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‘No... Don’t leave me...’ It was a yearning cry and she felt rather than heard the laughter that shook his long body.
‘No,’ he muttered, rough against her lips. ‘Definitely no. I have travelled halfway across the world for this. I have no intention of giving up now.’
He had only moved to pull her underneath him so that the heat and weight of his body pressed her into the scattered cushions of the sofa. He was almost crushing the breath out of her but she welcomed the heated imprisonment, knowing that this was what she had been dreaming of at nights, what she had been longing for through the days.
His mouth was on hers, his tongue seeking hers, tasting her, inviting her, provoking her. She followed his lead so gladly, her head spinning with the joy of it, the sensual force of his kisses making her mind blow apart. The wet tee shirt was damp against her face but she didn’t care. It brought home to her that this was no fantasy, no figment of her imagination. It was real—it was true. He was here, with her and this was actually happening.
He tasted wonderful. He smelled wonderful. He felt wonderful. He was all male and everything about her that was female was responding to his touch on her skin, his fingers tangling in her hair. His hands were everywhere, touching, caressing, enticing, demanding. When he curved them over her breasts, cupping her through the soft wool of her sweater, she arched her back up to meet the caress, pressing herself against his touch. Needing more.
Her own hands were scrabbling at his clothes, tugging the leather jacket off and discarding it somewhere on the floor. The tee shirt followed it, tangling crazily, wildly with her own sweater as he pulled it off to allow him freer access to the curves of her breasts pushing against the pink silk of her bra. A moment later that too had joined the growing bundle of their clothes on the floor and Clemmie’s breath hissed in between her teeth as skin burned against skin and she felt she would pass out from the pleasure the intimate friction brought her.
His mouth was at her breast now, suckling her, delicately at first, then harder, deeper, stronger. Drawing her distended nipple deep into his mouth and scraping his teeth gently over it so that she moaned aloud in uncontrolled response.
‘More...more...’
She panted it from between dry lips, her body writhing under his, knowing what she wanted and yet not daring to believe that it might actually be within her grasp. That she might actually know the truth of this man’s possession.
‘There will be more—I promise,’ Karim assured her, thick-voiced. ‘I’ve waited—and wanted—and now I’ve come to take my reward—and to give you all that you need. Like this...’
Another set of heated kisses were pressed against her other breast, licking it, nibbling at it until it was burning in sensation like the first.
‘And this...’
That wicked mouth moved lower, sliding down over her skin, kissing its way to where the waistband of her jeans was an unwanted barrier. Clemmie’s breath caught in her throat as she waited, frozen, yearning, needing...
He paused for just a moment, tracing the line of her belt with the warmth of his tongue, and then he flicked open the buckle, slid down the zip, following the line of pale skin that he had exposed with yet more kisses as he tugged the soft denim from her hips.
‘Yes—oh, yes.’
Her hands tangled in the dark hair, holding him tight against her while her most intimate core pulsed in hungry anticipation, needing more, needing it now—and yet not wanting to lose a minute of every wonderful sensation he was creating in her. Bolder than she had ever anticipated being, she found the fastening of his jeans, tugging them open, fighting to push them off. Karim helped her, lifting his hips so that the material slipped down his legs, kicking them off the edge of the sofa before he came to settle, warm and strong, and so very powerful, between her opening thighs.
She was naked to him now. Naked and open and so very willing. The fear she might have thought would intervene, making her pause and hesitate, didn’t strike at all. Instead it was Karim who paused, drawing in a deep ragged breath, and he looked down into her eyes, searching for what he needed in her face.
‘This is your first time...’ The rough growl of his voice told him how hard he was finding it to keep his control for long enough to ask the question. ‘Are you...?’
‘Yes.’ Her kiss, hot, hungry, passionate, closed off the question he had been about to ask. He didn’t need to ask but she still had to reassure him, couldn’t let him wonder, doubt for a minute that this was what she wanted. ‘I couldn’t be any surer—I’ve waited so long—too long!’
The last word was a cry of shock and delight as, not needing any further encouragement, Karim yielded to the hungry force that was pulsing through him and eased himself inside her, sliding deep surprisingly easily where she was slick and moist with wanting him.
‘All right?’ he breathed, raw and uneven, and she couldn’t find a word to answer him. She could only nod again and again, pushing herself against him, opening up to him, drawing him in.
‘Yes...’ she managed as he shifted his weight, pressed harder, further.
Just for a moment there was a burning pain, a stinging discomfort that had her gasping, fingers digging into the hard naked shoulders above her, eyes open wide. For a couple of heartbeats she froze, waiting until the burn had subsided, but then she relaxed back against him, moving her hips to encourage him, slowly, tentatively at first then more confidently, faster, meeting every powerful thrust of his strong body into hers.
You’re mine.
The words sang inside her head as she gave herself up to the sensations that took over her body, loving the way they were building up, reaching for something just out of reach, something so wonderful she didn’t dare to begin to imagine it.
You’re mine and I’m yours—yours—yours...
And then there was no possibility of words, or thoughts, only feelings and wonder. Whatever had been out of reach was now rushing towards her, wild and glorious and out of this world. She opened herself up to it and let it take her, let him push her right over the edge into a brilliant and explosive world where there was nothing but herself and Karim and the sensations that they had created between them.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE NIGHT HAD slipped away from them, burned up in heat and hunger and wonderful, glorious fulfilment. At some point exhaustion had claimed them and they had dropped into sleep that had swamped them totally, keeping them unconscious until outside, beyond the window, the late winter sun finally began to rise.
Fingers of light crept under Clemmie’s closed lids, bringing her awake, and slowly, gingerly she stirred, easing herself up from the nest of blankets they had built around them at some point in the darkness of the night. With a smile that recalled the delights of their lovemaking she looked down at where Karim’s dark head rested against the crumpled pillows, one arm flung up beside it.
Karim. Her lover and her love. The man who had made her his so completely through the night.
In the new light the scars on his chest looked raw and angry, making her heart clench at the thought of him being hurt so badly. And at remembering that he had got them trying—but failing—to rescue his brother. With gentle fingertips she traced the brutal lines, smoothing a soft caress over them. She heard his breath hiss in between his teeth and lifted her head to look into those black, watchful eyes.
‘Did I hurt you? I’m sorry...’
‘No.’
He caught her chin in firm but gentle fingers, holding her still when she would have turned away, bringing his head down so very close to hers that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her skin.
‘No,’ he said again, deeper, rougher as his gaze seared her. ‘You caused me no pain. But I was surprised. Soraya hated the scars.’
She knew there had been other women before her but still it gave her heart a twist to hear her name.
‘But why? They were won in honour.’
The word fell into a pool of silence, making her world tilt sharply just once, then back again but to a point where she felt she no longer had a sense of balance. She had been so happy to see him reappear in her life that she hadn’t been able to think before she had flung herself into his arms. His touch had been like putting a flame to the blue touchpaper on an explosive, instantly devastating, destroying any hope of thinking rationally. She had given herself to him again and again without a care for her own safety or the protection of her heart. But now she could think and those unwanted thoughts reminded her that she had no idea at all what, other than the lust that had so clearly driven him, had brought him here.
I have travelled halfway across the world for this, he had said. But could he have travelled so very far only for that? No matter how powerfully he had wanted her, was that enough?
Because he had wanted her. How could she ever doubt that when her body still sang with the after-effects of the fulfilment she had known, parts of her aching, the delicate inner tissues bruised in a way she welcomed as the proof of her initiation into womanhood. The evidence of a man’s—this man’s—need of her, the hunger that his body had felt for hers. And hers for him.
