Goodiva's Secret by Sienna Mynx

Author:Sienna Mynx [Mynx, Sienna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: African American, African American Romance, interracial romance, multicultural romance, contemporary romance, romantic suspense
Publisher: The Divas Pen LLC
Published: 2020-05-04T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Goodiva Michelle Johnson was no virgin. Sex had been something she experimented with and then mastered since the age of eighteen. Though she remembered their first encounter as being an ardent, blazing, hot-blooded, torrid affair, nothing in her memory prepared her for the supercharged way he worshipped and loved her body. She could count on one hand how often she climaxed during sex without clitoral stimulation. It had to be the wine to push her so far so fast.

Jaxon stepped off the platform and began to undress. To see him better, Goodiva turned to her side and rested on her pillow. Clothed, he’d been mysterious, and starkly handsome. Naked, he was something to behold. The muscles in his thighs and arms, the sculpted beauty of his gladiator ass made her ache with desire between her legs. Skin discoloration from burns were all over his shoulder and left arm and torso like some macabre tribal tattoo. It was when he turned his back to her that she saw the most remarkable battle scar. Burned like some horrific stamp to his flesh between his shoulder blades was a large scorpion. It wasn’t old or a tattoo. It had to be something he recently endured. She searched her memory of his body when they first met. He had no tattoos or brands that she saw or recalled.

“What is that? When did you do that?” she asked.

Jaxon glanced back at her.

“It looks painful. Was it?” she sat up with genuine concern.

“I don’t remember the pain,” he smiled.

Margahm, United Arab Emirates, November 2016

The largest oil fields in Saudi Arabia were located in Magahm, which was the home of his jin Prince Khaled bin Abdullah. Asad hadn’t ventured far into the Saudi desert in all of his life. He knew his mother remarried and had been rumored to live in Sharjah. That was all he knew of her or the region. The Dubai Supply Authority had the desert under lock and key by mercenaries unheard of in the Western world. Asad closed his eyes to his discomfort. The Rolls Royce truck took to the sand dunes with reckless maneuvers and he suffered because of it. The continuous bumpy ride off the main roads across the sand made his back ache and heat up with pain. He walked with the aid of a cane. He had healed himself as fast as he could. But he was no fool. He wasn’t well.

The truck stopped. His jin’s men, sons of the Scorpion, were all cousins to him. They greeted him in their thobes and turban scarves that wrapped from their heads, then around their lower faces only revealing their eyes. He didn’t know one from the other. But they all knew him. It was in their eyes.

Armand was not granted the privilege of attending the meeting. The temperature boiled at 51 degrees Celsius, or 125 degrees Fahrenheit, but when he left the vehicle he could swear it was twice that. It hurt to breathe in the hot air.

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