The Sheikh's Secret Bride(Desert Rogues, Book 3)(53) by Susan Mallery
She wore a lacy bra that teased by hiding her tight ni**les. He saw the puckered flesh pushing up against the fabric. Supporting her weight, he urged her back, until her br**sts thrust up toward him. He leaned over her and took one nipple between his teeth. He gently moved back and forth, making her skin harden and her breath come in short gasps.
“Malik,” she sighed, holding on to his shoulders. “You’re making me crazy.”
He brought her back to a standing position. Her face was flushed, her eyes glazed. He knelt at her feet and tugged off her dress, then had a little breathing trouble of his own when he realized she wore a garter belt and stockings. He swallowed hard and ignored the pressure between his legs. A voice in his head screamed for him to take her now, to free himself and plunge into her, carrying them both to paradise. Instead he forced himself to gently tug off her panties, leaving her in stockings and a bra. Then he drew her to the sofa and had her sit.
Kneeling before her, he kissed her deeply. She hugged him, making it easy for him to unfasten her bra. When the garment fell away, he studied her rounded br**sts and the pattern of veins under pale skin.
“So lovely,” he murmured as he began to explore the curves.
He cupped her fullness, then stroked the exquisitely soft undersides. With his tongue, he flicked against her ni**les, touching quickly and lightly, making her gasp. He tasted the sweet valley between the curves and licked all of her.
She squirmed and spoke his name and buried her fingers in his hair. Her hips moved, shifting closer until her heat pressed against his need and she began to rub up and down, driving them both to the edge. When he couldn’t stand it anymore, he dipped lower, kissing her ribs, her belly and the hot skin of her thighs. Only when he felt her shudder did he part the protective folds of her feminine place and love her there.
She was already so hot and wet that he knew she wouldn’t last long. He found the one tiny spot that made her cry out. With his lips and tongue, he circled and stroked, his steady rhythm matching the tightening of her leg muscles. He used one of his hands to dip inside her, pushing up so he touched that most sacred place from above and below. With his other hand, he reached up to cup her breast.
Heat radiated from her as if she suffered from an intense fever. Perhaps she did. She was a wildly sexual creature—untamed and magnificent in bed. When she drew her knees back to urge him on, he moved more quickly and thrust his finger deeper. Her breath caught, then stilled and he knew that it was her time. He focused all his considerable attention on the messages of her body, willing her to experience the ultimate release in the most perfect way possible.
She cried out and convulsed into spasms. Her strong internal muscles, her legs, her stomach all flexed and released with thousands of pulses. He continued to touch her, lighter and lighter, drawing out every second until she was spent and still.
He looked up and saw that a flush covered her from her br**sts to her hairline. Her gaze met his, and he saw the tears in her eyes. For a second, fear gripped him, but then he knew. Her release had been so complete that she’d lost control in more ways than one.
“No one has ever made me feel like that before,” she whispered. “Not ever.”
He had known he had to be strong—to stay away from her or he would be lost. Yet it was too late. With Liana, most especially in her arms, he was just a man like so many others. Human—imperfect—alive. When he was with her he could succumb to the allure of her body and forget himself. He knew the truth. He’d seen the darkness that awaited him, but for these few moments he could pretend.
He wanted to tell her that if she left him, there would be nothing for him but dust and blackness. Yet he would not speak the words because she would never understand. So instead of responding, he simply moved closer. And when her hands reached for his trousers and unfastened them, he allowed her to pull him free.
Her fingers were small yet sure. She stroked him to a state of readiness that made him grit his teeth.
“I want you,” she breathed as she kissed him.
Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her to the edge of the sofa. Her legs parted, and she welcomed him as he slipped home.
“Be with me,” she whispered. “In me. Let me make you feel all the things I felt when you touched me.”
They danced as lovers have danced for thousands of years. He let himself fill her, savoring her damp heat and the sensation of finally being home.
When he began to move, she wrapped her legs around his waist, holding him close. She was tight and the friction made it impossible for him to hold back. He moved faster and faster, losing himself in the passion. She clung and her breathing increased in speed.
“I can’t believe it,” she gasped, straining to get closer. “It’s happening again. Malik, please. Don’t stop. Do it harder. Take me.”
The words were wrenched from her, guttural, as if they’d escaped against her will. She aroused him to a feverous pitch, yet he held back, restraining his own release until he felt the first rush of her body’s rippling as release overtook her. Then he cried out into the night and poured himself into her.
The sensation ripped through him like a sword, tearing him into pieces, destroying his thin veneer of civilization, making him savage and greedy. He pressed in hard and deep, claiming her, joining with her until he truly couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.
Consciousness faded. There was only the moment and the feelings and the woman who offered him a haven. He held on to her, needing her close, breathing in her scent, her sounds, her heat, knowing that when they finally separated he would feel as if he’d lost a piece of himself.
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