Page 33

Tara's heart raced from the intensity of her orgasm, her emotions a whirlwind inside her. Afterward, she slept deeply, completely at ease. Oman shook her gently, but she wasn’t ready to wake up.

How was he going to sleep when he was rock hard? His wife never cared for his desires. With that thought,

He sighed and did what he usually did. Ahem.

His hands were on his groin, and his eyes never left her beautiful face while he pumped his fist on his cock.

He couldn't help but feel a bit like a creep in that moment.

Later that night, Tara stirred awake, which was a bad move because the next moment, Oman lingered close, his breath hot against her neck.

His fingers traced the curve of her shoulder, slipping under the robe, caressing the bare skin beneath. Tara shivered, her breath catching as Oman's touch grew bolder, exploring the softness of her collarbone down to the valley between her breasts.

"Finally, you're awake," he murmured, his voice hard with need. "I couldn't sleep all night. You left me hanging."

His voice was sleepy but rough. His hand was teasing, while his lips brushed against her ear. "I am going to eat you, Tara," he whispered.

Tara's breath hitched at his words.

"Now?" she asked softly, her eyes searching his.

She couldn't believe this man was always ready to eat her.

"Yes, right now. I've been waiting all night for you to wake up so I can devour you." The look in his eyes, while gentle now, held a shadow of something darker.

Tara's gaze dropped to his chest, and she nodded shyly.

A smirk tugged at his lips. She was not resisting anymore.

and he liked it. NO. He loved it.

Oman's free hand cupped her face, turning it towards him as he claimed her lips in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. Tara melted into him, her hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the muscles tense beneath her touch.

Oman's lips found her throat, kissing a trail down to her shoulder, while his hand continued to explore her upper body. The robe slipped further down, revealing more of her bosoms to his hungry gaze.

She could feel the hard rod pressing against hers. Oman's hands slid down her sides, gripping her hips as he pulled her closer, his intentions clear.

He jerked his hips into her.

His actions were abruptly halted by the faintest sound carried on the wind—a distant echo of hooves that shouldn't be there. Oman's body tensed, and his muscles coiled like a predator on high alert.

Tara sensed the change immediately, her head tilting in question, but Oman was already on his feet, pulling his robe tighter around her before grabbing his sword.

"What is it?" Tara asked, her voice trembling with worry.

Oman didn't respond right away, his ears straining to catch any hint of danger. The desert night was eerily silent, but Oman's instincts, honed from years as a warrior, screamed at him to be cautious.

"I heard something," Oman replied, his tone a low whisper as he scanned the horizon.

The desert night was eerily quiet, but his warrior's instincts told him to be cautious.

"Stay here; don't make a sound," he instructed firmly, his tone brooking no argument. Before Tara could protest, Oman was already moving into the darkness, his steps silent and deliberate.

Before Tara could protest, Oman melted into the darkness, his footsteps as silent as a shadow. Her heart raced, her mind swirling with what-ifs and fears.

Oman moved through the night with practiced ease, every sense heightened. The footprints he discovered confirmed his fears: they were being followed. His jaw tightened as he considered the implications. Shahbaz. The name burned in his mind like a curse.

Fuck, this can't be happening right now when they have travelled miles and are really close to their destination.

He turned back towards their tent, his mind racing. They needed to move quickly. Shahbaz wouldn't come alone; he would bring his men or his skilled army. Oman's grip tightened on his sword hilt as he increased his pace.

Tara stood outside, straining to peer into the darkness, her heart pounding painfully in her chest. The seconds felt like hours, and her mind raced with fears of the worst.

Her thoughts were cut off by a hand on her shoulder. She spun around with a gasp, but it was Oman. Relief surged through her, but it was fleeting.

"We need to go now," Oman said urgently. Tara nodded, not daring to question him.

Oman grabbed her hand, pulling her away from the camp. They moved swiftly through the dunes, his eyes constantly scanning for any sign of pursuit.

As they hurried away, Tara glanced back at their camp and their camel, a pang of concern piercing her heart. Why do we always have to leave our camel behind? She thought anxiously. Her favourite animal was now left alone in the dark desert.

She worried about the camel's survival, her mind racing with fears for its safety. How will it survive on its own?

In the distance, unsettling noises from approaching men pierced the night. The faint sound of hurried footsteps grew louder, mixed with shouts.

She could almost hear the thudding of her own heart as she imagined the dire consequences if they had still been at the tent.

Soon, the chaotic sounds of men scattering in every direction became apparent. It was as if they had picked up a trail and were conducting a frantic search, each one desperate. The silent desert went alive with the yelling and the clatter of weapons.

The nearby desert rocks offered a strategic advantage, providing them with essential cover. But hiding in the rocks wasn't a permanent solution. Shahbaz would certainly think of pursuing them there, which would buy them enough time to make their escape.

