Hot Arabian Nights

Her heart contracted. She couldn’t bear to think of what that would do to Azhar. While he had been out speaking to the returning gold miners this afternoon, the Overseer’s wife had managed to ask Julia rather diffidently when she planned to return to England, and if the Crown Prince intended to escort her. She seemed inexplicably relieved to hear of Julia’s plans to return so soon and alone. Thinking that the woman had mistakenly assumed her a possible bride for Azhar, she had gone to great pains to contradict her, and had been even more confused by the woman’s amusement. Now she wondered if what was as the root of her questions was simpler—a fear that their Prince, having been absent for ten years, might desert them again. Leaving another prince to be crowned, one whom they neither wanted nor respected.

She knew she ought to tell Azhar of this conversation. She also knew it would be one more shovel full of sand dug from his grave, as he put it. Azhar had already had the benefit of her objective viewpoint in confirming one piece of bad news, she couldn’t bear to give him another. Besides, she could be wrong, couldn’t she? Her few words, their many hand gestures, she could have completely misinterpreted the whole thing.

When the time came—if the subject came up—then she would come clean, she promised herself. But right now, what Azhar needed, and she wanted desperately, was for him to forget he was a prince, and to remember that he was a man.

A man who could conjure this magical encampment into existence. Tonight, the lamps had been lit to welcome them. The fire had been re-laid. Julia pushed back her veil and slid down from her camel with a sigh of relief.

‘Azhar, I cannot tell you how much I appreciate this enchanting place,’ she said. ‘Knowing we are coming back to such luxurious comfort at the end of a long day makes all the difference. It was very thoughtful of you.’

‘Julia, if I’m being complete honest my motivation was not entirely selfless,’ he replied. ‘I did not wish to share your company with anyone else.’

‘If that is the case, then I am afraid I am very selfish too,’ she replied, ‘since I feel exactly the same way.’

‘Are you fatigued, Julia?’

‘No, I...’

‘Sore from the saddle, perhaps?’ Azhar asked. ‘Tired, in limbs and body?’

His smile was sinful. His sinfulness was infectious. ‘I think perhaps I am,’ Julia said.

‘Then go into the bathing tent, remove all of your clothes, and we will do something to remedy that.’

* * *

She assumed he intended for them to bathe together, since they had not done so the previous night, having become more than a little distracted. In the bathing tent, Julia lit the candles and hurriedly prepared herself, then equally hurriedly grabbed a clean drying cloth to cover her nudity. It was silly of her to be embarrassed, but she couldn’t bring herself to wait for him without any covering at all. Should she get into the water? He hadn’t said so, and she was under no obligation to do only what he asked, but—but she was most curious as to what he would request of her, so she gathered the thick cotton around her and sat on a velvet cushion.

She did not have to wait for long. Azhar’s eyes lit up when he entered the tent and saw her, but he made no move to touch her, instead he threw off his cloak and headdress and hurriedly pulled off his boots before arranging several of the huge cushions together into a makeshift divan. ‘You look like the most delightful gift, waiting to be unwrapped. In a way, that is exactly what you are—a gift from the gods. May I unwrap you?’ he asked, leading her over to the mound of cushions.

Blushing, she allowed him to remove the cloth, and was rewarded by Azhar’s sharp intake of breath. ‘You are quite, quite lovely,’ he said, running his hand slowly down her body, from her shoulder to her bottom. ‘Such delicate skin,’ he said, ‘like alabaster.’

Azhar kissed her. She kissed him back. The touch of her tongue on his brought an instant response, making his member stir against her. It thrilled her, that instant response. Julia leaned in closer, brushing her breasts against his chest, and kissed him again.

‘Not yet,’ Azhar said, dragging his mouth away, turning her away from him, easing her on to the cushions. ‘Before we sate our desire, we must ease your aches and pains.’

Julia lay on her tummy feeling extremely exposed and not a little confused. A rustling behind her told her that Azhar had removed his tunic. He moved her plait over her shoulder. Then he knelt down behind her and began to knead her shoulders. His hands were oiled. His touch was expert. The perfume in the oil began to suffuse the room as it was warmed by contact with her skin. Julia closed her eyes in ecstasy as he worked on the knots and tensions in her muscles that she hadn’t even been aware of. Her shoulders felt as if they were being unfurled. Her spine felt as if it was being loosened. She felt heavy and floaty at the same time. His thumbs worked into the knot at the base of her spine. More oil trickled on to her back, and then he began to work on her buttocks, building a very different kind of tension.

He was kneeling between her legs. She could feel the roughness of his thighs against hers, the whisper of his warm breath on her neck, the press of his erection, and all the time his hands sliding and slickly kneading her bottom, her flanks, the inside of her thighs, her bottom again. She was a mass of sensations, at the same time helpless to move and unwilling to move. He pulled her forward, tilting her upwards, and his hands slide between her legs, then inside her. The oil made her slippery, his fingers slid over her, into her, over her. She arched up against him, wanting more than his fingers this time, and he slid his hands up her sides then moved them underneath her to cup her breasts.

Julia moaned. Azhar kissed her neck. She slithered against him, her back to his chest, her buttocks on his thighs, the thick girth of his member sliding over her, though not inside her. She moaned again. ‘Azhar, please.’

His fingers deliciously tugging on her nipples roused her to an agony of wanting. His mouth on her ear, he whispered, ‘Are you sure, Julia?’

‘Desperately.’

