He looked like a man at war with himself. A man who burned for what he wanted and yet was desperately afraid to take it.
She knew this would be hard for him. Had seen his fear. But he had to face this. Had to know that the passionate side of his nature was not something he should be afraid of. Just as she had embraced hers.
Lily turned over. “I’m okay, Isma’il,” she whispered.
“I hit you,” he said in a raw, guttural voice. “I hurt you.”
“I wanted you to. This is passion, Sheikh. This is desire. It isn’t anger or violence. It’s different.” She trembled, wanting so much for him to understand. Help him the way he’d helped her. “And what you feel, I feel too.” She raised her bound hands, looped them over his head, her hands tangling in the black of his hair. “Touch me.” She spread her legs in invitation. “Feel what you do to me.”
For a long moment, she didn’t know if he would. But then she felt his hands on her stomach, easing down between her thighs, the gentleness of his fingers sliding over her sex. She shuddered.
“You’re wet,” his voice was rough. His fingers moved, surer this time, stroking her. The look on his face began to change, the shock and the fear fading, hunger taking its place. “So wet for me.”
“Yes . . . ” Lily gasped as his hand moved on her slick flesh. “There’s nothing you can to do me that I won’t like. That I won’t want. So take it, Isma’il. Take me.”
He went still for a moment, staring down into her face. And then the flame in his eyes ignited.
His head dipped, his mouth at her throat, kissing her, licking her, biting her. No restraints. No holding back. His teeth against her skin made her groan and when his hand cupped her breast, a hot mouth around her nipple, she cried out. One finger slid into her, then another, his movements becoming ruthless, insistent. Pleasure rocketed through her in a wild burst. “Isma’il!”
Lily closed her eyes as the orgasm slammed into her, sending her into free-fall, senses spinning, the breath tearing in her throat. She lay there unable to move, shuddering, feeling him move on the bed beside her. The slide of fabric against skin, the sound of his breathing harsh in the night.
Then, her thighs were being spread apart and he was inside her in one hard, almost savage thrust. She cried out again, sensitive tissues stretched unbearably, nearly painful and yet . . . not. He withdrew, thrust again, deeper, harder, forcing another cry from her throat.
Through the haze of a pleasure that bordered on agony, Lily opened her eyes, looked up into his face. A wild expression burned in his turquoise eyes. He panted, his powerful chest heaving, sweat sheening his bronze skin.
Yes, this was her sheikh. Without his rigid control. Passionate and elemental at his heart. Just as she was.
She lifted her legs, locked them around his lean waist, pulling him in deep and holding him there.
“Lily.” Her name a growl, low and feral. He moved hard and deep, but she lifted her hips in time with his, taking him as much as he was taking her.
He reached for her bound wrists, holding her down as he buried himself inside her again. She groaned, arching underneath him. His mouth brushed against her jaw, down her neck. Then his mouth met hers and a shudder went through his big, powerful body and he groaned. And then everything began to come apart, the rhythm becoming faster, wilder. Passion burning through all controls, all limits. Burning past all hope of containing it.
In the end, she could not match him, all she could do was put her arms around him, hold him, her anchor point in the deluge of sensation and let him carry her away into helpless ecstasy.
Afterwards, she lay stunned in his arms, her pulse thundering in her ears, her throat constricted, the warm weight of his body pressing down on her, holding her to the earth.
Something had happened to her. Something had changed.
Lily turned her face against one powerful, brown shoulder, trying to get a breath. Trying to work out why she felt so different, altered in some fundamental way.
“Habibti?” A gentle hand under her chin, lifting her head to look at him. Intense blue eyes studying her face with concern. “Did I hurt you?”
It hit her with the force of a wrecking ball straight to the stomach.
You’re in love with him.
She couldn’t breathe. Because that couldn’t be right. How could she fall in love with a man she’d only known for a matter of days? That didn’t make any sense.
The concern in his eyes deepened. “You look upset. I did hurt you. Oh, Habibti, I am sorry.”
Her heart didn’t seem to care about the lack of time. Her heart knew what it wanted. Knew what it felt regardless of what her brain told her. And it wanted the Sheikh of Dahar.