He planned to use the rough landscape to hide their path and create false trails. They managed to escape as the jagged peaks and deep ravines made it hard to follow directly.

Climbing higher, the mountains became even more dangerous. The rocks were loose, and the paths were narrow and risky.

Tara struggled to keep up with Oman, her feet aching from the relentless pace. The endless stretch of sand and rock seemed never-ending. Even though the sun had set, the heat still clung to them, making each step harder.

How much longer would they have to run before finding a real home?

“Oman, where are we going?” she finally asked, her voice faint as she gasped for breath.

Oman glanced back and helped her climb the rock. Her throat was dry, and they had no water or supplies left.

Dawn approached. Oman cursed under his breath.

The growing light made them more visible and easier to spot.

"Oman, where are we going?" she finally asked, her voice barely a whisper while she huffed.

He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. It was a map.

“There’s someone we need to see,” Oman said firmly, not leaving room for more questions. But Tara was still curious.

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her along.

“Who?” she asked, trying to keep up.

“A man named Kasim,” Oman replied. “We used to be enemies, but he might help us.”

"Enemy, but.." she asked him but Oman didn't answer because he didn't even had an answer for that.

After a whole day in the scorching desert, Tara was exhausted, her feet dragged through the hot sand, each step feeling heavier. The sun had drained their energy, and every muscle ached, but she kept going, knowing they couldn’t stop.

As the sun set, the desert's heat eased, and the cooler evening brought some relief. But still they were parched, hungry, and weak.

At midnight, Oman's keen eyes caught sight of a promising silhouette in the distance and the fire burning in the pits and lamps. Through the haze of fatigue, he made out the shape of a small camp nestled among the dunes.

He found the clan.

Oman's pace quickened as he moved further. His grip on Tara's hand tightened.

As they approached, Oman scanned the surroundings carefully, his instincts on high alert.

As they neared the camp, a group of people emerged from the tents and around the camp, their hands on their weapons.

There were not only men but also women, each dressed in rugged desert attire adorned with the clan's distinctive feathered turbans.

The feathers, some dyed a fierce red, deep blue, or earthy brown, symbolised their prowess and rank within the clan.

Tara tensed, but Oman raised a hand in a gesture of peace, signalling his intention to approach without causing harm.

"I need to see Kasim," Oman called out, his voice clear and authoritative, cutting through the tense air.

The men and women exchanged wary glances, their fingers twitching towards their weapons. The air was thick with hostility, and it seemed as if the situation could devolve into violence at any moment.

But before the situation could escalate, a familiar face stepped forward from the crowd. It was one of the men Oman had encountered before, someone who seemed to recognise him immediately. Rashid.

"Commander, we were expecting you," Rashid said, his tone respectful as he gestured for Oman to follow him.

Oman and Tara approached Kasim's tent, a large structure that commanded attention even among the many imposing figures of the camp.

The firelight flickered, casting dancing shadows on the tent's exterior.

Kasim Seated on an ornate carpet inside his tent, he wore a particularly elaborate turban with an array of dark feathers that marked his leadership and experience. The tent was decorated with luxurious fabrics and intricate designs, contrasting with the harsh simplicity of the desert outside.

Kasim's single visible eye held a sharp, calculating gaze, while the soft glow of the fires cast flickering shadows that accentuated his presence.

"Oman," Kasim said, his voice a deep rumble.

"Kasim," Oman said.

"It's been many years." Kasim said it with a sigh.

"Indeed," Oman replied, his tone measured.

"Much has changed since our last encounter. I think tables have turned now." Kasim said it in a mocking tone.

Kasim's gaze flicked to Tara, who stood close to Oman.

"She's my wife," Oman said possessively.

While Tara's exhaustion and fear were barely concealed as she clung to Oman's side.

"What brings you here, Oman?" Kasim's voice was a deep rumble, laced with suspicion.

He continued, "Why did you come running like you're being hunted in the dead of night? And why did you turn away my men when I sent them to you?"

Oman met Kasim's gaze steadily; his own eyes narrowed with intent. "You were looking for me," he said, his voice measured and firm.

Kasim shook his head slightly, the feathered turban rustling with the movement.

"It's something else entirely. You appear to be in an emergency. I am not a fool. Tell me, what drives you to seek me here?"

Oman's expression hardened. "First, you must tell me why you sought me out," he demanded, his tone ringing.

"What is it that you want from me?"

Just as Kasim opened his mouth to reply, a voice pierced the heavy silence.

"Oman!"

The voice was unmistakable, laden with surprise. Oman's heart skipped a beat as he turned sharply towards the entrance of the tent. There, by the dim light from the camp outside, stood Fatima.

The sight of her was a shock, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze.

Fatima, his sister, looked at him with wide eyes; her presence in the midst of Kasim's fierce bandits was almost surreal. Her appearance, though calm, held a blend of relief and worry.

Oman's breath caught in his throat. "Fatima?" he whispered, disbelieving.