The Sheikh's Unruly Lover (Almasi Sheikhs 2)

His words made her dizzy for a moment. No problem with that request. She rose up as he aligned their parts and then eased down slowly, ever so slowly. Her breath dissipated once his cockhead slipped in, starting a slow stretch that felt as divine as it did challenging. He was a big boy, or she was a small girl. Either way, she sank down slowly, carefully, never breaking the intense gaze between them.

He gripped her ass cheeks with both hands, his breath coming out in pants. “Marian.”

She nodded. It felt too fucking good to describe. “I know.”

Once he was buried inside her, all the way to the base of his cock, he gave a low groan and she rocked slowly, delicately, trying to acclimate to his girth. After just a few moments her pussy was primed, and she moved with confidence, starting a slow roll on top of him.

Omar breathed heavily, his eyes the color of sin. “You feel too damn good. I won’t last long.”

“Oh, honey,” she purred in his ear, feeling the same prickle of pleasure beginning a warning churn in her core. “That doesn’t matter.”

She rocked and rolled, loving the way he filled her completely, all the way to her core and then some. Her clit knocked against the base of his cock as she rode him, and it wasn’t long before she felt herself at the edge of the precipice.

“I’m close,” she whispered. Omar groaned, rolling his hips against hers, taking one of her large breasts in his hand. He tweaked a nipple just as she crashed down around him again, and the dam broke. Pleasure spilled in waves throughout her body, a raging churn that filled every pore and cell of her being. She cried out, tensing against him as she came, wave after wave of bliss.

Omar groaned and stilled beneath her, his fingers leaving deep indents in her hips, and after a few moments their groans receded, and they were left panting together, her head on his shoulder, his fingers tracing invisible patterns over her back.

When clarity returned, she looked up at him, planted a kiss on his lips.

“That was lovely,” she whispered, nibbling at his ear lobe. “And approximately a thousand times better than I imagined it would be.”

“Really?” He smiled boyishly. “I knew it would be that good.” He bit his bottom li

p as she climbed off of him, his gaze following her ass as she plopped onto the bed. “I knew it from the second I met you.”

She laughed, swatting at his arm. “Stop it.” So he had been attracted to her. She hadn’t been imagining it.

“It’s true.” He lay down on the bed beside her, smoothing a hand through her hair. “There’s just something about you, Marian.”

“Something about Marian. Almost the movie they made,” she cracked, wondering as soon as the words left her lips if he’d get the American movie reference.

“Except this time the white stuff didn’t end up in your hair,” he joked back.

She nuzzled up to his chest, eager to hear the rhythm of his heart, at least for a little bit. Until he decided it was too much, or too long, or whatever excuse he might use to disappear from her room.

She had to enjoy this man while she could. Because something told her this would be the only chance she got.

8

Omar awoke with a start in the middle of the night. He lay under a sheet, different sheets than his own, in some bed that was…

He blinked, focusing on the sleeping figure beside him. Marian. Guilt crashed through him, and he jolted upright. What a blissful dream he’d been in. One where he’d taken a beautiful woman to bed and faced absolutely no repercussions.

But now, in his waking life, that guilt he’d tried to sidestep via martini rushed back to claim its rightful place in his mind. And it was two a.m., according to the bedside clock. He had to get back to his own place, into his own bed, into his own right mind.

Omar rustled through the darkness trying to find his discarded clothing. His body still buzzed from the epic sex, which hadn’t happened once or even twice, but a total of three times in rapid succession. Apparently the both of them had been starving for it, which made him feel like a twenty-year-old again.

He grinned lazily as he dressed, recalling their bedroom romp. Marian was easily his favorite lover; things just felt natural with her. Easy.

A little bit too easy, actually. He felt his way toward the door once he was dressed, leaving as quietly as he could. He winced as he hurried down the hallway, heading for the side door. This was sure to look bad, especially if a night receptionist spotted him. Marian was well-worth it, though.

Back in his apartment, Omar struggled to fall asleep. Instead, he tossed and turned, tortured by images of the amazing sex with Marian and feeling as if he’d let himself down somehow.

After his wife’s death, he’d made himself a promise: nothing serious for a long, long time. He could have one-night stands when he needed, just for simple physical purposes, but anything beyond that would be inappropriate. The bond that he and his late wife had created during her illness forged a new moral code in him, one that he still struggled to understand. They’d loved each other deeply in the final days, and seeing her rapid loss of health sometimes felt like they’d lived fifty years together in the span of only one. He still grappled with that sense of loss, that intense closeness forged in grief. Two years felt like nothing—and yet an eternity.

The pact had worked—until Marian. She’d only been here for a few days, would only be here for a few more, but the time they’d spent together felt cataclysmic; she’d shaken the foundations of everything he believed in.

And he couldn’t figure out if that was good or bad.