He pulled her toward him, lifting her on to her knees before entering her. The combination of perfumed oil and her arousal made her slick, drawing him deep inside in one delightful, delicious movement. She clenched around him, holding him, wanting him deeper, fighting a primal urge to move.

He eased her further on to her knees and pushed higher inside her. Julia clenched and held him, shuddered as he eased himself slowly out, and then thrust again. Higher this time, and she held him again for agonising seconds. He was so thick. So hard. Another thrust. Another hold. Her climax was too close. She clenched everything.

‘Slower?’ Azhar said.

‘Slower,’ Julia agreed, though she had no idea how...

He lifted her on to his knees. She had no idea how he did that either, but she didn’t care. He was still inside her. Her bottom was pressed into his belly. His hands were on her breasts. She arched her back in response, and he buried his face in her neck. Her nipples tingled, ached, pulsed. She moaned in protest when he took his hands away to rest them on her waist.

‘Slowly,’ he whispered in her ear, moving fractionally inside her, encouraging her to lift herself just the merest amount. Pulsing. Slow, delightful pulsing. And then slow, delightful thrusting. His arm around her waist to hold her, his mouth on her neck, and inside her, throb and thrust, throb and thrust, until she could feel it, the tension, the growing sense of spiralling out of control, and Azhar slid his hand over her, adding a sliding, stroking finger to his thick, thrusting member, and Julia came so violently and so suddenly that she would have fallen forward if he had not held her, still stroking and sliding and thrusting, until he groaned deeply, his own climax taking him, lifting her free just in time to spend himself safely.

* * *

Later, they sat by the fire under the awning of the sleeping tent to dine. Above them the moon formed a hazy crescent, the brightness of the stars dimmed by a film of dust from a distant subsiding sandstorm that turned the sky grey-blue. The food was delicious, but Azhar had little appetite for it. The day had brought him no solace, indeed had only added further to his disquiet. Yesterday, he had been appalled by the idea that a man who held such a senior position of trust as the Chief Overseer did, a man whose very title commanded respect, could be corrupt. Today, even without the hard evidence he required, he had moved from suspicion to certainty. But his disquiet did not stop there. It was almost impossible to imagine that corruption of this magnitude could go undetected.

Unless it was condoned, by the only man with higher rank than a member of the Council. Azhar knew that. And Julia knew that too, though she had refrained from saying so. Which made Azhar feel rather sick. Julia was never slow to speak her mind, regardless of how it would be received by him and yet on this occasion she had bitten her tongue. He suspected it was not because she feared his reaction but because she felt sorry for him. Perhaps even pitied him.

He hoped against hope that his brother was not implicated. Even if it were true, technically the diamonds belonged to the crown, and the crown belonged to Kamal. Azhar pushed his plate to one side with a sigh of irritation. He was going around in circles to no avail. When he had firm proof, he would deal with it, but not until then.

‘Aren’t you hungry?’ Julia, dressed in a simple green robe tied at the waist, had finished her plate of food and was looking at him with some concern.

Azhar shook his head.

‘There is no point in worrying about it,’ she said, displaying that annoying habit she had of seeing too far inside his head. ‘You will find evidence or you won’t, but there is nothing you can do about it tonight, save allow it to keep you awake.’

Her skin was flushed from the fire. The fire in his belly rekindled as he remembered their earlier lovemaking. ‘I have no intentions of sleeping,’ Azhar replied.

Julia smiled, a sinuous, feline smile. ‘I do have intentions,’ she said. ‘They don’t involve sleeping, but they do involve you.’

‘I hope they’re not good intentions.’

She laughed, pushing him on to his back and rolling on top of him. ‘Good or bad, you must decide for yourself.’

Chapter Nine (#ub915ee44-d9cc-576a-82bc-32f661f6b28f)

Five days spent in a flurry of activity including implementing stricter border controls and poring over detailed financial ledgers, conspired to make the two nights he had spent in the desert with Julia seem like a fleeting dream to Azhar. The news that a prince from a neighbouring kingdom had called without notice meant he had to cut short the latest in a long series of Council meetings, but the man waiting in the Divan was a very different visitor than the one he was expecting.

‘Kadar! This is indeed a surprise.’ Azhar strode across the room to greet his old friend. The two men embraced warmly. ‘You look well,’ Azhar said, and indeed the years had been kind to Kadar, whose scholarly habits and fierce intelligence had always seemed at such odds with his rangy, athletic appearance. They looked much more like brothers now than he and Kamal did.

‘A welcome surprise, I hope,’ Kadar said. ‘When I heard you had returned, yet you did not contact me...’

‘A most welcome one, how can you doubt it?’

Kadar eyed him quizzically. ‘Ten years, with not a word from you?’

‘Kadar, I...’

‘I did not come to berate you, nor to demand explanations for your silence. Allow me to say only that you have been missed. I am glad you are back, although the circumstances that bring you here are to be regretted. My heartfelt condolences on the death of your father. I know you did not see eye to eye with him but he was unquestionably a fine ruler of Qaryma. As you will be, my friend.’

Azhar smiled uncomfortably. ‘Forgive me for receiving you so formally here in the Divan. I was in session with my Council. When they informed me the Prince of Murimon had arrived, I naturally assumed it was your brother. Come, let us retire to my private quarters and we can catch up. We have much to discuss. As you say, ten years is a long time. A lot has happened.’

‘More, obviously, than you realise, Azhar. My brother, Prince Butrus, died some months ago in a riding accident. He was thrown from his horse and struck his head on a rock. I assumed you would have heard.’