Page 221 of The Skeikh's Games

When he laid himself on top of her, bracing his hands on either side of her face for balance and support, she spread her legs wider immediately to accommodate him. He settled between them and she felt his engorged length sliding along her inner thigh, leaving a trail of heat and moisture in its wake.

She shivered in anticipation and reached her own hand between their bodies. She found him and he let out a gasp in response, his eyes closing tightly against the sensation. Guiding him to her moist entrance, he sucked in a sharp breath when the head of his shaft touched the heat of her wet lips.

His eyes snapped open and met hers.

How many times had they done this, Keisha didn’t know, but she knew that she would never tire of this moment right now. The moment before he dove inside of her and lost himself, buried as deeply as he could.

He seemed to feel the same, because he paused for a deep breath, then smiled slowly at her. When he finally drove himself inside of her, she cried out and he grunted. He buried himself inside until their naked bodies were pressed tightly together, sweat mixing from each of them and causing them to slide wetly as he began to thrust.

At first, he moved slowly. Not cautious so much as torturous, giving her both time to adjust to his size and to let her experience the full length of him, every inch, as it slid between her lips and into her body.

By the fourth slow thrust, it was more than either of them could withstand. His speed began to increase, his thrusts becoming sharp jabs into her very core, sending strokes of pleasure throughout her system until she was panting and crying and begging and calling his name to echo off the high ceilings of his room.

Allowing one hand to remain beside her head to hold his weight, the other shifted down so that he could grab her breast. He squeezed it, much to her pleasure, and rubbed the hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger as he continued to impale himself inside her.

Keisha’s hands had found as much of him as they could. Sometimes they would bury within his thick, silky strands, tugging and urging him towards more. Sometimes they would slide across his broad shoulders, sometimes drawing little lines with her nails, others just gripping tightly as though clinging to boulders. Her hands found his hips, too, and his trim waist. His abs constricted beneath her touch. She found his rear and squeezed him there, too, helping to push him farther into him as he thrust. Keisha clung to whatever part of him she could both to quench her undeniable need to touch him and to brace herself through the power and pleasure of their lovemaking.

He was whispering her name into her ear, murmuring soft, indecipherable nothings, and panting. Just panting sometimes. He was getting closer, she could tell by the beads of sweat slipping over his forehead, and the renewed urgency in his thrusts.

The hand that had been gripping at her breast moved lower to find her hip. He grabbed it tightly as though it were a handle and used it to jerk her body up against his as he thrust, causing her to cry out in pleasure.

That cry seemed to send him over the edge because within moments he was lost within her, buried as deep as he could go, pulsing until the last of him was emptied once more into her womb.

Then he settled and they cradled each other in their arms, certain that whatever the trials they might encounter, they would survive for the love within their hearts.

Chapter Ten

Ahmed awoke long before his lovely wife. He had moved her limp, sleeping body to the luxurious bed that he would now share with her and she had instantly snuggled into the silky sheets and fallen into the deepest sleep he had seen her in yet. She seemed contented, smiling even in her sleep.

He thought of the baby that was to come and the love he held for this most wondrous creature sleeping now in his bed. With a sigh, he knew what he had to do.

The only way they would be allowed to be happy was to convince his parents that Keisha deserved to be there, that she had just as much right as any woman ever had. More even because their love was strong.

Perhaps there was no swaying his mother to his cause, as he had initially assumed. Now that he considered it, she was too determined to pick her choice of a wife for him to have ever willingly allowed him to make the decision for himself. She would protest Keisha until the end of days when destruction swallowed the civilized world whole.

Unless.

Unless Ahmed was able to convince his father that Keisha was his, would always be his, and needed to be protected. It was hardly an easy task, but now that he recalled the incident earlier in the day—had it really only been a day?—he was beginning to think there was hope. His father was a reasonable man and he understood that there were certain things that had to be carried on. Like the family name.

His mother wanted a beautiful socially appropriate wife for Ahmed, but his father wanted something different. He wanted a son who would grow to be a good Sheikh and he wanted a Sheikh who would bear a son to carry on the family name.

Something Sheikh Itamar had only barely managed himself. The fact that Ahmed had three older sisters and was the only boy spoke volumes about his father’s determination, his mother’s desperation, and the inherent need to carry on the family name.

Which meant he had to bear a son.

Glancing one last time at his sleeping wife, he made up his mind and made to leave the room. Once he did, he found two guards nearby—they were always nearby—and called them to him.

“No one save myself is to enter this room unless I say otherwise,” he told them both strictly, using his best ordering voice, filling it with importance and determination. Both of the guards exchanged glances, uncertain. Ahmed sighed and added, “Or my father, of course, as he is Sheikh.”

At this the guards straightened further and nodded their heads. One of them cleared his throat and answered, “Of course, my prince. No one will enter.”

Ahmed nodded his head in thanks. Then added, “Not even my sisters. Or my mother.”

This addition made each of the guards look a little nervous, but neither of them questioned it. They merely nodded mutely and took their positions, one on either side of the door. Though he was not yet Sheikh, he still had more royal authority than the women in his life, though the guards would be tested harshly should his mother decide she wanted into that room. He didn’t enjoy throwing his weight around, but sometimes he understood the need of it.

As Ahmed walked away, he felt a little better. At least no poison could be infected into their relationship while he had a private conversation with his father. At this point in time, that was about all he could ask for.

He found the Sheikh folded over several piles of papers—the less glamorous part of being Sheikh. Running a country. It wasn’t an easy thing to do and Ahmed understood that much of the strictness and unfriendliness that came from his father was due to this unrelenting job. He was doing his best to raise a country and a family and one of them ultimately had to suffer for it.

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