ust as hard. She tightened around him, daring him to pull out. His fingers dug into her hips. This time, he pulled out and plunged in hard and fast, his cock seeming impossibly large, filling her like nothing ever had.
He murmured something in Arabic. She had no idea what he’d said, but the tone of his voice had her curling her toes as his hips pressed against hers.
He picked up more speed, pounding into her now, hitting that spot that drove her wild. Her breath came in short, sharp bursts.
Reaching around, he grabbed her breasts, his fingers brushing across her nipples. The pleasure between her legs threatened to explode at any moment. She shifted, spreading her legs even more and he pulled out and pushed in again.
She cried out, muttering nonsense, arching for him to go deeper. What felt like electric shocks rippled through her. He jerked inside of her, said something to her in Arabic that she didn’t understand, but his voice had her tightening her muscles as his body shook in response.
And then she felt something hot gush into her.
She lost it then, came with a force she’d never felt before. He kept bucking into her, burying himself deeper. She wanted all of him inside her. He grabbed her hips and pushed himself deeper.
The world fell apart.
When Melanie could drag her eyes open, she was lying on the bed, Ahmed on top of her, almost crushing her. For once, it felt good. It felt right.
She shifted, and he rolled off her. He cursed slightly, and she lifted up on an elbow. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” He stroked a hand down her back. “I am sure it will be fine.” He tossed something aside, but she couldn’t think right now, couldn’t focus. Sweat slicked her back, her stomach, and her thighs. She felt—wet. Like pasta cooked too long.
She collapsed back onto the soft sheets. Ahmed flung a hand over her, resting his palm on her ass. She reached up and pushed her fingers through her hair.
“It’s back to real life for us tomorrow,” she muttered. Ahmed gave a grunt in reply.
Melanie vowed she’d be up first in the morning. She’d leave the clothes he’d bought her, wear her pants and white shirt out of here. She had a business to run, and it was time for Cinderella to get back to her ashes.
5
Ahmed stared off into the distance, only half listening to his father’s lecture and thinking far too much about his sensual American. It had been almost a month since they had shared two wonderful days. Ahmed had stayed in New York for another week, listening to too many complaints from his older brothers, attending dull business meetings, and slipping in trips to look over New York real estate. He hadn’t found anything that set his pulse to hammering—not the way his Melanie had. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind.
He also hadn’t been able to contact her.
She had been gone when he’d woken after their second night. He’d had no time to tell her the condom had broken during that last vigorous bout of sex. He’d called her firm and had left a message for Melanie to call him, but she had not. Which meant the broken condom must not matter—nothing had come of it. And Melanie was done with him. His mouth twitched down. She had made it clear she wanted two days with him and nothing more—she had even left behind the clothes he had bought just for her.
That rankled.
He did not want a woman who only wanted him for his money, but he did want a woman he could pamper and fuss over.
He had vowed he was not done with his sensual American.
But then his father had insisted that Ahmed return home. He’d put off the trip as long as he could, had used the excuse of business, but eventually even his brothers insisted he must go.
“Father has plans for you,” Khalid had said. His expression had been grim, and that had sent a shiver of alarm down Ahmed’s spine.
However, he was wondering now why he’d been worried.
His father was droning on and on about Ahmed’s poor behavior—as usual. Ahmed had kissed an American—a congressman’s daughter. A girl barely eighteen. Ahmed had stiffened at that comment. His father would hate even more to learn of Ahmed’s sensual American and their two days of pleasure. But then his father started into the usual complaint of how Ahmed was not growing up, not taking responsibility, not involved in business enough. As if there was room for Ahmed when his older brothers had everything so well handled.
Ahmed stared out the window to a stark, blue sky and the white walls of the palace and the lush gardens in the courtyard. But he kept thinking of green eyes and a slender, sensual woman.
His father’s voice sharpened, and Ahmed glanced at the man. His father was looking older—a little more gray in his hair and his beard, a few more lines around his dark eyes.
And what was he talking about now? About how marriage and a family would make Ahmed grow up, would give him a better sense of responsibility. That old tale. Ahmed let out a long breath, and then his father said, “Marriage is the answer, and she will make you a good wife.”
Ahmed sat up. For an instant, he thought his father was speaking of Melanie and the image flashed in front of him of her dark hair and those amazing green eyes. He shook his head. Melanie wanted marriage as little as did Ahmed. And his father did not know about the sensual American.
His father was also looking pleased. Something was wrong here.