Lily groaned, only to gasp and stumble as abruptly he let her go.
“No,” she protested, swaying, trying to find her balance. “I don’t want you to stop.”
“I am not stopping, Habibti,” he said, his voice thick. “Take off your clothes.”
“No.” She reached for and gripped the edges of his shirt. “You take off yours.” Then, she jerked her hands apart. Material ripped, buttons bouncing onto the thick carpets, and Isma’il’s long fingers curved around her wrists, forcing them down to her sides.
Lily panted, fighting for breath. His shirt hung open to the waist revealing powerful shoulders and broad chest, muscles sharply defined, bronze skin like oiled silk. She pulled against his fingers, wanting to touch him and when he didn’t let her go, she rose on her toes and pressed her mouth to his throat, the hot, salty taste of his skin in her mouth. A shiver went through him and he cursed in Arabic, forcing her wrists behind her back, holding them in one hand. She tried to free herself, but his fingers were like iron, locking her wrists in place.
“Do as you are told,” he murmured. “Or I shall have to punish you.”
A shudder racked her as he lifted his free hand, trailing it down her throat to the neckline of her tunic. It felt like he’d left a burning line down her skin. Marking her.
She tried to free her hands again, but he forced her closer, bringing her body against his from breast to hip. It was like standing too close to a fire and she was catching alight. Burning.
“An eye for an eye, Habibti.” Isma’il bent, the heat of his mouth at her throat. Another shudder went through her and she closed her eyes, sensation streaking down through her body, straight between her thighs.
Adrenalin flooded through her, making her struggle harder. But she wasn’t afraid. This was what she’d chosen. This was what she wanted. A chance to resist as that sixteen year old girl she’d once been had not. A chance to release all the shame and the anger she’d kept locked away. Release it, then exorcise it from her life completely.
Lily screamed out her rage. Struggled in his hold. Used Isma’il’s strength to find again the pride that had been stolen from her.
Eventually, the adrenaline began to fall away and she stopped struggling, chest heaving. The intensity of the emotion should have left her feeling drained, but she didn’t feel drained. She felt alive. Wild. Free. Turning her head, she caught Isma’il’s lower lip between her teeth and bit it. His body jerked, but he didn’t let go, the expression on his dark, fierce face intense, the color of his eyes shading into deep, almost forest green. His mouth, where she’d bitten him, looked swollen and a fierce satisfaction unfurled inside her.
“Still afraid for me, Sheikh?” she panted, reckless. “I could take you anytime.”
Isma’il smiled. Dark and dangerous. “I want you naked. Now.”
“Make me.”
“I do not need to make you.” His free hand gripped her chin, keeping her gaze on his. “You will take your clothes off because I asked you to do so. Because you cannot bear to have anything between your skin and my hand.” His thumb traced her lower lip, stroking gently.
But she didn’t want gentle. She bit his thumb. Hard.
Isma’il’s breath hissed. “Ah, Habibti. You are no lily. You are a lioness. With claws.” And he kissed her again, hard and hot, one hand keeping her wrists locked behind her, while the other gripped her chin to hold her in place.
Lily’s excitement soared, recklessness pouring through her. Oh God, yes. This was what she craved. This was what she’d been craving all her life. A man who could match her. Challenge her. Help her be the woman she’d always wanted to be. The woman she should have been. Wild and strong and free.
She let herself go lax in his arms. Let the kiss gentle, become almost sweet. And then, when she felt his grip on her loosen, she wriggled, twisting out of his arms.
Isma’il made no move towards her, watching her as she took a couple of steps away from him, exhilarated and triumphant she’d managed to get away.
“Shall I chase you?” he said in a lazy, sensual drawl. “Is that what you would like?”
Lily began to back away from him, but not towards the entrance of the tent. Towards the bed. “You’re assuming I want to get away.” Her voice came out breathless, uneven. “I don’t.”
He began to walk towards her with all the slow, predatory grace of a hunting cat. “No, you don’t. You want to surrender to me. That’s what you want to do.”
“Not yet.” The bed bumped against the back of her thighs and there was nowhere else to go, yet he kept coming, not stopping until he was crowding her right back against the edge, towering over her. Thrilled by him, she put her hands out to push against him, but he knocked her hands away, grabbing the neckline of her tunic. “Yes, Lily. Now,” he growled and ripped the material apart, silk parting easily under the strength of his fingers.