growled close to her ear.
Farah paused at the menace in those words but then she realised that he would have to let her go to scratch her so she didn’t care. She kicked out, catching his shin with the solid point of one boot, and scratched at his wrists at the same time.
‘Damn it to hell!’ He cursed softly and stretched her arms high to breaking point, pinning her legs down with one of his. Farah moaned behind his hand. She was struggling to draw oxygen into her lungs and was thankful when he adjusted his palm a little to ease her growing dizziness.
‘Follow my instructions and I won’t hurt you,’ he promised.
Ha! As if she believed that. His family had been hurting the people of Bakaan for centuries and tyranny ran in his veins as surely as the blood she’d just drawn on his wrist.
The weight of him felt like an anvil slowly crushing her chest and Farah was just wondering how she could lever her legs to help dislodge him when she felt him go still above her.
‘Damn it, keep still.’
His rough tone compelled her to stop fighting him and she was completely unprepared when he flipped her onto her stomach. Before she could pull in another breath, he had her hands wrapped in the same rope that should still have bound his own.
Sand coated her eyelashes and filled her nose and she tried to turn her head before she suffocated. It was then that she felt his hand smoothing over her bottom and fear turned her as cold as stone. Surely he wasn’t going to...going to...?
‘Easy, little spitfire.’ He brought his hand up to the side of her face and she felt the cool blade of her dagger flat against her cheek. ‘Quite a nice little piece. I could have used this a couple of days ago,’ he said mockingly. ‘Do you even know how to use it?’
Trust him to think that she wouldn’t be able to handle a knife. Her eyes flashed with annoyance but she wasn’t going to tell him anything. Not that she could with his hand pressed against her mouth. But she could still make sounds, she realised, and although she couldn’t hear anyone walking outside she knew there was a guard nearby. If he heard something, he’d come running.
Squirming beneath him, she tugged against the rope and screamed behind his hand.
Immediately his thumb and forefinger pinched her nose and her ears popped as she tried to force the sound out of her lungs. She thrashed her head from side to side even though she knew it was futile.
‘This is how it’s going to go,’ he murmured when she finally exhausted herself. ‘I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth and you’re going to stay quiet.’
Farah listened but she knew there was no way she was going to follow his orders.
‘If you don’t, you’ll surely bring the guard in from outside and I’ll be forced to kill him with your dagger.’
Fear kept her immobile. It was one thing to risk her own life but she’d never risk another person’s.
Roughly he pulled her to her feet. ‘Nod if you’re going to comply.’
