CHAPTER EIGHT
SADIQ brought her hand back down and placed it by her side. She saw him draw in a deep breath, and the thought that he had to exert control because of her made her blood sing. The thin spaghetti straps of her negligee felt incredibly flimsy as he pushed his finger under one and pulled it down her arm, and then did the same on the other side.
The thin material sank lower and lower, until
it clung precariously to the fullest part of her breasts. With bated breath Samia watched Sadiq reach one finger to the valley of her cleavage to pull the material all the way down, wincing as it brushed over sensitive nipples.
She saw how the flush in his cheeks deepened, how his eyes glittered brightly. His voice was rough. ‘You’re so beautiful.’
For the first time Samia didn’t have an immediate reflex negative reaction. But the intensity of Sadiq’s expression made her come to her senses for a brief moment, and she knew she had to be honest with him before they went any further. He was reaching for her, and she stopped him by putting her hands on his. ‘There’s something I should tell you.’
‘Yes?’
She took a breath. ‘I’m not experienced.’
Sadiq smiled slightly. ‘I guessed as much when we were in London.’
Samia shook her head, a little stung to think that despite her efforts to appear experienced he’d still thought her inexperienced. ‘No, I mean I’m really not experienced. At all.’
Sadiq frowned. ‘What are you saying?’
She cringed. He wasn’t making this easy for her. A tinge of bitterness crept into her voice. ‘I’m a virgin, Sadiq. A twenty-five-year-old virgin. Amazing as that might be to comprehend. Your analysis of my nunlike existence was accurate after all.’
Suddenly self-conscious, she pulled her nightdress back up over her breasts and turned around.
Sadiq looked at Samia’s back and reeled. A virgin. How was that even possible? But all he had to do was think back to how buttoned-up she’d been when he’d first met her and he had his answer. He suspected that somewhere along the way some idiot had added to the emotional decimation carried out by the person who had made her reluctant to look at herself in mirrors.
‘Who was he?’ he asked now.
One of Samia’s slim shoulders shrugged slightly. ‘Some guy in college who’d been sent on a dare by his friends to seduce the Princess.’
Rage burnt in Sadiq’s belly, and with it came a rush of something much more primal—triumphant, almost. She was his and she would be no one else’s. Ever. He put his hands to her shoulders and turned her around, tipping her chin up so she had to look at him.
The defiantly defensive look on her face made something inordinately protective move through him. She was like a kitten, showing sharp but ineffectual claws. He twisted a long strand of silky hair around his fingers and pulled her closer. ‘He was an idiot. Now … where were we?’
Sadiq had to steady his hands when he pulled the straps of her gown down again, baring those perfectly shaped breasts to his gaze. He was glad he knew she was a virgin, because he was so aroused that if he hadn’t known he might have hurt her.
The way that Sadiq was so easily accepting of her innocence made her confidence bloom. Samia revelled in the way he was looking at her—as if she were the only woman in the world. She blocked out the insidious voices pointing out that every woman who’d stood before him like this must have felt the same.
That heat was building again, and with a gentle tug her nightdress fell to her waist. Sadiq reached out and cupped her breasts, testing their weight and firmness, thumbs passing over hard nipples, making them pucker even more. Samia bit her lip.
Sadiq took her hand and led her to the bed, sitting down and pulling her between his legs. With his hands holding her firm he put his mouth to one breast and then the other, making helpless sounds of pleasure come from her mouth. Her head fell back, hair tickling the base of her spine, as Sadiq sucked the peaks to stinging arousal.
She felt him pull her gown down the rest of the way until it pooled on the ground, and now all she wore was a flimsy pair of silk panties. In a move so smooth she didn’t see it coming, he had Samia lying on her back on the bed, looking up at him and watching as he started to undress.
The dim light in the room highlighted his taut musculature as first his shirt came off and then his hands went to his belt. Samia sat up, her eyes drawn to the tantalising line of dark hair that led downwards underneath his trousers.
His hands stopped, and Samia heard him say, ‘I want you to do it.’
Feeling gauche and nervous, Samia came up on her knees and reached out, very aware of the henna tattoo which snaked up her arms. What she was doing felt illicit, decadent and more exciting than anything she’d ever experienced in her life.
A rush of intense longing went through her. She was all fingers and thumbs on his belt, and then the buttons and zip but then she was pushing his trousers down over lean hips, taking his underwear with them, and his impressive erection sprang free, making Samia blanch suddenly. For a moment she wasn’t sure if she could do this, and doubt assailed her—the memory of baring herself before and being laughed at.
Worried, she looked up at him. ‘Sadiq, I—’
He put a finger to her lips. ‘Shh, don’t speak.’
Sadiq kicked his clothes off and came down on the bed beside her. They lay length to length beside each other, and Samia could feel the awesome power of that arousal against her belly. Instinctively she moved, seeking friction, wanting to assuage the ache between her legs. She loved the feel of his powerful body alongside hers, all hard muscle next to her softness.