The Sheikh's Convenient Bride

He parted her thighs, touched the engorged tip of his penis to the soft portal that guarded the entrance to her body, her heart, her soul. She cried out and arched toward him, and Caz entered her.

God, oh God.

She was hot and wet and tight. So tight.

He gritted his teeth, forced himself to hold still. He didn’t want to hurt her, he didn’t want to hurt her, he didn’t want to hurt her…

She sighed his name.

“Qasim. Qasim, my husband.”

And he was lost.

Groaning, he thrust into her. Filled her. Slid his hands under her bottom and lifted her to him.

“Caz?” she said, her voice a breathless whisper. “Caz. I never knew…”

He drove forward until he was deep inside her. Drove again and again while she sobbed his name and rose to him. And when her body convulsed around him, when she screamed and bit his shoulder, Caz shuddered with a pleasure so intense he thought it might kill him.

But death would have been a small price to pay for what he felt as he fell over the edge of the universe with Megan, with his bride, in his arms.

The moon dipped behind the mountains and still they lay tangled in each other’s arms, insulated from reality in their silk cocoon.

At last, Megan stirred. Caz gave her a long, tender kiss and rolled off her. She made a little sound of protest and he kissed her again as he drew her against him. She sighed, settled her head against his chest and laid her arm over his belly.

“I thought you were going to get up,” she murmured.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Um.”

He smiled. “That’s it?” he said, nuzzling a curl back from her throat and leaving a kiss in its place. “Just, ‘um?’”

He felt her lips curve against his damp skin. “Were you hoping for applause, your highness?”

Caz laughed softly. “Well, if you’re asking about wedding night traditions…”

Megan nipped at his shoulder. “Don’t push your luck, my lord. You’ll have to make do with ‘um.’” She sighed, stroked her hand over his skin. “That was—”

“Wonderful.”

“Yes.”

“Amazing.”

She smiled. “That, too.”

Caz propped his head on his hand, stroked a tangle of soft curls from her face and his smile faded.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“I mean—’

“I know what you mean. And I’m fine.”

“You were so tight…I was afraid I’d hurt you.”