Sheikh's Defiant Wife: Defiant in the Desert. Maisey Yates
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hands. ‘Foolish, beautiful, hot-headed Sara.’ His gaze raked over her with a mixture of exasperation and lust. ‘Why the hell did you take off like that? Why take such a risk?’
‘You know why,’ she whispered, moving her head fractionally as she sought out another kiss. ‘Because I wanted to escape.’
He brushed his lips over hers. Back and forth in a teasing graze. ‘Do you still want to escape?’
She nodded her head. ‘Yes.’
‘Do you?’
She closed her eyes. ‘Stop it.’
‘I’m waiting for an answer to my question.’
She shook her head. ‘N-not any more. At least, not right now. Not if you keep on kissing me like that.’
‘That sounds very much like an invitation.’ He gave another groan as their mouths meshed together and his breath was warm in her mouth. ‘I should put you straight back on that horse and ride you back into camp.’
‘Then why are you unbuttoning my tunic?’
‘Because I want to taste your nipples.’
‘Oh.’
She tipped her head back as his lips trailed a fiery path over her neck, closing her eyes as sensation washed over her. His fingers felt hard and calloused against her delicate flesh. She could feel the slick, wet heat of her sex overwhelming her as he lowered his mouth to trail his tongue over one hardened nipple.
Her mouth grew dry as her lashes fluttered open to watch him. He kissed each breast in turn and then turned his attention to her tunic, peeling it off entirely—along with her slim-fitting trousers. He freed her aching body so that at last her skin was bared to the warm desert air. And to his eyes.
She heard him suck in a ragged breath as he looked down at her and she was glad she was wearing the provocative underwear she’d brought from England. The balcony bra in electric-blue lace and matching thong were both pretty racy, but she’d discovered a while back that she liked wearing expensive lingerie. It had been another aspect of the freedom she’d relished—that she could go into any department store and stock up on X-rated undies and nobody was going to tell her she couldn’t.
He said something she couldn’t quite make out and the expression in his slitted eyes was suddenly forbidding.
‘Is something wrong?’ she questioned tentatively.
‘Who buys your lingerie for you?’ His voice was dark with some unnamed emotion.
‘I do.’
‘But you buy it for you? Or do you buy it for the men who will enjoy watching you wearing it?’ he persisted, slithering his finger inside her thong where she was so wet and so sensitive that she bucked beneath his touch and gave a little cry. His finger stilled. ‘Do you?’
Sara nodded, so strung out with pleasure that she barely knew what she was agreeing to. But men liked women to indulge in fantasy, didn’t they? She’d read enough erotic literature to know that. Men liked you to pretend to be things and to do things. She read that normality was the killer in the bedroom.
Not that they were anywhere near a bedroom, of course—but who cared about that? Why not feed into his fantasies—and her own? Why shouldn’t she make love with Suleiman in the wild desert which had spawned her, on this shaded patch of sand? She might not like all the restrictions of life here, but she was sensitive enough to appreciate its beauty. And if Suleiman wanted her to play the femme fatale, then play it she would.
‘I’m enjoying wearing it for you,’ she answered coyly, her finger moving to trace the curving satin trim of her bra. ‘Do you like it?’
He made a sound mid-way between hunger and anger as he pulled off his crimson robes with impatient disregard, until he was also naked. She let her gaze drift over him, her eyes widening as her gaze locked onto the most intimate part of his aroused body—and suddenly she was a little daunted by what she saw.
‘Suleiman...’ she whispered, but her words faded because he was back in her arms and was touching her again. Moving his hand intimately against her sex and stroking her with pinpoint accuracy. She could smell the scent of her arousal on the air. She could feel the warm rush of blood flooding through her veins. And shouldn’t she be touching him? She reached down to whisper her fingertips against his silken length, but he stilled her movement by the abrupt clamp of his hand around her wrist.
‘No,’ he said.
She looked into his eyes, confused. ‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m too close to coming, that’s why. And I want to come when I’m inside you. I want to watch your face as I enter and hear the sounds you make when I move inside you.’
It was the most erotic thing she’d ever heard. Sara swallowed. Suleiman deep inside the one place where she had always longed for him to be. She could feel her skin burning as he spread his robes down on the shaded sand, like a silken blanket for them to lie on. His face was dark and taut as he peeled off her electric-blue underwear, until she lay before him like a naked sacrifice.
She could see the hardness of his erection and the dark whorls of hair from which it sprang. His olive skin gleamed softly in the terracotta light and his dark eyes were as black as tar as he reached for her, bending his lips to hers. The kiss which followed made her gasp with pleasure. It seemed to unlock something deep within her, but when he lifted his head she could see that his eyes were dark with pain.
‘My greatest fantasy and my greatest sin,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘And it is wrong. We both know that.’
Suddenly Sara was terrified he was going to stop. That she would never know what it was like to have Suleiman Abd al-Aziz make love to her. And she couldn’t bear it. She thought she could pretty much bear anything else, but not that. Not now.
Her hand reached up to touch the blackness of his hair, letting her fingers slide beneath the silken strands. ‘How can it possibly be wrong, when it feels so right?’
‘Don’t ask disingenuous questions, Sara. And don’t look at me with those big violet eyes, a colour which I’ve never seen on any woman other than you. Just stop me from doing this. Stop me before it goes any further because I don’t have the strength to stop myself.’
‘I can’t,’ she whispered. ‘Because I...’ She nearly said I love you, but just in time she bit back the words. ‘Because I’ve wanted this for so long. We both want it. You know that. Please, Suleiman. Make love to me.’
He tilted up her chin and gazed down at her. ‘Oh, Sara,’ he said, saying her name like an unwilling surrender.
He entered her slowly. So slowly that she thought she would die with the pleasure. She cried out as he made that first thrust—a cry which was disbelieving and exultant.
Suleiman was inside her.
Suleiman was filling her.
Suleiman was...
He groaned as he found his rhythm, moving deeper with each stroke. And Sara suddenly felt as if she had been born for this moment. She wrapped her legs around his back as he splayed his hands over her bare buttocks to drive even deeper. Her breath was coming in shuddered little gasps as he moved inside her. She’d had sex before, but never like this. Never like this. It was like everyone said it should be. It was...
And then she stopped thinking. Stopped everything except listening to the demands of her body and letting the pleasure pile on, layer by sensual layer.
She felt it build—desperately sweet, yet tantalisingly elusive. She felt the warmth flood through her as Suleiman’s movements became more urgent and she was so locked into his passionate kiss that the first spasms of her orgasm took her almost by surprise. Like a feather which had been lifted by a storm and then tossed around by it, she just went with the flow. She cried out his name as his own body suddenly tensed, and he shuddered violently as he came.