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He was hers. He was hers. No other woman had ever had him like this. He was inside of her. The only man she had ever been with.
What they were giving each other was beautiful, and in that moment, she thought of the woman. The woman that Cairo was bringing back here. That woman would not have this. Only she did.
She would own him forever in this way.
She shuddered as he thrust in the rest of the way, as pleasure replaced the slight pain that she felt at the invasion. As need began to ripple through her once more.
He thrust hard and fast into her, and stopped when both of them came close to their peak. He let them come down, before pushing them to the edge again. And again and again. Until she was shaking. Begging yet again. “Finish it,” she said.
“I don’t ever want it to end,” he said.
“Please.” She lifted her head up from the pillow and she kissed his mouth.
He growled, his hips pistoning forward, thrusting into her over and over again as he cried out her name, his grip bruising on her hips. “Riyaz,” she shouted out his name, while his own release was a wordless exultation, another feral growl that echoed in the chamber.
And then she held him, against her body, until he reversed their positions and cradled her to his chest. “Mine,” he said.
He stroked her hair, and she snuggled into his chest. And she felt the profound sense of peace like she had never felt before.
“Mine,” she whispered.
Even though she knew that once this moment ended, those proclamations would be nothing more than lies.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHENHEWOKEin the dark, everything was soft. There was a soft mattress beneath him, and a soft woman lying against him.
His body did not hurt. He was not cold.
And he woke all the same. Yet wholly different too.
It was quite unlike anything he had ever experienced before. And for a moment, he resisted opening his eyes. Resisted rousing at all. He had never even dreamed anything this nice.
But soon, the sunshine beckoned, and when he opened his eyes, it was Brianna.
“Good morning,” he said. “That was fantastic sex.”
She opened her eyes, and looked at him. “That’s quite a greeting.”
“I do not see the point in denying what it was.”
“Yes. But maybe you should work on your poetry.”
“I can do that,” he said, taking himself back to books he had read. To romance. To the way that men talked to women in those books. “The heat of your body warmed me in ways nothing else ever could. But that should not surprise me. You are the sun, after all.”
“I’m what?”
“The first time I saw the sun... You were standing in it.”
She shifted, and he looked into her lovely face.
“What?”
“That day in the palace. I had not come upstairs yet. I had not seen the sun. It was only with you that I saw it for the first time.”
“Oh. Well. That is adjacent to poetry. I am impressed.”
“I do try. Or maybe not.”
