She took him deep, until they both groaned with it. His hands spanned her hips, gripping her hard against him, and her palms pressed into his chest as she held herself up.
“You’re beautiful, Emily,” he said, stunned at the picture she presented with her hair falling over her shoulders to tickle him as she leaned forward. Her breasts were high and round and her eyes glittered with some mysterious emotion as she took his mouth possessively.
She whispered as she leaned back again, “You say that to all the girls—”
But she didn’t get to finish the sentence because he yanked her down and kissed her hard. And he didn’t stop kissing her, or thrusting up inside her, until she shuddered around him and ripped her mouth free, gasping his name into the darkness of the tent.
He didn’t let her recover before he flipped her over and rode her deeply, driving her across the bed, driving his demons before him. Vaguely, he thought he was too rough, too uncontrolled, but she gripped his buttocks and lunged hard against him when he would have slackened his pace.
It was a war, but one that exacted pleasure rather than pain. They finally climaxed together, gasping and groaning and sweating and swearing, before rolling apart and kicking the covers off the bed.
When he could speak again, he turned his head, watched her chest heaving. “I don’t,” he told her between breaths as anger and confusion swirled inside him.
Her gaze was puzzled. “Don’t what?”
He gritted his teeth. She didn’t even know. “Say that to all the girls,” he ground out. “You keep trying to bring others between us, but there’s no one in my head except you. No one else I want.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice soft. And hovering on the brink of tears, he realized.
He reached for her hand, caught it in his and squeezed. He was angry with her for bringing other women into their bed and yet he’d trained her to think that way. He thought of all the times she’d escorted his dates from his suite and wanted to groan. Damn him for being so thoughtless. So arrogant.
“It’s my fault. I know it. I’ve not behaved well.”
She let out a shaky sigh. “You behaved like a rich, entitled, handsome prince. And I have no right to blame you for it. It’s who you are.”
A wave of anger flooded him again. And frustration. “It’s not who I am,” he practically shouted. “It’s who you want me to be.”
He shoved his way off the bed and took care of the condom before yanking on his clothes. She sat up, her eyes wide in the darkened tent.
“What are you doing?” She sounded frightened, but he forced himself to ignore his desire to haul her into his arms and hold her tight.
“I need air,” he said, dragging on his boots and standing over the bed, where she sat naked and alone.
“I’m sorry, Kadir,” she said, her voice containing a hint of desperation that twisted his heart. “I don’t mean to hurt you.”
He forced a laugh. “Hurt me? How can you possibly hurt me? I’m arrogant and entitled. And unfeeling. Don’t forget unfeeling.”
He turned to go but she appeared in front of him. Small, naked and fierce. Her hands fisted into his robes and hurt spiraled deep into his soul. What was wrong with him? He was like a little boy again, trying to get his father’s affection and failing miserably at it.