Desert Fantasies(25)

‘But if you have waited this long, surely a few more minutes won’t matter?’

‘I might die before then,’ she replied and threw her head back into the pillows as he kissed his way up her inner thigh. ‘Oh God.’

‘Do you like that?’

‘Mmm,’ she managed. He must have been listening because she felt his fingers trace the waistline of her lace panties, felt them sneak under and scoop them down, felt his hands gentle her legs apart.

Oh God.

Every cell in her body tensed and clamped shut. This was it!

It was, and yet it wasn’t, for in one shocked moment she realised his head was still between her thighs. ‘You can’t,’ she said, then he parted her and she felt the sweep of his tongue against her inner lips and she almost cried out with the utter pleasure of it—did cry out when she felt his tongue circle that tiny, concentrated nub of nerve endings.

Already she was lost. She was panting now, lost in a new world with no idea how to find her way out and with no wish to find her way out any time soon. Not until she found this magical place he was taking her.

She hated him for making her wait, for delivering such exquisite torture, hated him and loved him for making her feel so very much.

Just when she thought she could not take any more, she felt his fingers upon her, circling her very core, working in train with his busy lips and tongue. One finger pressed inside her and her muscles clamped down at the invasion. But it was hardly unwanted. A swish of his tongue and she sighed and relaxed, only to feel another push into her alongside it.

Suddenly it was too much. There was too much to enjoy. Too much pleasure. She felt that pleasure spiral upwards, felt her whole being reduced to sensation, and then with a final flick of his clever tongue and press of his fingers inside her she was sent catapulting into the sky.

He held her while she rocked back to earth. He pressed kisses to her belly and breasts and lips where she tasted herself on his mouth.

‘But you …’ she managed, feeling as limp as a rag doll.

‘Think you’re amazing.’

And some part of her that still registered compliments glowed. She had done nothing and he could still say that? She sensed him rise up, heard the swish of fabric over skin and opened her eyes to see him between her legs, his hand guiding his erection towards her. So large. So alive and wondrous.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ she whispered in awed reverence. ‘Do you think.?’

‘Oh,’ he said, leaning down to suck her into his kiss, ‘I know.’



She tasted his mouth on hers then, felt it tug her into his world, convincing her with the persuasive play of his tongue and losing her until with a start she realised he was there, butting and straining against her entrance. Even when she panicked, his hand was there below her to lift her and ease the angle.

But he was there, right there, and she would have panicked but he was also right there with her, taking her higher again with his kiss. Suddenly a pressure became a presence and, with a flash of pain that went as quickly as it had come, he was inside her.

She stilled then, stunned by what had happened, feeling his fullness deep within her body. He was inside her and, now the moment of pain had gone, she felt only that amazing sensation. But was that it? Was this how it was supposed to be?

He kissed her eyes. ‘Are you all right?’ She blinked up at him, seeing his concern in the tiny creases around his eyes, and she knew she loved him, just a little, even then. He shifted his elbows, a movement that shifted his body subtly so very far below and she gasped at the unexpected friction.

‘I’m good,’ she said. ‘You feel so good.’

He growled at that and raised his hips, and she felt the sliding loss of him even as muscles she’d never realised she possessed battled to hang on.

He thrust back into her, this time with greater force. Why had she never done this? she wondered as her head was driven back into the pillows. Why had she waited when the pleasure was so exquisite, so addictive?

Then he withdrew and thrust into her again and she knew why—because she had wanted to save herself for the one who was special, the one who could make her feel this good. Zoltan made her feel this good.



Zoltan was the one.

She had saved herself for the very best.

And with every thrust of his hips she knew that to be true; with every thrust of his hips she knew she would never find a higher place.

But she found it now, when the slide of him inside her turned incendiary, and she combusted in a shattering explosion that featured the sun, moon and stars.

It could have ended there, but she heard his roar, felt his shuddering climax, and it drove her still further through the galaxies until he launched her again into nothingness and the sky gave way to the glow of a tiny kernel of knowledge.

She loved him.

Something had shifted the sands beneath his feet. Something had shifted the foundations of his very world while he wasn’t looking.

