For Duty's Sake

She opened her mouth to say something else, but he reached down and caressed his shaft with a sure hand. She gasped. She wanted to be doing that.

“All in good time,” he said as if reading her mind.

Then he stepped forward until he stood against the bed. “It’s time to undress my bride.”

It wasn’t a real wedding night, but he was going to make it as close to one as possible for her. And she was going to let him.

She wasn’t surprised when his first action was to remove the slippers on her feet, but it shocked her speechless when he leaned down to take each foot into his hand and place a soft, sensuous kiss on the arch. He didn’t stop there, eith

er, but caressed her feet, pressing points that seemed directly linked to the empty ache inside her.

She was moaning and clenching her thighs by the time he’d moved his attention to her calves.

“Such soft, silky skin, but I know a place you will be softer.”

Her breath came in harsh pants and she shook her head.

“I assure you, you are. Soft, delicious and wet.”

Delicious? Did he mean…but her thoughts splintered as he pushed her gown up to expose her thighs to his gaze and that talented mouth.

Words gasped out of her without meanings as she discovered that her inner thighs were far more sensitive than she’d ever realized.

He chuckled, the sound wicked and delicious. “Are you sure it is the right time to be praying, ya habibti?”

“I…what? It…”

That smile that told her he was about to do something naughty creased his sensual mouth. Then, he pushed her galabeya higher and suddenly stopped, letting out a deep sigh of clear approval. “Oh, this is nice.”

“You like my panties.”

“Oh, yes, ya habibti, very much.” He stroked a single finger right over her clitoris and pressed down into the silk.

She jolted, arching her body toward that teasing touch.

“I do like these, but I am going to adore what is underneath them.”

“You are so much earthier than I ever expected.”

“I told you, I am a traditional man of my people. We celebrate the delight of pleasure.”

“Your Bedouin tribes, perhaps.”

“You would be surprised.”

Maybe she would be. Like Jawhar, Zohra was one of the few Arabic countries whose outlook and culture had always suffered less religious oppressions than their surrounding neighbors or the rest of Eastern Europe.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You should not have to.” It was the first time he had outright criticized her upbringing in America rather than Jawhar.

“So, show me now.” She wasn’t about to get into a discussion on that particular topic right now.

“Oh, I fully intend to.” And he did, caressing her until she was in a fever pitch of desire.

She wasn’t sure how it happened, but she lost the galabeya. Finally. He took a moment to admire her in her lacy bra before removing it. He paid the kind of homage to her breasts that felt almost spiritual, but at the same time was very, very carnal.

Her nipples were aching and her panties literally soaked before he pulled back to ask, “Are you ready for me?”