Shamed in the Sands. Sharon Kendrick

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      ‘I think it’s gorgeous,’ she said, praying he wouldn’t stop.

      ‘I want to kiss your breasts,’ he vowed unsteadily. ‘Each beautiful breast which is peaking towards me, just waiting to be kissed.’

      A pulse was hammering at his temple and Leila jerked with pleasure as he lowered his mouth to one tightening nipple. His dark blond head contrasted against the snowy silk of her bra, and she could feel the fabric growing moist as he sucked her. She squirmed in time to each provocative lick of his tongue, as helpless then as she could ever remember feeling. And suddenly she understood what all the fuss was about. Why sex was so powerful. Why people did such crazy things to get it.

      ‘G-Gabe,’ she gasped, the word stumbling over itself in disbelieving pleasure.

      He lifted his head to stare at her, and suddenly his grey eyes were not so cold. They seemed bright with pewter fire.

      ‘I think we’re going to have to skip the next few stages,’ he said. ‘In fact, if I don’t get you horizontal in the next couple of minutes, I think I’m going to go out of my mind.’

      He caught hold of her fingers and led her straight into the bedroom she’d seen earlier—the bed still in rumpled disarray.

      Now slightly disorientated, Leila looked around in faint bewilderment because she had never seen a room in such a state before. In her ordered and enclosed world, a servant would have attended to it while she’d been in the shower—making the bed all neat and pristine again and tidying away her discarded clothes.

      She had never been lowered down onto untidy sheets which were still rich with the scent of the man who had slept in them. Nor towered over by someone whose mouth was tight as he continued to undress her. She stared up at him but he wasn’t staring back. He was too busy removing her trainers and then unzipping her jeans as if he’d removed countless pairs of women’s jeans in his life.

      He probably had.

      Of course he had.

      Leila remembered what she’d read about him on the internet. Fragments of information about all the beautiful models and actresses he’d dated came drifting back. Women infinitely more experienced than she was.

      She felt the cold shiver of insecurity reminding her to face facts and not be swept away by fantasy. She knew what men were like. How they were guided by the heat in their loins or the weight of their own ambition. She knew that they viewed women simply as possessions or as adornments—or as vessels to carry children.

      She must not forget that.

      This might feel as if she were living out a scene from a film, but it wasn’t a film. This was real life and Gabe Steel wasn’t suddenly going to turn into some fantasy hero and fall madly in love with her.

      She didn’t believe in that kind of love.

      Her head fell back against the pillow as she felt the slide of his fingertips brushing over her thigh and suddenly it was difficult to think about anything, other than how good it felt.

      He tugged the jeans down over her knees and she could hear the soft rustle as they fell to the floor.

      ‘Nice knickers,’ he murmured before deftly removing her bra and shirt.

      Leila blushed at his words, telling herself this was normal. This was natural. ‘Thanks,’ she said, as if men complimented her on her choice of underwear every day of the week.

      He tugged off his T-shirt and stood up to unbutton his jeans, and Leila was mesmerised as he peeled them off. Her heart began to pound with excitement as his body was revealed to her, for she had only ever seen a horse from the royal stables in such a state of arousal before.

      Yet he seemed proud and unashamed of his nakedness as he walked across the room and retrieved something from his suitcase. Leila saw the glint of foil and the reality of what she was about to do suddenly hit her.

      Because that was a condom; she was certain of it. She might never have encountered one before, but what else could it be?

      She felt the icy clamp of sweat on her forehead as reality suddenly broke into her erotic thoughts. Did all women feel this sudden sense of panic the first time? The fear that she might disappoint him?

      He was putting the item on the table beside the bed, and while she knew that she should be grateful to him for being pragmatic, it destroyed the mood a little. Why was real life so messy? she wondered bitterly. In films, you never saw any of this. Couples seemed to find themselves in bed together almost by magic and then the scene cut to them giggling as they ran down a street, usually in Paris. Not that she and Gabe Steel would be running anywhere here in Simdahab—at least not without the Sultan’s guards giving chase. And if he didn’t come back here and kiss her soon, she was going to get cold feet.

      But almost as if he’d read her mind, he came back and lay down beside her. His body was warm, but his face was sombre as he traced a thoughtful line around her lips.

      ‘Suddenly so serious,’ he said, his grey eyes narrowing. ‘As if you’ve started having regrets. Have you, Leila? Because we can stop this right now if that’s what you want.’

      Leila closed her eyes as she felt the brush of his finger over her lips. And wouldn’t that be best? To put her clothes back on and get out of here as quickly as possible. She would feel embarrassed, and he might be angry with her for having led him on, but no real harm would have been done. She could slip away and act as if nothing had happened—because nothing had.

      But then she thought about what awaited her back at the palace. She thought about all the inevitable restrictions and rules which had governed her life so far. All the things she wasn’t allowed to do and never would be able to do just because she was a woman and a princess. She thought about the royal prince her brother would probably arrange for her to one day marry. The watchful eyes of both nations as they waited for her to produce an heir, before her husband thankfully sought refuge in the pleasures of his harem, just as her own father had done.

      And suddenly she thought why shouldn’t she experience this—as millions of other women had done? The way that men did almost every day of their lives. Why shouldn’t she have this one brief interlude of pleasure before she took up the duties which lay ahead of her?

      She wrapped her arms around his neck. ‘Kiss me,’ she whispered. ‘Kiss me. Please.’

      He smiled as his mouth came down to cover hers, and suddenly it did feel like a fairy tale. As if her senses had been fine-tuned. As if she were capable of anything. Anything.

      ‘Oh,’ she said, her eyes fluttering to a close as he drifted his mouth to her neck to kiss it over and over. ‘Oh.’

      Now his lips had found her breast and she could feel a thousand tiny sparks of pleasure as his tongue flicked against her puckered skin. She splayed her hands over his chest, where his heart pounded so strongly. She felt the coarse whorls of hair which grew there and she tugged at them—as playfully as a puppy with a new toy. His groan of delight filled her with confidence and she let her fingers drift downwards to explore the muscular flat of his belly and another helpless groan made her feel invincible. As if she could do anything or be anyone.

      Anyone but herself.

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