Something?

Or someone?

For, while Zoltan’s body pulsed with the post-release hum as he lay back against the pillows, his breathing slowly steadying, his mind grappled with the impossible. She was perfect in every way. How could she be? Yet she had responded instinctively to his every move, naturally and sometimes even wantonly, despite being uneducated and unrehearsed, and her unskilled reactions had stoked the fire raging inside him, higher and higher, until he had even felt himself consumed.

When had that ever happened before?

How could she, a virgin before this night, do such a thing? He had expected to pleasure her, to make this coupling as easy as possible. Never had he expected that he would find paradise himself.



He turned to her, touched the fingers of one hand to the line of her cheek, wanting to put into words how he felt but unsure how to go about it, surprised when he felt moisture there. He sat up. ‘Did I hurt you?’

She shook her head, blinking away the tears. ‘I had no idea. I didn’t know it could be that good.’

‘Usually it’s not,’ he said, sliding one arm beneath her. Then, because some part of him realised that honesty could be couched in better terms, he went on. ‘It’s never been that good for me. Never before.’ She looked up at him, her dark eyes wide and a tiny frown between her brows, as if wondering whether to believe him or not. Suddenly she shuddered in his arms and her eyes and lips squeezed shut, a woman battling to keep control.

‘Aisha,’ he said, smoothing her brow with his free hand as tears insisted on squeezing past her closed lids, ‘I did hurt you. I’m sorry. I was trying to be gentle.’

She shook her head, tried to turn away, but he gathered her closer into the circle of his arms. ‘No. I was thinking about Mustafa and what he said he’d do to me. Zoltan, if you had not come I would still be there. If you had not saved me, it would be him in my bed. It would be him.’ She shook her head. ‘Oh God, it would be him in my bed.’

He tried to gentle her with his hands as his own heart grew weightier in his chest. ‘He cannot hurt you now.’

‘He would have.’ She sniffed back on the threat of more tears. ‘He had an old woman examine me,’ she said, her voice thready and thin. ‘He wouldn’t believe me until she had poked and prodded and confirmed what I had told him. Only then he believed. Only then he left me alone.’

Her voice cracked on the last word and this time she dissolved into tears. He pulled her in, cradled her head against his chest and let her cry, her tears ripping at his soul.

He did not deserve her thanks. She had been right all along—he was a barbarian. He—who knew Mustafa better than anyone—had paid no heed to what she must have suffered at his half-brother’s hands. He had seen her rescue as a way of evening the score between them. And once she had been in his hands he had asked her nothing. He had demanded everything.

Worst of all, he had not believed her.

He was no better than his half-brother and that knowledge tore at his gut. He dropped his head to hers, pressed his lips to her hair. ‘I am so sorry, Aisha, that I did not believe you. I was so wrong.’

He lifted her tear-streaked face to his, kissed her damp eyes and the tip of her nose. ‘Can you ever forgive me for the way I have treated you?’

She blinked up at him, her soft lips parted, looking so lost and vulnerable, so very kissable, that he felt the kick all the way down in his groin. She gave a tentative smile, touched a slim hand to his chest and down his side, her fingers curling deliciously into the flesh of his buttock. ‘Maybe,’ she said hesitantly, taking his hand, putting it to her breast, her eyelids fluttering closed as his hand cupped her breast, his thumb stroking her nipple.

‘Anything,’ he said as she set both her hands on him, exploring, tracing every detail, setting his skin alight, turning his voice to gravel. ‘Name it.’

‘Make me forget him. Make love to me again. I mean, when it is possible.’

He growled low in his throat and, still holding onto her, flipped onto his back so she straddled him, his eyes drinking in the sight of her rising up from him, his hands drinking in her satin-smooth skin.

‘Oh,’ she said, her eyes widening as she realised he was already primed beneath her, ‘I thought it would be too soon.’

‘No,’ he said as he encouraged her hips higher so he could position himself, loving the way she so naturally assisted with the movement of her lush body to find her centre. ‘With you, Aisha,’ he said, as he drew her down his long length, ‘anything is possible.’