Captivated by the Sheikh: For the Sheikh's Pleasure / In the Sheikh's Arms / Sheikh Surgeon. Annie West
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shifted uneasily, aware of a renewed urgency in the signals her body was sending to her brain.
He lifted his head and smiled, a knowing smile if ever there was one.
‘You like it when I kiss you here?’ He dropped his mouth once more to her waist, her stomach.
She reached out and tried to pull him up, edgy again and unsure of herself. She shouldn’t feel like this again, surely.
‘You don’t like my kisses?’ His tone was teasing but his face was set in harsh lines of desire. The flame of arousal was hot in his eyes.
She opened her mouth to answer, but something stopped her: a knot of hard, tight emotion that blocked her throat. He was so gentle, so tender. He treated her as no man ever had before. Heat glazed her eyes and she shook her head.
‘Rosalie?’ His tone was abrupt as he levered himself higher, the better to see her face.
For answer she wrapped her arms round his shoulders and lifted her lips to his, opening her mouth and giving herself up to the ecstasy that beckoned. Giving herself to him.
For a long moment he held himself rigid above her. Then, as her tongue danced against his and her hands swept in wide circles down over his back, he settled closer. She revelled in the smooth texture of his skin against her hands, and in the sensual friction of his chest hair brushing her breasts. It was…arousing. The press of his large body against hers was an exciting weight. She felt the hot, heavy throb of him between her legs and fascination mingled with trepidation.
‘Rosalie,’ he murmured against her mouth. ‘You drive me wild with wanting.’ Now their kisses were more urgent and the caress of his hands heavier, more possessive. He gripped her hips and pushed forward and she felt the hard length of him intimately against her. Instinctively she tilted her hips up towards him and he growled deep in his throat. ‘You’re a houri sent to bewitch me.’
He raised one hand to her breast, squeezing gently, and she let out a cry of excitement as a flaming arrow of sensation shot through her body. Above the drumming in her ears and the rocking tension in their almost-joined bodies, she heard the whisper of his deep voice in her ear. He spoke in his own language, a lyrical intonation of syllables that flowed like music around her. The words were soothing yet somehow unsettling, urging her closer as he rocked harder against her.
All she knew was him. The clean, earthy fragrance of his skin, the taste of him on her tongue, the feel of him everywhere, and still that yearning, aching sensation that couldn’t be denied.
She barely noticed when he moved, hooking his arm under her thigh and lifting her leg up and over him. But she did register the pressure as he pushed between her legs, nudging up against her, into her.
She froze, absorbed in the sensation of him filling her.
Arik drew back a fraction. She had an impression of flashing dark eyes surveying her, then his head dipped to her breast and all capacity for coherent thought fled. His tongue was on her. His mouth. His teeth. She cried out, a muffled shout of bliss, and cradled him closer, arching her back as he wrought his magic on her body once more.
There was nothing but Arik and the dazzle of stars behind her closed eyelids.
But then, suddenly, there was more. One single, smooth, never-ending surge of movement drew him forward, impossibly filling her. She opened her eyes to see him poised above her, his face almost unrecognisable from the tension that held him so tight in its grip.
For an instant there was no movement but the rise and fall of their chests, each breathing deeply, struggling to find equilibrium.
‘Lift your other leg, sweetheart.’
Slowly she complied, and then it seemed automatically he slid forward a fraction to rest deep within her. Rosalie’s eyes widened.
‘That’s it, little one.’ His kiss was a reward, a glorious, sensuous caress that made her bones melt, even as he moved again, rocking against her.
It felt…it felt…wonderful.
Rosalie slid her hands over the bunched muscles of his shoulders and down to wrap her arms around his back, to hold him close as he pushed forward again. There was something sparking between them, something that made her rise up to meet his next thrust and the next: eager, ready for him.
Their tempo increased, their bodies grew hot, slick from excitement and exertion. Rosalie felt again the welling, tingling sensation in her blood. She heard her pulse roar in her ears, heard Arik’s breathing. Then his mouth closed over hers, his tongue thrusting deep even as he rocked into the centre of her being.
She tasted him, dark and rich. Scented his skin. She was part of him, his body sliding with hers, drawing her into a whirling, rushing storm of glorious commotion.
And then it came—a crashing wave of fulfilment, breaking over both of them. Desperate, she clung to Arik like a lifeline in a stormy sea. He was the one solid reality as her world shattered, bursting apart in a conflagration that shook her to her core. She had no words to express what she felt, only knew it was beyond her expectations, her hopes, even her fantasies.
And the fact that it was Arik gathering her close in strong arms that trembled with the force of their climax, holding her as if he’d never let her go, was most important of all.
How could this happen between two strangers?
It was far more surely than a union of bodies. It felt like a communion of souls.
Rosalie drew a deep shuddering breath, inhaling his heat and his musky scent.
Casual sex wasn’t supposed to be this…perfect, was it?
What had she got herself into?
Chapter Eight
‘THAT sounds like fun, Amy. What are you doing with Grandma tomorrow?’ Rosalie shifted her grip on the phone as her daughter began a breathless description of her planned visit to puppies in the stables and a pony who took carrots from her outstretched hand. Obviously they were far more interesting to a toddler than the grandeur of the centuries-old palace where she was staying.
Though she had been impressed with Uncle Rafiq, the tall, smiling man who swept her up in his arms and swung her round till she squealed.
Rosalie’s mum was right. Amy was having a great time with her family fussing over her. Not only that, but Rafiq’s small army of royal servants were spoiling her too, apparently besotted by Amy’s grin and sunny temperament.
The door to Rosalie’s left opened and the smile on her face slipped a little as Arik came into the room. His gaze caught hers and that gleaming dark look made her mouth dry. Like her, he wore a long, loose robe. But, far from making him look effeminate, the outfit somehow accentuated the width of his shoulders, the whipcord strength of his body, his innate masculinity.
Just a single stare from this man sent a wave of heat roaring through her. She watched him pace into the room and her palms prickled in excitement as she remembered the way he’d loved her this afternoon. The world of sensual pleasure he’d opened up for her.
Finally, half an hour ago, he’d pressed a last bone-melting kiss to her lips before leaving her, saying she’d no doubt want to telephone her daughter. Only then had she realised the afternoon had sped by as she’d lain in his arms. Shame had washed through her, that it was he rather than her who’d remembered her responsibilities. That she’d been in danger of forgetting her call to Amy.
And now, just the sight of him made it hard to concentrate on Amy’s chatter.
What sort of mother was she? Surely there was something wrong with her priorities. Nothing was more important to her than her daughter.
What was happening to her?
Arik didn’t approach. He gave her a slow smile that sent liquid heat spilling down her spine. Then he disappeared through the door to the huge bathroom. It was a relief when he was out of sight