His Defiant Desert Queen(55)

His mouth covered hers, his tongue parting her lips to take her mouth even as he thrust smoothly, deeply into her body, filling her, stretching her.

He felt unbelievable.

She felt unbelievable.

Jemma’s eyes burned and her chest ached, emotion bubbling up inside of her. Her arms slid down around his shoulders to hold him tighter. He was big and powerful and yet he fit her, and felt perfect to her.

Mikael kissed her, drawing her tongue into his mouth, sucking the tip even as he buried himself deeper into her body. She welcomed his weight and the fullness that stole her breath, and then he began to move. His lean sculpted hips dipped and he pressed deeper, then withdrew, only to stroke deep into her again.

She sighed and arched as he hit a spot inside her that tingled with pleasure. “More,” she said, pressing up against him as he drove into her.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It doesn’t hurt. It feels so good.” And it was true. It felt delicious everywhere. She felt delicious. Everything inside her was warm and sweet and bright. She felt like sunshine and honey, orange and spice and each stroke made her sigh a little deeper, and press against him a little harder.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, meeting each of his thrusts, needing the friction, feeling the tension build. Each stroke of his body made her nerve endings tense, tighten, tingle.

He drove into her faster, increasing the rhythm. She loved the rhythm, the deep hard thrusts, the slickness of their bodies together, the warmth of his chest against hers. She could smell the scent of him, and them together, and it smelled right, felt right, more right than anything she’d ever felt before.

It didn’t make sense, but then, none of this made sense and maybe passion never did.

The teasing tension within her quickened, sharpened, becoming bigger, and more powerful.

She panted and strained against him, wanting to come, not sure she could come and then he slipped his hand between them, stroking her even as he thrust hard into her wet tight body.

She wasn’t prepared for the intensity of the orgasm and she screamed his name as he continued to stroke her, pushing her over the edge, her control shattering, her body climaxing, convulsively tightening around him.

He tensed, strained, his big powerful body arching as he buried himself deep inside her. She was still convulsing around him, her body squeezing him. With a guttural cry, he pulled out, making sure he spilled his seed into the sheets and not her.

She rolled over on the bed, on to her back, eyes closed, still struggling to catch her breath. He followed, lying on his side, next to her, his hand settling low on her hip.

She floated, feeling blissfully relaxed, and yet also very aware of Mikael at her side. She could feel the pressure of his hand, the warmth of his skin, smell his masculine spicy scent, practically hear his steady heartbeat. He was more real to her right now than she was.

He’d become her world in four days. It was exactly as she’d feared.

Jemma opened her eyes to find Mikael looking at her, his dark eyes so beautiful but so impossible to read. “Yes?” she whispered, dazzled, dazed.

“How do you feel?”

She let out a soft laugh and she turned to him, moving into his arms to rest her face on his chest. She could hear his heartbeat, smell his scent.

He smelled good. He felt good. He felt perfect, really.

“Good,” she said softly, smiling unsteadily, because her emotions were bubbling up high and fast. “Very, very good.”

They slept for an hour like that and Jemma woke first, sleepily stirring but couldn’t move as Mikael’s arms were around her and his muscular thigh was tucked between hers.

She lifted her head, looked down at him. He was still asleep, his thick black lashes beautiful onyx crescents against the gold of his cheek.

He looked different asleep. Younger. Boyish. Just a man, not a sheikh.

She put her head back down and nestled closer, liking the weight of his arm, the texture of his skin. He felt right. Perfect.

Did other women feel this way after making love? She’d had sex before but it hadn’t felt like this. Like something important had happened. Something significant.

Even now she felt the rippling of emotion, like aftershocks. Something inside her felt aware, awake. Stirred.

Was this love? It couldn’t be. She had to be feeling merely the side effect of seduction, and passion, all the result of his expert lovemaking.

If that was the case, then why did her very heartbeat seem to repeat his name? Mik-ael. Mik-ael. Mik-ael.

A moment later, he shifted, rolling on to his back, carrying her on top of him. His hand tangled in her long hair, and he parted her thighs, pushing her down against his hips. He was hard again, his erection rubbing against her. “Are you too sore to let me love you again?” he asked, his deep voice as husky and smoky as his dark eyes.