“Jenan.” His growl sounded pained as he surveyed her for one last second. Then his lips claimed hers, branding them. She opened wide to his invasion, and his tongue thrust deep, singeing her with pleasure, breaching her with need, draining her of reason.
Pressure built—behind her eyes, inside her chest, deep in her loins. Her hands convulsed on his arms, digging into his muscles, everything inside her surging, gushing, needing anything and everything he’d do to her. His fingers and tongue and teeth exploiting her every secret, his manhood filling that distressing void he’d created inside her...
Something buzzed against her thigh, made her lurch beneath him. After moments it stopped. Then it started again until it finally made him stiffen above her. Then he was cursing viciously as he rose off her.
The moment she lost his anchoring, she whimpered. His tempestuous glance told her he was feeling exactly the same. Wild with hunger and frustration.
He whipped out his phone in barely controlled fury. He only bit off a few phrases before ending the call. She vaguely understood it was one of his Black Castle partners. It figured only one of them would warrant Numair interrupting their first kiss.
As she finished the thought, she found herself snickering. First kiss indeed. First ravishing more like.
Numair’s grimace filled with mock reproach and a too-real self-deprecation as he surveyed her still boneless condition. “I’m glad one of us is not in agony, and can still laugh.”
“I’m not laughing... I’m snickering.”
His huff sounded genuinely amused, not to mention surprised. “Thanks for the correction. Care to share the source of your merriment? I can use something to take my mind off the urge to hunt Antonio down for interrupting us. Or to pounce back on you and finish what I started.”
Before she blurted out for him to just do the latter, she remembered they’d been in the middle of a game-changing conversation. And they hadn’t reached a resolution yet. There might not be even one to reach.
Dismay finally made her pull herself up from her flagrant surrender. Numair remained towering over her as she sat up, like some all-powerful genie from a fable. The searing sensuality of his scowl made it almost impossible for her not to pull him back over her. Only the “heir” thing stopped her.
Before she could reintroduce the subject, Numair suddenly came down beside her again and, with shocking ease, pulled her back onto his lap.
After sealing her gasping lips in a kiss that robbed her of volition, he pulled back, his eyes smoldering, explicit with what he’d do to her once she stopped arguing.
“Do you still have any questions why I chose you?” He took a hand to his lips, nibbled on it in lieu of her mouth and had her gasping and squirming in pleasure. “It’s because I don’t want my heir to only be born of the perfect woman, but of perfect pleasure. And it is perfection between us. The way we make each other feel is magical. And I will accept nothing less. I will have nothing else.”
She had no more arguments about that. It was magic. At least for her. But if he said it was the same for him, she had to believe him. He had no reason to lie or even exaggerate.
Almost all men in her experience had reason to do both. They thought all desert kingdoms swam in oil money, didn’t believe her when she’d said Zafrana didn’t. Even those who did believe her still thought she was talking relative poverty in the millions instead of billions. She’d had too many imposters try to land the loaded princess they’d thought she was. Her ex had been one of those.
But Numair was far richer and more powerful than her whole kingdom put together, with Saraya thrown in for good measure. She could only believe what he said, and that the desire he displayed was 100 percent real.
But he’d spoiled it all with that heir talk.
He was now suckling her fingers, each pull a stab of pleasure in her core. It was almost painful to stop him, to relinquish the delight, but she had to make him realize how preposterous she found his demand.
“Numair...I do want you, completely, even mindlessly.” He growled and pressed her harder into his erection, dragging another moan from her depths. “But no matter how much I want you, I can’t act on my desire when I know your sole purpose of sleeping with me is so I’d give you a baby.”
He gave the finger he’d been suckling a sharp nip, heightening her distress. “It’s far from my sole purpose. It’s actually the product of my only purpose now. Untold pleasure. Which I will give, and take, as often as you can stand.”
She squirmed over his lap, making both their conditions worse. “What if it turned out to be a disappointment instead? What if all those initial fireworks fizzled out, and we turned out to be incompatible in bed?”