A Secret Birthright(37)

“I’m leaving Jizaan today.”

He froze in mid-motion as he’d reached back for her, stared at her for a long, long moment.

Then his lips spread. In another moment a chuckle escaped him and intensified until he was laughing outright.

He at last wiped a tear of mirth. “Ah, Gwen, I needed that.” He caught her back to him. “I love it when you let your wicked humor show, loved it when you teased me in bed. Teasing me out of it—if not for long—is even better.”

He thought she was joking! And who could blame him, after the nightlong marathon of passion and abandonment?

He pulled her back into his arms and she gasped, “I’m serious, Fareed.”

That made him loosen his arms enough so he could pull back, look at her, the humor in his eyes wavering.

She tried to maximize on her advantage, injected her expression and voice with all the firmness and finality she could muster. “With your follow-up of Ryan over, there’s no reason to stay in Jizaan anymore. In fact, we should have left long before now. We’ve taken advantage of your generosity for far too long.”

Devilry and desire ignited his eyes. “If last night has been your taking advantage of my…generosity, as you can feel—” he pulled her back against his hard length, his arousal living steel pressing into her abdomen “—I am in dire need for your exploitation to continue.”

“What happened between us doesn’t change a thing.”

“Not a thing, no. Everything.”

She tried to turn her face away. “No! Nothing has changed or will ever change. We have to leave, Fareed. Please, don’t make this hard. I have to—”

“I have to, too.” He latched his lips on the frantic pulse in her neck, suckled her until she felt her heart pouring its beats and love into him. “I have to take you again, Gwen. I have to pleasure you again and again.”

Then as she struggled to hold on to her sanity and resolve, he defeated her, practiced every spell of seduction on her viciously awakened body and starving heart.

She found herself naked, delirious with arousal and pleasure, straddling his powerful hips, her palms anchored on his chest as he dug his hands in her buttocks.

He held her by them, had her riding up and down his shaft, showing her the exact force and speed and angle to drive them both beyond insanity, egging her on.

“Ride me, Gwen, ride me.”

Lost, mad, she obeyed him, rising and falling in a fever, milking his potency with her inner muscles, mines of pleasure detonating in her every cell.

It built and built. She rode and rode, faster, harder, her hands bunching in his muscles, her eyes feverish on his, her mouth open on harsh inhalations vented in frenzied cries.

When it became too much, she wailed, “Fareed!”

“Aih ya galbi, take your pleasure all over me. Take it.” He crashed her down on him, forged to her womb.

She imploded around him for long, still moments, shaking uncontrollably as the tidal wave hovered. Then it crashed, splintered and reformed her around him, over and over.

He took over when she lost her rhythm, a convulsing mess of sensation, changed the angle of his thrusts, hitting a bundle of nerves that triggered a fiercer explosion. It wracked her, drained her to her last nerve ending.

Yet she needed more, him, joining her in ecstasy, begged for it.

This time when the world vanished and nothing but him remained, around her, inside her, she promised herself.

This would be the last time.

Or maybe another time when next they woke up. Or maybe just one more day. Yes, one more day wouldn’t hurt.

But after that, there would be no more. Never again…





Nine



Fareed gazed down on Gwen and thought this was what sunlight would be like made flesh, made woman.

Her hair gleamed and her skin glowed in the flickering light of a dozen oil lamps. He’d placed them around this bedroom with only her in mind. This bedroom that wasn’t his.

After all the time he’d fantasized about having her in his bed, he’d picked her up that first night, and his feet had taken him here. A guest suite that had never been used before. He’d wanted them to have a place all their own, a place he hadn’t been before, where all the memories would be of her, of them.

He leaned over her, his heart in a constant state of expansion. Her lips, slightly parted in sleep, were crimson and swollen from his possession. Just their sight scorched him with the memories of the past days. He bent and took them, unable to have enough. She moaned, opening for him, her tongue first accepting the caress of his own, then dueling with it, in that never-ending quest for tasting, taking, surrendering. Even in the depth of sleep, she couldn’t have enough either.