The Last Prince of Dahaar
On the next move, he rubbed the swollen flesh with his fingers and she fell apart like a thunderstorm. Her muscles contracting against the sensitive flesh of his arousal, pulling every inch of pleasure from him, he thrust again and orgasmed in an explosion of heat that touched every nerve, rocked through every inch of him.
Pleasure receded, the first wave of need blunted for now, and questions pounded back into him. He reversed their positions, still joined intimately.
Her arms instantly rose to cover her breasts. She looked down at their bodies still joined and a fierce blush claimed her cheeks.
“You were a virgin.”
Her gaze flew to his. “Yes.”
He pulled her hands from her breasts, fresh need rippling through him at the sight of those pale pink nipples. She held herself stiff, and the savage that he was, it turned him on. “You said—”
“Let go of my hands, Ayaan.”
“No,” he said and pulled her up until she was astride him in his lap. His erection thickened, lengthened inside her.
Her brown gaze flared wide. “Oh....you are—”
“Yes, ya habibi. It’s a long way down from the edge.”
The most masculine, arrogant, savage satisfaction gripped him now that the initial anger at her lie faded. He frowned, even as he relished the feral feeling.
Fierce emotions—either passion or fury or even love, he had never been capable of them. And yet in that moment, he couldn’t stem the savagery of his emotions.
Questions hurtled through him but he fought the urge. He would not bring another man’s name into this bed with her. Not tonight, not ever.
He was the only man to have possessed her, the only one who had known her in the most intimate of ways.
Her hands resting on his shoulders, she tried to wiggle out of his lap. The erotic friction of their joined bodies intensified a thousandfold.
Their mingled groans, the scent of sex—it was an irresistible aphrodisiac.
“You lied to me.”
“I said and did whatever I thought I needed to, to get out of the wedding,” she said. “But Faisal never asked for what I would have offered. I used to tease him for being so bound to traditions and customs that were laid down ages ago. But I think I understand now. And I...”
He clasped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Finish your thought, Zohra. Because this is the last time I will tolerate his name on your lips, the thought of him on your mind.”
She looked at him, unblinking, the depth of emotion in it a reminder of what a force this woman was. “I am glad he never asked, Ayaan.”
He closed his eyes and breathed through the cloud of need that had his hips leaning upward into her. She had been a virgin, he reminded himself with the utmost effort. He needed to be gentle, even if it was a little late, he needed to let her body get used to him. “What does it make me that I am glad that he didn’t take it, Zohra? That your body has known only me, that...”
She lifted her hands, sunk them into her hair and tugged it back. It was such an unconsciously sensual movement that he lost that tenuous hold on himself. “Like I felt when you said that you don’t remember another woman’s body, when you said you never felt pleasure like this before?” He couldn’t help himself. He cupped her breasts and rubbed the tight nipples with the heel of his palm. “Whatever you think it makes you, I am one, too. So be kind to yourself,” she said, and arched into his touch with a sigh.
He bent his head and licked one nipple. She jerked, moving up and down, and it was his turn to groan. “Your breasts...I am never going to have enough. And you go up in flames when I touch them.”
“Yes,” she whispered, her spine so straight that he wondered if he would break her. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, the marks from the stubble of his jaw outlined on her neck and breasts. What in the name of God had she unleashed in him? She leaned her forehead against his and the trust in her action branded him. “I...it feels like I will combust...” She arched her body again, as if asking him for more, “...if you stop.”
Just once more, he promised himself. He would taste her just once more and then stop. Let her body breathe, let her rest. He pulled the nipple into his mouth and suckled. And she sobbed, his name falling in a guttural request from her lips. He heard his name on her mouth, the whimper of pleasure she made, that shredded his composure.
They were sounds he would never have enough of.
Burying his mouth at her neck, he fought for control. With her hands locked around his nape, she pushed closer to him until her breasts dragged deliciously against his chest. And kissed him on the mouth.