Royal Sins. Maisey YatesЧитать онлайн книгу.
made events seem less remarkable.
Of course, there was no way for him to acquire physical practice. But when practical experience couldn’t be had, reading would suffice.
He walked across the room to the vast library housed in the other end of the chamber, certain there was a book here that would satisfy his curiosity. After all, his brother had purchased a great many of the books.
His brother had been a bit shorter than he was, so Tarek looked slightly lower than eye level scanning the center shelves for anything that seemed to pertain to the subject. He was not disappointed.
He opened the volume, his eye immediately drawn to the detailed sketches of anatomy on the first pages. Yes, he could see he had a great deal to learn. He turned the page and there was a drawing of a man caressing a woman’s bare breasts. He thought of Olivia, the way she had felt pressed against his body. The soft, feminine shape of her and how she had fitted so perfectly against him.
Need bloomed hot and low in his stomach.
In that moment, he had a great many of his own fantasies. But he wanted to know all of the possibilities. He wanted to miss nothing.
He squashed that thought. This wasn’t about him. It was about her. Fulfilling his obligations as a husband and nothing more.
More important even than fulfilling obligations was mastering his need. He must form a strategy so that when faced with his opponent, he would not waver.
She was so soft. And his hands, warrior’s hands, so rough. When he placed them over her body he had to be sure he would deliver only pleasure. Had to be certain he would not...break her.
Of course he knew the mechanics of sex. He’d been fifteen when he’d left the palace after all. But fifteen-year-old boys might nudge each other and talk about women’s bodies. But they did not discuss a woman’s pleasure. Did not discuss control.
He needed to understand both of those things. For Olivia had known the touch of another man. She deserved pleasure.
And he required control.
An hour later, he had made it halfway through the book and was not feeling at all like education had done anything to lessen his desire. Certainly, he had some ideas that were new. And very, very interesting.
But that had not been the plan.
There was a firm knock on his door, and he cast the book aside. Strange that this was something he felt the need to hide, but he did. He hated needing to admit his lack of mastery.
He stood, ignoring the vague ache in his groin and the tightness in his stomach as he made his way to the door.
He opened the door only to meet Olivia’s fearsome blue gaze. “Yes?”
“I am informed, by a member of staff, by the way, not you, that we are to be married in two weeks.”
“Yes,” he bit out.
He would not allow her entry. His head was entirely filled with the images in that book and the images painted by the explicit instructions. And if he allowed her to get too close, he would only be tempted to put his new education to practical use.
“That’s impossible. It takes months to plan an event of that magnitude. You forget, I have been through this before.”
Yes, she had. In this, and in the things he had just been researching, she had more experience than he did.
But he frightened people. And he found that was more effective than experience at times.
Not with sex, obviously, but in the planning of a wedding, yes.
“It is eminently possible. This will not be like your first wedding.”
“Well, it couldn’t be. Good luck getting five hundred live doves this late in the game.”
“I cannot tell if you’re joking or not.”
“I’m not. My first wedding was ridiculous. Beautiful, but ridiculous.”
“I cannot promise this wedding will be less ridiculous. Less extravagant, certainly.”
“Two weeks?”
He arched a brow. “Did you want more time?”
She shook her head resolutely. “No. I am decided. But I’m doubtful that you can pull this off in two weeks.”
“Why would you doubt? I have you to help.”
“I can’t decide if I feel complimented or put upon.”
“Why choose one? You are a woman, and I’m quickly learning that means you can be both.”
“You do learn quickly,” she said.
He hoped so.
“Two weeks,” he reiterated.
“Two weeks,” she said. “But, Tarek, next time, tell me yourself when you set our wedding date.”
He nodded, attempting a smile, because this, he was confident, was a joke of sorts. “Next time.”
* * *
Two weeks passed quickly. Were Tarek a beloved monarch who had been on the throne for years, he could see the point of creating a spectacle out of his wedding. For the media, for the citizens. But as he was not, he felt there were better ways to spend his country’s money than on a lavish event they had not chosen, and one he and Olivia certainly didn’t need.
He had, in the past few weeks, spent time looking at photos of Olivia. It was easier than talking to her to gather information. Perhaps not the most up-front way of going about getting to know her, but he had been avoiding her since the kiss.
During that research he had seen photos of her at many social events. And he had seen her first husband. Polished, as blond as she was. He had seen their wedding. An intricate event that had lasted two days and commanded the attention of the media worldwide.
And then Tarek had seen pictures of her with himself. Mainly unsmiling, definitely not polished.
There was a photo of her holding his face, just after the speech. Her hands were so very pale on his dark skin. Highlighting the differences between them. She had said she did not think of herself as being part of her first husband still, and yet, looking at the pictures, he could see that she had been. They blended.
Whereas he...he did not look as if he belonged with her.
Of course, that was immaterial. They were marrying each other anyway. Today, in fact.
Which meant that tonight he would be out of excuses for not consummating the attraction between them. He gritted his teeth. They were not excuses. He had valid reasoning for resisting the heat that fired in his blood whenever she touched him. What he had said to her about his brother was true. Malik had been a man entirely ruled by his own desires. Tarek was a man made entirely of resistance. A man who had learned to shun everything unnecessary.
Seeing to his wife’s physical needs now fell under the banner of his responsibility, he could not deny that. But giving in to temptation in his bedroom after the speech seemed a violation of everything he was.
He had wanted her then. Hard, and fast. He had known it would be fast.
Heat lashed him like a whip.
He was more prepared now than he had been then. He had read not just one, but several books on the subject. And he had learned a great deal about female anatomy. He was grateful that he had, because he’d had no idea just how intricate the mechanics of the act could be.
Neither had he anticipated just how much his body would be captivated with the promise of it.
He had spent thirty years denying his impulses. His needs.
The prospect of no longer denying certain impulses loomed large. The thought, the very idea, had worked its way under his skin like a bullet, traveling through his