He would show her exactly why she should be afraid.
Isma’il stared down into her dark eyes and this time he did not turn away from the darkness. From the hunger. This time he embraced it.
Releasing her chin, he went over to where her blue headscarf lay over a chair. Picked it up and brought it back to where she knelt. Held it out to her.
“Bind your hands.”
She didn’t even blink. Taking the scarf she wrapped it around her wrists, binding them together without hesitation. She used her teeth to pull the scarf tight, staring up at him, meeting his gaze and he could see the fire burning in her eyes. She was not afraid.
Not yet.
Her wrists dropped. Her chin lifted. Ready for the next command.
He could hardly breathe. “On the bed.”
Lily rose to her feet in a graceful, fluid move. Then, she turned and walked over to the big, white bed. Slowly. Pride in every line of her body, from the way she kept her chin high and her shoulders back, to the sway of her hips.
He followed her to the bed, enjoying the sight of her. Liking that even with her hands bound she was not cowed in any way. The part of him that loved the hunt found this intensely compelling, wanting to subdue her. Bend her to his will.
And he let it.
Lily slid onto the bed without any awkwardness, even though her hands were tied. “How do you want me?”
“On your back. Your hands above your head.”
She did as she was told, laid out before him like a feast before a starving man. A combination of exquisite curves and lean muscle. Her hair gleamed in the light, pale gold over the white cotton of the pillowcases, echoed by the soft gold of the curls between her thighs.
So beautiful. Desire burned hot inside him and yet he didn’t feel impatient. How strange. He’d never thought embracing this dark, violent side of him would make him feel as if he had room to breathe.
Reaching out, he ran a light finger down one of her arms, down her side, brushing the side of one perfect breast. Watching her shiver. “Are you going to fight me, Habibti?”
Her eyelashes fluttered, goose-bumps breaking out over her skin where he touched her. “Perhaps, Sheikh.”
“You are proud. Defiant. I can see it in your eyes.” He let his fingers trail over her nipple, hearing the breath hiss in her throat.
Gold lashes swept up. “Then you should punish me.”
“You would like that? You would like to be punished by me?”
Excitement sparked in night-dark eyes. Desire. “Yes.”
How was it that she could look at him, knowing what he was, and yet still ask this of him? She’d bound herself, was entirely at his mercy, and yet still she didn’t seem to be afraid.
“You’re hesitating again,” Lily said breathlessly. “What are you waiting for? I want this, remember.”
“I am not hesitating.” And he closed his hand on her breast, pinching her nipple lightly in his fingers. She gasped, her body arching. “What do you want for your punishment, Habibti? Pain or pleasure?” He would push her. Push her hard. Make her see. Make her understand why this was a bad idea, since she seemed bent on not listening to him.
She didn’t look away. “Pain.”
Heat went through him, along with a fear so intense he couldn’t seem to take a breath. Slowly, he put one knee on the bed and bent over her, hands on either side of her head, looking down into her eyes. “Pain, Lily? You are asking me for pain?”
Her breathing was fast, hard and her gaze seemed to sink into the depths of his soul. “Don’t be afraid, Isma’il. I’m not.”
“Turn over,” he ordered hoarsely.
She did, without question. Her body was golden in the light, the curve her buttocks inviting his hand. She should be afraid of him. She should know what he was capable of.
He brought his palm down hard on her skin.
The sound echoed through the tent along with her cry and he found himself shaking. With fear and loathing and disgust at himself. With unbearable, unquenchable desire.
And he waited for her to weep. Waited for the shouts. The screams. Waited for the guards to come and pull him off her. Take him away.
* * *
The pain felt as nothing compared to the heat that licked along her skin. The fire that burned in her veins. She could feel the mark of his hand like a brand, marking her, and a part of her gloried in it, while another wanted to mark him the same way. Make him hers.
Lily lay on the bed waiting for him to strike her again. Dying for him to strike her again. Push her excitement higher. But it didn’t come.
She twisted, turning over to see what had happened. And her heart froze inside her chest.
He knelt at her side, looking down at the mark he’d left on her, his eyes the color of emeralds. The expression on his face was a twisted mask, intense emotions she didn’t understand carved into his features, his hand a clenched fist at his side.