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She shook her head. “No.”
His eyes glinted with the threat of reprisal.“No?”he repeated.
“It’s too dangerous. I could fall.”
His passionate mouth thinned. “Do you really think I’d allow that to happen? And don’t pretend a little danger doesn’t stimulate you. You’re a passionate woman. It’s time to embrace that side of you.”
“I won’t be forced!” she said in a shrill voice, hating that he was bringing out a side of her that had never been awakened by anyone else.
He lifted his hands and settled them on her shoulders, one hand then drifting down her arm, brushing over her hip and then untying the little belt around her waist. As her nightgown fluttered apart, he moved his hand down her stomach before he slipped it between her thighs.
She gasped unsteadily as he began to stroke her clit with just the right amount of pressure, ensuring all the strength drained out of her limbs and all the fight drained out of her system.
“Who said anything about force?” he asked silkily.
“I hate you,” she gritted out, using every last bit of her strength to tell him the truth before an orgasm shuddered through her and she could barely stand let alone talk.
His eyes hardening, he said, “And yet your body can’t deny it wants me. I’m only sorry that makes you so…vindictive.”
He turned her around and pressed her so that she was bent against the railing. He didn’t even need to flip up her nightgown, it was short enough to bare her ass, and his big hands caressed her cheeks, making her shudder again. That she was desperate for his touch only amplified her loathing.
“Tell me you want me inside you,” he said gruffly. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
“Go to hell!”
“Such a fighter,” he mused darkly. “It seems a shame to waste all that energy on rebelling against me when you know you want me to take you out here, where cameras even now might be snapping pictures of the famous sheikh and sheikha fucking where anyone might see us.” His voice lowered. “Or does that turn you on,habibi?”
She groaned, his words alone making her wet with invitation, her whole body screaming for ultimate release. “Just…get it over with,” she snarled.
He pressed his hand to her saturated pussy, stroking her wet flesh with a little sound of triumph. “Not until you ask me nicely.”
“Can youpleasefuck me now before someone spies on us and leaks photos to the damn press—“
She gasped and quivered with both passion and indignation as he pushed inside her in one long, deep stroke that bounced her against the railing, her startled gasp also filled with awe. She’d had no idea sex could be so…heavenly.
Leaning over the rail, with her breasts tipping free, she might as well be flying, soaring while her husband—herhusband!—fucked her. He had a knack of making her forget how she hated him, how their marriage was a farce with no love between them.
But what did love matter when they were so good together physically, with their bodies in-synch even if their minds were far apart?
The friction was just shy of painfully delicious as his smooth strokes soon became rougher, harder, and he pounded her ever closer to an abyss that had nothing to do with the white sandy beach far below.
She was close…so close. Then he reached between her legs and found her sweet spot, his touch setting her off. She came hard, her shrill cry joined soon after by his long, low growling-grunt as his seed ejected deep inside her.
But if she expected him to disconnect from her, physically and emotionally, she was wrong. He bent over her, his big hands caressing her sweat-dampened skin and his warm lips trailing kisses along her nape.
A seagull called out as it wheeled above them, its wingtips flashing bright white under the hot sun, the deep azure waves glinting and sparkling.
Yet the spectacular visual was secondary, an afterthought compared to the man behind her whose touch even now sent her body into raptures, as though her wild orgasm was giving out aftershocks. His big hands wielded pleasure in all the right places, places that were now awakened and ultra-responsive, while his lips and his prickly jaw tantalized with its abrasive coarseness.
“Let’s go inside,” he murmured near her ear. “You’re covered in goose bumps.”
She nodded, too mortified to admit that he had been the one who’d manufactured them, not the brisk air rallying against the heat of the sun.
He stepped back and carefully detached from her, his grunt reinforcing her own separation anxiety. When they were together, she was able to pretend nothing else mattered. Apart they were separate in every way.
He reached for her hand, and hesitating for just a fraction of a second, she accepted his clasp and followed him into the kitchen.
“I was thinking a fruit salad for lunch,” he suggested, nodding toward the fruit bowl overflowing with local produce. “Something light that will tide us over until dinner.”
