To Defy A Sheikh(46)

She didn’t try to keep herself standing, because she knew he would. Because he’d promised her.

He laid her down on the mattress afterward, rising up to kiss her lips, deep and long. She could taste her own desire there, mingled with his. His shaft was hard and hot against her hip, evidence of the fact that he’d given, again, while taking nothing for himself.

Evidence also, of the fact that he’d enjoyed what he’d done for her. A sweep of heat, of pride, pure feminine power, rolled through her. He had enjoyed doing that to her. Had relished the taste of her. He wanted her, even as he told her to run.

She didn’t know why it made her feel the way it did. Didn’t know why it made her feel so powerful. Only that it did. Only that it spurred her on. And this time, she didn’t want to run after her climax. She wanted to stay. She wanted more. Because she couldn’t be embarrassed by what he’d made her feel.

Not when he was feeling it, too.

She shifted their position and parted her thighs, the blunt head of his erection coming up against the slick entrance to her body.

“I tried to prepare you,” he said, his voice strangled. ‘But it will still hurt.”

“I am not afraid of pain, Ferran,” she said, sliding her hands down his back, feeling his muscles shift and tense beneath her fingertips. “I am not afraid of you.”

“I do not wish to hurt you.”

“But in order for us to join, you have to. So don’t worry. Please, Ferran, I want you. I want this.”

He started to push inside of her, slowly, gently. He stretched her, filled her. It did hurt, but not as much as she’d expected. It was only foreign, and new. But wonderful. Like every other pain he’d caused her physically, it was good.

He started to pull back and she locked her ankles over his, their eyes meeting. “Ferran, don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he said, thrusting back inside of her, deep and hard, filling her completely.

She held on to him, getting adjusted to having him inside of her. She tilted her head and looked at him. His eyes were closed, the veins in his neck standing out, his jaw clenched tight. He looked as if he was in terrible pain. She kissed his cheek and a rough sound rumbled in his chest.

“Don’t hold back now,” she said.

“I am trying not to hurt you,” he said, kissing her hard and deep.

When he separated from her lips, she was breathless. “You aren’t.”

He seemed to take that as permission. He started to move inside of her, slowly at first. Achingly so. Building all of that lovely, orgasmic tension in her again. Starting from the beginning, and this time, he brought her even higher. Further. Faster.

His rhythm grew fractured, his breath shortening. She shifted her legs, wrapped them higher around his waist and moved with him. He braced one hand on the mattress, by her head, and wrapped the other around her, pulling her against him, his movements hard and fast.

His eyes met hers, and she slowly watched his control break. She could see it, in the dark depths. Could see as he started to lose his grip. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his teeth ground together.

Watching him, seeing him like this, so handsome, so on edge, pushed her closer, too. Then he thrust inside her, hard, his body hitting against the part of her that cried out for release. As it washed over her in waves, she leaned in and bit him on the neck.

A harsh, feral sound escaped his lips, and he stiffened above her, his shaft pulsing deep inside of her. And she relished it. Reveled in his utter loss of control.

He moved away from her as if he’d been shocked, his chest heaving, his muscles shaking. He got off the bed and started collecting his clothes.

“Ferran…”

“That should not have happened.”

“But it did,” she said, the words sounding thick and stupid. She sat up and pushed her hair out of her face. “It did.” A strange surge of panic took hold as Samarah tried to process what had happened. As she tried to deal with the fact that he was regretting what had passed between them.

She had given him, the man who had been her enemy all her life, her body, and now he was telling her what a mistake it had been. Shame lashed at her as she remembered the first night she’d met him.

I would sooner die.

And I would sooner kill you.

Oh, how she had fallen.

You did not fall. You jumped.

“You don’t know what you want,” he said. “You’re an innocent.” He tugged his pants on and turned away from her.

Even as she battled with the shame inside of her, his words ignited her anger. “Hardly. I was a virgin, but that does not equate to innocence.”

“Well, I am a murderer.” He pulled his shirt over his head, concealing his body from her view. “Compared to me, everyone is an innocent. Good night, Samarah. In the morning, if you are still here, and if I am still here, we will speak.”