The Sheik's Kidnapped Bride(Desert Rogues, Book 1)(44) by Susan Mallery
The wanting continued to grow inside of her. It became a hungry beast that consumed her. Desperately she reached for him, wanting more. Wanting it all.
But he ignored her questing hands that would have urged him back into place. Instead he tugged until her chemise was free of her hips, then he drew it over her head and tossed it away. His gaze fell to her br**sts, and pleasure lit his eyes.
“So lovely,” he told her as he leaned forward and took a nipple in his mouth.
It was as if there were a direct line from her breast to the very center of her being. With each tug of his lips, she felt an answering response between her legs. Even as his hands roamed up and down her back, even as he suckled her, she found herself spiraling closer and closer. She needed him, desperately.
He raised his head. Dark hair tumbled onto his forehead. Untamed desire tightened the lines of his face, leaving her no doubt that his ancestors were wild savages who had ruled fearlessly. Did she really think she could stand up to him and win?
One of his hands slipped between their bodies. He rubbed her swollen point of pleasure until she whimpered, but stopped before she could climax.
He was the devil, and the price was her soul. Why hadn’t she seen what he wanted? “I can’t.”
“But you do want me.”
Their gazes locked. She could feel both their hearts beating. His arousal pressed against her belly. He pressed her onto her back and cupped her br**sts. Finger and thumb teased her ni**les. His hardness rode against her hot center, tormenting her by bringing her higher, but not allowing her to release.
She raised her hands and brought his head down to hers, then she kissed him. With her lips and her tongue she told him that she wanted him, but she refused to give in verbally. Between her legs, he rubbed hard, faster, making her ache and want, but she would not speak.
“Your will is not stronger than mine,” he growled against her mouth.
“Yes, it is.”
He raised up and guided himself inside. As he filled her, stretching her, making her cry out with pleasure, he reached down and touched that one, tiny spot.
The combination was too much. She felt herself collecting, rising, building, the tension growing until it exploded into light and glory.
Khalil felt the first rippling response of her body. Her muscles convulsed, contracting and releasing in a perfect rhythm. He cursed, he resisted, and it was all a waste of time. He’d played the game too well. In his effort to force her to submit, he’d allowed himself to get too aroused. Now, in the vortex of her release, he felt himself being caught and flung into the same tornado. Even as he tried to withdraw and gain control, it was already too late. Clutching her, he passed the point of no return and cried out her name.
The pleasure grew. He pumped harder, going deeper. Incredibly her contractions began again. She wrapped her arms around him, clinging, urging him on. Again and again she convulsed, until he had no choice but to explode his seed inside of her. They shuddered together, two people lost in a storm.
When at last his breathing returned to normal, he raised himself up on his arms and stared at her. She lay with her eyes closed, her lips tightly pressed together. Tears flowed down her temples and into her hair.
“Go away. You won.”
“We both won,” he said, although technically she had been the real victor. He hadn’t been able to make her say that she wanted him.
She pushed at his shoulder. He shifted off her, suddenly feeling as awkward as a teenager. What was wrong?
When Dora was free of him, she sat up. “Is there a bathroom?”
He pointed to several hanging rugs on the far side of the tent. “In there. We have running water, but not very much, so be cautious.”
She nodded, but didn’t speak. As she climbed out of bed, she reached for her gown and covered herself. Khalil watched her slow progress across the floor. She moved as if she were in pain. Had he hurt her? He shook his head. That wasn’t possible. At the end, she’d been clinging to him, wanting him as much as he wanted her. Women. They were all temperamental creatures.
By the time she returned to the bed, he’d slipped under the covers and had arranged the pillows. He saw that she’d washed away all traces of her tears. She got in next to him, but instead of cuddling close, she curled up with her back to him.
“You’re being a child,” he told her.
“Leave me alone. You got what you wanted. The rest of it shouldn’t matter.”
He stared at her for another minute, then flopped down on his back. Fine. If she wanted to be that way, he didn’t care. She was right. He’d gotten what he wanted. He’d made love with her. The rest of it was nonsense.
Except he found himself aching to hold her. As the night wore on, his side of the bed seemed to grow until he felt he was in a separate country. Once, when he knew she was truly sleeping, he’d moved close and put his arm around her. But even in sleep she shrugged him off, so he retreated to his own side.
Something cold and dark took residence in his chest. He hated the feeling that he’d acted rashly and had made a mistake that couldn’t be corrected. Involuntarily he raised a hand to his face and touched the thin scar on his cheek. History was not repeating itself, he thought grimly. He would make sure things were different. Of course they were different. The situations had nothing in common.
And yet, far into the night, he wondered.
Dora awoke in Khalil’s arms. As she stirred, she felt heat beneath her cheek and something heavy across her waist. She opened her eyes and saw that sometime in the night she’d rolled over and curled into his arms.
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