The Sheikh's Collection. Оливия Гейтс
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exciting, new—and scary. She took a deep breath and waited for him to make the next move because she wasn’t sure what it should be.
He lifted the hem of her chemise and she raised her arms so he could take it off her. She wore nothing underneath and, as his gaze roved over her nakedness, she felt a twinge of embarrassment, extinguished when he ran a gentle hand from her shoulder to thigh.
‘You are so beautiful, Elena.’
‘You are too,’ she whispered and he laughed softly and tugged on her hand, leading her towards the bed.
He lay down on the soft covers and drew her down next to him so they were facing each other. Elena’s breath was already coming in short gasps; her senses were on overload simply by lying next to Khalil, his naked body so close to hers. His chest rippled with muscle and his belly was taut and flat. Her gaze dipped lower and then moved up again; she might have been talking a big game but she was still inexperienced. Still a little nervous.
Khalil took her hand and placed it on his bare chest. ‘We can stop,’ he said quietly; it amazed her how he always seemed to know what she was thinking, feeling. ‘We can always stop.’
‘I don’t want to stop,’ she told him with a shaky laugh. ‘That doesn’t mean I’m not going to be a little nervous, though.’
‘Understandable,’ he murmured, and kissed her again, a kiss that was slow and soft and wonderful. A kiss that banished any lingering fears or feelings of nervousness. A kiss that felt like a promise, although of what Elena couldn’t say.
He slid his hand down her body, rested it on the flat of her tummy, waited. Everything in Elena quivered with anticipation. She wanted him to touch her...everywhere.
Still kissing her, he moved his hand lower. He waited again for the acceptance that she gave, his fingers brushing between her thighs, everything in her straining and yearning for even more.
And as he touched her with such wonderful, knowing expertise she realised she wanted to touch him too. She felt a new boldness come over her, a certainty to take what she wanted—and give him what he wanted. She smoothed her hands over his chest, slid her fingers across the ridged muscles of his abdomen. She wrapped them around the length of his arousal, causing his breath to come out in a hiss of pleasure which increased her own and made her bolder still.
With each caress the pressure in her built, a desperate need demanding satisfaction. And even she, in her innocence and inexperience, knew how it would finally be satisfied.
She rolled onto her back as he put on the condom and then positioned himself over her, braced on his forearms, his breath coming out in a ragged pant as he waited. ‘Are you sure...?’
‘Of course I’m sure, Khalil,’ she half-laughed, half-sobbed, because by then she was more than sure. She was ready.
And then he entered her, slowly, the sensation so strange and yet so right at the same time. He went deeper, and with an instinct she hadn’t known she possessed she arched her hips upwards and wrapped her legs around his waist. Pulled him deeper into herself.
‘Okay?’ he muttered and she almost laughed.
‘Yes. Yes. More than okay.’ And she was. She felt powerful in that moment, as well as loved. As if, with Khalil, she could do anything. She could be the person she was meant to be. She’d thought trusting someone, loving someone, made you weak, left you open and vulnerable to hurt. But right now she felt utterly strong. Completely whole.
And then he started to move, and the friction of his body inside hers increased that ache of pleasure deep within her, a sensation that built to such strength she felt as if it would explode from her, as if she would fly from the force of it, soaring high above the little camp, above everything.
And then it happened, everything in her peaking in an explosion of pleasure: she cried out, one long, ragged note, and fell back against the pillows, her body still wrapped around Khalil’s, his head buried in the curve of her shoulder.
Neither of them spoke for several long minutes; Elena could feel the thud of Khalil’s heart against her own, both of them racing. She stared up at the ceiling of the tent and wondered how she’d gone as long as she had without experiencing such incredible intimacy. Feeling such an amazing sense of rightness and power.
Slowly Khalil moved off her. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, and Elena felt the first pinprick of uncertainty. Suddenly he seemed remote.
‘I didn’t hurt you,’ he said, not quite a question, and she shook her head.
‘No.’
‘Good.’ He rose then, magnificent in his nakedness, and went to dress.
‘Khalil...’ She rose up onto her elbows. ‘Don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
‘You owe me a wedding night, not a wedding hour,’ she told him, trying to sound teasing even though nerves leapt in her belly and fluttered in her throat. ‘Come back to bed.’
He stared at her for an endless moment, his thobe clenched in one hand, and Elena thought he would refuse—walk out of the tent and leave her alone with nothing but memories and regret. Then with a slight shrug he dropped the garment. He returned to the bed, sitting on its edge, away from her. She saw several faded white scars crisscrossing his back, and wondered at them. Now, she knew, was not the time to ask.
‘I don’t want to hurt you, Elena,’ he said quietly. ‘And I don’t mean physically.’
She swallowed hard. ‘I know you don’t.’
He gave a slight shake of his head. ‘The closer we become, seem...’
Seem. Because tonight’s intimacy wasn’t real, at least not for him. ‘I understand, Khalil,’ she told him. ‘You don’t have to warn me again. Tonight is a fantasy. Tomorrow it ends. Trust me, I get that. I accept it.’
He let out a weary sigh and gently she laid a hand on his shoulder, her fingers curling around warm skin, and pulled him back towards her. After a second’s resistance, he came, lying next to her, folding her into his arms and then hauling her against his chest.
It felt like the only place she’d ever really belonged.
For tonight.
Neither of them spoke for several long minutes; Khalil stroked her hair and Elena rested one hand on his chest, perfectly content.
Almost.
The knowledge that this was only temporary, only tonight, ate away at her happiness, poked holes in this moment’s peace. She tried to banish that knowledge; she wanted to dwell only in the fantasy now.
Closing her eyes, she imagined that they were in fact wed, that the ceremony tonight had been theirs. That they lay here as husband and wife, utterly in love with each other.
As she embroidered each detail onto the cloth of her imagination, she knew she was being foolish. Understood that envisioning such a thing, such a life, even if only as a fantasy, was dangerous.
Khalil didn’t want a relationship, a loving relationship, and she didn’t either. At least, she shouldn’t. She’d never wanted it before. She’d chosen not to look for love, not to trust someone with her heart, her life. She’d done it once before—not romantically, but the betrayal had still wounded her deeply. Had made her doubt not just other people but herself.
How could she have trusted someone who had used her so spectacularly?
And how could she ever risk herself to trust again?
No, she was better off without love or romance. Keeping it as a fantasy, a single night.
And maybe, if she kept telling herself that, she’d believe it.
‘What are you thinking about, Elena?’ Khalil asked, his voice a quiet rumble in his chest.
‘Nothing—’
‘Not