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She shuddered at the impact of his sensual threat, the sensory overload of being sandwiched between his heat and the cool door, of feeling the steel of his erection nudging her oversensitized intimate flesh.
But it was hearing him call her “my heart” in her mother tongue that tore a sob from her depths, made her drag his head down and crash those cruelly arousing lips down on hers.
When he pulled away, his face had transformed into that of a total predator. “I wasn’t exaggerating before. You are tampering with my sanity, Jenan. I’ve never even imagined being out of control. But I am now. So don’t touch me again, don’t hurry me, don’t say a thing, if you don’t want to have a raving lunatic all over you.”
She giggled. “If this is you out of control, I’d hate to see you in it. You’d probably kill me with frustration—”
His lips crashed on hers, swallowing her words.
She’d imagined being kissed since she was old enough to know what kisses were. She’d tried many, many kisses before. It turned out she shouldn’t have bothered imagining or trying.
This was a kiss. From those lips. This man. A kiss from now on could only be his, each sweep and thrust burying her under an avalanche of sensations.
Then
she was flat on her back, and he was on top of her, like last night. But she was now fully naked and on her bed. And she combusted. She undulated beneath him, writhed, whimpered for him to please, please hurry. But he subdued her, took his time. He held her arms above her head as his other hand flowed down her face, her shoulder, ending up squeezing the aching heaviness of one breast.
His eyes were vehement with warning. “You can’t implore me to hurry. You can only moan in pleasure. That’s as much as I can endure.”
“Let me see you,” she moaned.
“You’re already breaking the rules.”
“You’re unfair,” she lamented.
“It’s your beauty that’s unfair.”
She tried to free her hands, needing them on any part of him without the barrier of clothes.
He only immobilized her, then, growling deep like a feasting predator, he continued owning her body.
He took her to the brink so many times, until tears slid down the sides of her face and wet her hair. Only then did he come up to straddle her.
He kneaded her breasts, grazed her nipples. “I’ve never seen or tasted anything so beautiful.”
Her hands shook on his belt. “I want to see you—I want you filling me. Please, Numair, please, now.”
He escaped her flailing efforts, tore off his shoes and socks, then surged up to stand on the bed over her, his endless legs like pillars of a great statue on both sides of her. Then he started stripping, exposing his glory.
She rose to her elbows, gaping at his proportionate perfection, all that rippling power encased in polished teak, accentuated with dark silk. But her heart fisted until it emptied at the evidence of violence he’d suffered. She’d expected he’d led a life full of danger, what had led to his current expertise. But his body painted a far harsher life than she’d even imagined.
A cry spilled from her as she surged up, hands and lips trembling over his scars. Once she’d reached the one just beside his heart, she felt pain echoing what he must have once felt, and tears filled her eyes.
His hand closed over both of hers over his heart. “It was long ago, in another life.”
Her tears flowed. “You must have suffered so much...”
“I survived, and it made me stronger.” He came down on his knees, dragged her up and crushed her to his length, his lips scorching her face. “And it all brought me here, to this point in time, to you.”
What he said was so poignant, the spasm in her chest intensified.
He raised her face to his. “Do my scars repel you?”
That turned off her distress like a tap. “No. Like those harsh, merciless things I felt in your nature, these marks of suffering and endurance make you even more unbearably arousing to me. They make me want to devour you even more. Numair—” she moaned between kisses all over him, reaching for the briefs that did nothing to imprison his erection “—you’re more beautiful than I even imagined. I want to worship each inch of you.”
With a groan of relief, he dodged her groping lips and hands and tore off his briefs in barely leashed ferocity. “Later, ya hayati, much later.”
Hearing him use another of the lavish endearments used in her region, “my life” this time, made her collapse back on the bed, shaking with anticipation, but also intimidation. She’d never seen anything approaching his girth and length and hardness.
