The Chatsfield Collection Books 1-8. Annie West
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of his amazing body, his expression confused in a way she was pretty sure it never was. “I’m sorry?”
“The whole getting-me-into-bed thing,” she explained. “You were smoother than jazz.”
“Smoother than jazz?” he asked with humor. “Really?”
She shrugged, unworried if her metaphor came off as campy. It’s exactly what she meant. “No music is smoother.”
“Perhaps I should be happy you didn’t compare me to custard.” He stood up.
She giggled and covered her mouth at the unfamiliar sound coming from her. “Maybe.”
He shook his head, but his look was indulgent. He moved to join her on the bed.
“I suppose you have loads of experience carrying women to bed.”
He stopped, sitting on the edge of the mattress, and looked down at her. “Actually, not so much.” His dark gaze smoldered. “You are an exception in more than one way.”
“The whole not-bedding-a-lowly-hotel-maid thing?” she teased, her confidence boosted by her certainty that was exactly what Sayed was about to do.
“Among other things.”
“You’re saying you don’t usually carry your conquests to bed?”
“I cannot think of another instance.”
At his admission, heat poured into places she wasn’t used to feeling anything and she found it hard to continue their repartee. “For three years, anyway.”
“Ever.”
“Oh.” That was...it was just...kind of amazing and more than she wanted to dwell on right now, if she wanted to keep her few working synapses continuing to connect in her brain. “I guess it’s just instinct.”
He laughed, the sound arresting and incredibly sexy.
Her chest felt tight. “Sayed...”
He cursed, his humor disappearing in an instant, replaced by that power-driven intensity she was so drawn to.
“What?” she asked, not sure what she’d done.
“Say it again.”
“I don’t know what you mean?”
He put his hands down and leaned forward, pressing the pillow on either side of her head, his face only inches from hers. “My name.”
His name? Her befuddled brain tried to make sense of his request. “Sheikh Say—”
“No,” he said with quiet intensity. “Not my title. My name.”
“Sayed.” If the word held more emotion when she said it, she refused to acknowledge it.
Something flared in his espresso eyes and then his lips were on hers again. Though she’d been sure they’d reached the pinnacle of passionate kisses already, she realized quickly how wrong she’d been.
He shifted to lie beside her and pressed his body against hers, his hardness rubbing along her thigh. Another set of new and wonderful sensations beset her.
Liyah moved restlessly, her legs falling open.
He laid one hand between them, covering her feminine curls and most private flesh. “This is mine.”
She had no thought to deny him. “Yes.”
“Tonight is ours and you will be mine in every way.”
Her answer was a wordless cry as he shifted and put his mouth over one of her nipples.
It was the most incredible feeling she’d ever known―the wet sucking heat, the sizzling jolts of pleasure shooting outward and through her body from that swollen bit of flesh, unbelievable.
Then his finger dipped into that most intimate place and she realized once again she’d been wrong. There was definitely more she could feel, more she could experience.
And more.
And more.
And more.
One sensation blended into another, her need for his touch growing in exponential proportion to every caress he gave her.
His fingers rolled slickly over a bundle of nerves even more potent than her nipples and she cried out. She knew about her clitoris. She hadn’t grown up in a cave, but she had been raised to never talk about sexual things.
Not with her mother. Not with the other girls at school. Not with anyone. Sex was an entirely taboo subject with Hena Amari and she’d made sure Liyah saw it that way, too.
Liyah had spent her life excelling in school and then her career. She was almost as much a virgin in purely social interaction as sex. Sayed’s intimate touch was the first time Liyah had ever realized exactly where that particular bundle of nerves was.
And he knew how to manipulate it for maximum impact, which he proved with expert caresses. Delight filled her, pushing from the inside outward, making her feel like her skin was too tight for her body.
It built and built, making her wonder how much more intense it could get as her sense of time and even her own person drowned in a pool of bliss.
Then something shattered inside her, the ecstasy exploding in shards of sharp rapture and she screamed. His name.
A long, pleasure-laden wail.
His mouth came off her nipple as he lifted his head, those magical fingers still moving in gentle circles as their gazes met. Satisfaction mixed with untamed hunger in his.
Barely touching her, he continued to cause tremors and contractions throughout her body. “You are so beautiful in your passion, habibti.”
His words and the endearment were as potent as his most intimate caress. Oh, she knew he didn’t mean she really was his love, but Liyah’s heart squeezed, anyway. He could have used aashitii, an endearment appropriate for an extramarital lover, but much less tender.
Tonight Liyah could be his habibti.
Tension still thrumming through her and unable to process the unfamiliar and overwhelming reactions of her body, Liyah’s head rolled side to side on the pillow.
“Sayed.” That was all she could say. Over and over again.
Despite imbibing copious amounts of alcohol and his easy use of habibti, Liyah did not have the courage to call him sweetheart, or lover, in English or Arabic.
And he liked when she said his name. So she did it again and again, her vocabulary shrunken to that single word.
He surged up over her, his big body settling between her legs. Sayed kissed her again, stealing his name right from her lips.
His rigid sex rubbed against her where his fingers had been, sending little shocks along her nerve endings, drawing forth a new kind of passion from her.
It wasn’t just pleasure. It was the need to have him joined to her body in the most intimate way possible.
He broke the kiss, his breathing as heavy as hers. “We need a condom.”
“A condom?” she asked, her mind hazy with drink and passion.
“Yes.” He groaned. “You do not have one.” He cursed, his body filling with a different kind of tension. “Of course you do not. This is not your room. You would not carry such a thing with you in your work uniform.”
She was kind of impressed with how many thoughts he managed to string together. The gist of them finally penetrated her own muzzy focus. They needed a condom and he didn’t have one.
“Look in the drawer beside the bed.”
He stared down at her, his stillness almost scary. “Did Tahira request them?”
“No.” Liyah didn’t even