That was all he had to give. The sex, the heat, the pleasure of two men at once.
It was a pleasure that he hadn’t given Paige, though he meant to. Once again Azir had managed to royally fuck things up for him.
He stared at her again, remembering the pleasure, the sensations searing him from the inside out.
How tight she was, how sweet and hot. The taste of her on his tongue, the delicious spice exploding against his taste buds and intoxicating him. And he remembered the need—the need to watch her face, to hear her screams of pleasure as both he and Tariq possessed her gorgeous body.
How he’d fantasized about it. How he’d longed for it over the years. To take her as the sweet, responsive lover he knee could be and to give her every possible second of sensual, sexual excitement that he and Tariq were capable of.
A pleasure none of them could know, despite the furious heat of his cock, throbbing, pounding, aching. His balls drew up tight at the base of his cock at just the thought of fucking her again. Of watching Tariq touch her, taste her, watching her face, seeing her pleasure, catching all the nuances of a woman consumed by the ecstasy he was bringing her, as another fucked her.
He’d had her himself. He’d have to make do. He couldn’t risk her further. He couldn’t risk himself further.
Because losing her would kill him.
13
It felt strange to be home. To walk through the door of her apartment and have the familiar scents wash over her, but to find that aura of peace and security to be strangely absent.
She had been kidnapped from her own home and taken from the country she called home. Unconscious, she had been unable to fight against whatever happened to her. Unable to fight to survive.
The apple-pie scent of the fragrant oils that wafted from the potpourri on her end table teased her sense of smell. The scent of furniture polish, light though it was after nearly a week since her maid service had visited, still added to that sense of cleanliness she had once enjoyed.
The myriad rose, jasmine, and vanilla scents from the unlit candles around the room assured her she was at the one place she had depended upon for safety since moving from her parents’ home.
The luggage she had packed the night of her kidnapping sat in the small living area after being found abandoned at the airport. What her kidnappers hadn’t foreseen was the identification tags inside each bag.
She would have to deal with unpacking it all now, as well as trying to get her job back and her life in order. And at the moment it all seemed an insurmountable task.
“I do not like this,” her father complained, his Greek accent still present even after so many years of living in the U.S.
“Shush,” her mother cautioned him.
“I will not shush,” her father informed her with a husband’s self-righteous anger.
Paige wanted to smile and declare her father paranoid, but she was too frightened that he could be right.
“Pavlos, don’t fuss at her now,” Marilyn Galbraithe chided him. She shot him a tight expression filled with anger and a need for vengeance.
“When should I fuss at her then, my dear?” he asked. “Perhaps after she is kidnapped again? Or should I wait until I am burying my children and wishing I had done more to protect them?”
He’d given Khalid the same lecture earlier. To give him credit, he had always claimed Khalid as his own despite the agreement that Khalid would be named by his natural father. The agreement also stated that Khalid would receive periodic visits by a member of the Mustafa family who would help him to learn about his father until he turned eighteen. At that time, Khalid had been required to return to the land his father had stained with so much blood.
Not that the “family” member arrived often. Pavlos Galbraithe had always been very generous in his duties as a host and provided a car, a driver, and credit at most restaurants, clubs, and casinos.
For nearly fifteen years it had worked.
“Our daughter and our son will be protected as well as we can provide,” Marilyn restated. She had made the same claim earlier. “Until then we can only pray for Azir’s early demise.”
Both husband and daughter stared at her in shock.
“What, can I not wish the bastard dead and buried?” she questioned harshly, her tone exposing the fear she had been living with for so many years.
“It’s just rare for you to voice it, Mother.” Paige spoke before her more blunt father could do so.
“Your father is well used to hearing me wish that bastard dead,” her mother stated as her face tightened with hatred. “If I could kill him myself then I would do so.”
After meeting him, Paige couldn’t say she blamed her mother in the least. Still, she wished the opportunity had presented itself while she had been in Saudi Arabia. For Abram, for Khalid, and for her mother, Paige believed she would have killed him just as easily.
“Marilyn, call and make certain Khalid, Marty, Abram, and Tariq made it to Khalid’s home for the night. You will not rest until you do so.”
Her father shoved his hands into his trouser pockets as her mother nodded quickly and extracted her cell phone from her purse.
Her father continued to watch Paige intently. That look had made her nervous for as long as she could remember. It was a look that assured her that her father was aware of something she may not want him to know about.
Nearing sixty, his gaze still eagle fierce, his body still powerful, and his mind still sharp, he was an imposing businessman, a man none wanted to make an enemy of.
“You’ve allowed Azir to live all these years201D; Paige said softly as she met his gaze directly. “Why?”
His head tilted to the side thoughtfully for long moments before he answered. “Because your mother has known enough pain. If she believed for a moment that I had killed him, then she would be certain my soul was damned and we would not meet in Heaven as she has always claimed. Besides, were he to die, I would be the first suspected of it.”
Paige glanced across the room as her mother stepped into the bedroom.
“She will take this opportunity to check your drawers, your closets, and so forth to see how you are conducting any intimate life or a lack thereof,” he commented.
“Tattling on Mother again, Papa?” she asked with a smile as his weathered face eased into a grin.
“She will say nothing to you, but to me she will complain of grandchildren she does not have and a son-in-law you owe her. Then once again she will make her lists of her friends’ sons to introduce you to. And she will stare into the night when she believes I sleep. And she will fear you have lied to us as she lied to her parents when she assured them that Khalid was not a child of her kidnapper’s raping of her. And soon she will cry, certain you lied to us and that Azir raped you.”
She could hear the question in his voice, the fear.
“Azir hit me,” she confided, knowing her father had a second sense when it came to her and Khalid’s lies. She wouldn’t lie to him about Azir.
“How hard did he hit you?”
She described the abuse, then paused and watched her father’s face closely as she continued. “Abram came in and stopped Azir. He had Tariq take me to his suite and I never saw Azir after that.”
Thick salt-and-pepper hair was pushed back from his dark face as gray-green eyes held a hint of suspicion.
“I swear, Papa,” she promised him. “If Abram wasn’t with me, then Tariq was. I was perfectly protected.”
Her father nodded slowly, then drew in a deep breath.
“Tariq and Abram often share their lovers as Khalid has,” he said somberly. “Did they seduce you, daughter?”
She saw the worry and the concern in his face as her own flushed in embarrassment. Sex was not a subject she discussed so freely, especially not with her papa.
“They didn’t,” she revealed softly. “But am I so wrong to wish they had?”
She saw the surprise, and also the discomfort in her father’s face as he cleared his throat.